‘Bob? Everything okay?’
She didn’t have any qualms using his Christian name. They’d flown together on several occasions as well as joined the same pool parties from time to time. He was an ex-US Air Force pilot with mischievous eyes and a talent for telling really good jokes that you could then tell your mother. No swearing, no smut, but hilarious just the same. He was married with four kids, two dogs and a house in Palm Springs.
‘I was actually calling to ask you the same thing.’
She frowned. It wasn’t like Bob to check up on her. Had she done something wrong?
‘It’s just that Grant and Liz are experiencing some pretty serious physical symptoms,’ he told her. ‘Nausea, exhaustion, blurred vision. Liz got really confused, apparently, and began slurring her speech. She’s gone to hospital. Grant’s sticking it out in his hotel room but he’s in one hell of a state.’
‘Shoot. That’s terrible.’
‘How about you? Anything?’
‘No, I’m fine.’ She wasn’t going to tell him about her wobbling vision. She didn’t want to be grounded.
‘Have you been in touch with any crew members since we disembarked?’ he asked.
‘Yes.’ She told him who she was with. ‘They’re all okay.’
‘I’ll keep ringing around the others. I want to make sure everyone’s all right.’
Hesitantly, Isla said, ‘You don’t think it’s aerotoxic syndrome, do you?’
Bob sighed. ‘I wish I could say no, but between you and me, yes, I do.’
Bob had been struck by a mystery illness a couple of years back, experiencing flu-like symptoms, nausea and severe fatigue. After a while, he came to associate these symptoms with switching on the cockpit air supply. When he heard other pilots and aircrew were being similarly affected, and that their illnesses could be related to oil fume contamination of the air bled off from aircraft engines, he began a log, charting each incident when a crew member fell ill. He was now, he told her, convinced that aerotoxic syndrome was a real thing. When she’d asked him why he kept flying, he told her he loved his job. And that he possibly wasn’t as sensitive to the air’s toxicity as some others.
‘Well, you don’t have to worry about me,’ Isla assured him.
‘Good to hear. Have a great weekend.’
After sending crew members Liz and Grant a text each, offering help if they needed it, Isla returned to the bar. She told the others about Bob’s call but didn’t dwell on it. She didn’t care if she was putting her head in the sand because so were the airlines. One day, she guessed they’d all face it together, but in the meantime, she was going to kick up her heels and keep enjoying her life.
Their number had increased to a dozen by the time they hit their third venue, this one with music and a huge TV above the bar. When a photograph flashed up of a gorgeous-looking woman with auburn hair and a generous smile, one of the crew pointed it out.
‘She was murdered two streets from our hotel. Someone slit her throat.’
‘You’re kidding.’
He told her the story.
When Isla eventually fell into bed after 4am, she fell asleep thinking of Kaitlyn Rogers surviving an air crash in Morocco only to get murdered sixteen years later. God, life could suck.
Sixteen years ago
The sound was incredible. A horrific crashing like a million metal dustbins being crushed together, a noise that didn’t stop.
In the brace position, I squeezed my eyes tight shut. If by some miracle I survived this, I didn’t want to be blinded by a piece of debris flying through the air.
Screams and shouts.
Oh God, oh God, oh God.
I felt a moment’s weightlessness and realised the aeroplane had bounced and lifted into the air.
Bang! It hit the ground a second time and sunlight flooded inside. A chunk of the plane had broken off.
Another almighty crash! The plane bounced again, spinning, rolling and sliding. A wing was ripped away. My lungs became choked with dirt and dust.
There was a long shudder. Metal shrieked. I squinted my eyes open for a second. Saw objects flying past me. Luggage, bits of plastic, metal. I kept my brace position, crouched over with my head against the seat in front. I felt the ground juddering against the plane’s underbelly and snatched my feet into the air. I didn’t want them torn off.
Fragments of things I couldn’t identify fell onto me. Another quick glance, this time to my right, showed Josh curled up. His mother was screaming. I couldn’t hear her above the sound of tearing metal. Through the window, I saw sand and dry grasses churning past.
Bang! The front of the aircraft vanished.
I waited for oblivion. I waited for death.
And then the plane came to rest.
Silence.
I knew I had to move. I couldn’t afford to sit and thank God. I couldn’t pause to take stock.
The fuel tanks would be ruptured. Wires would be sparking.
We had seconds to get out.
Fingers numb and shaking, I undid my seat belt. Reached across and snapped Josh’s free too. On his forehead stood a blotch of blood, as though he’d taken a blow. His eyes were open but his expression was vacant. I stood upright. Scooped him up and wedged him against my hip.
Josh’s dad was nowhere to be seen. Nor was his seat. His mother lolled, head hanging, unconscious or dead, I had no idea but I couldn’t stop. I had to get out. Over piles of shattered metal and overhead bins I saw a jagged-edged hole in the fuselage. Wide enough for two people. I started to make my way towards it. Bubs’s seat had been wrenched free of its floor bolts and lay on its side. Bubs was still strapped in. She was pulling at her legs, panicky. They were both broken.
I put Josh down. ‘Don’t move.’ I unstrapped Bubs. Picked her up. She whimpered but didn’t protest any more. Holding her
