‘I’m sorry,’ the stewardess said. ‘We’ll be landing in twenty minutes.’ She turned and walked back along the aisle.
Sean told Jayne not to strap herself in. He stood in the aisle beside her, gun in one hand, the other holding onto the seat in front of her. He no longer kept a watch on her. The man was tired.
‘So what happened to you?’ she asked.
‘What do you mean?’
‘I mean your . . .’ Family, she wanted to say. But she hardly knew him, and what right did she have to know? ‘Your story.’
‘Right,’ he said, glancing down at her. ‘Yeah. Well, been working the airlines since 9/11, the pay’s good, get to travel. My wife moved to France ten years ago with my daughter, and I only see them once or twice a year.’ He was staring along the aisle again, and his voice was flat and emotionless. Everything tied up inside. Jayne knew how that felt.
‘At least they’re safe,’ she said. ‘You should call them, now we’re close to land.’
‘If I hadn’t left my phone up there.’ He nodded along the aisle.
‘Oh, sorry.’
They were silent for a while, feeling the strange lifting sensation as the aircraft lost altitude in preparation for landing.
‘What should we do when we’re on the ground?’ Jayne asked at last.
‘I’ve been thinking on that,’ Sean said. ‘Mostly up to now I’ve just been acting for the moment. Keeping you safe.’ He looked at her, and she wondered how old his daughter was. ‘And, if you’ll let me, I’d like to continue doing that after we land.’
Jayne smiled.
‘So once we land, we need to slip away and—’
The shouting was sudden, and shocking. Some people were speaking, others simply crying out in despair, and Sean knelt beside Jayne and levelled his gun along the aisle. He looks terrified, she thought. It had been her own pain, the threat to her own life, that had obsessed her since she’d woken half-stripped and exposed from her churu blackout. But here was Sean, protecting her because he knew it was right. And she could smell his fear, sense the tension in his body as he aimed the gun.
‘What?’ Jayne said. ‘What is it?’
‘Dunno,’ Sean said. He was glancing left and right, sweating. ‘When I say, get back into the rest room. You good to move?’
The curtain whipped aside and she held her breath, readying for the gunshot. But it was the stewardess, holding on to the seats as she hurried along the aisle to them.
‘Far enough,’ Sean said, sounding almost apologetic.
‘What’s happening?’ Jayne asked.
‘We’ve got to land in Baltimore, like I told you,’ the stewardess said.
‘And?’ Sean asked.
‘Baltimore’s burning, and the airport’s been overrun.’
‘Oh, Jesus,’ Sean whispered.
The stewardess stood there for a while, saying nothing, staring at Jayne. She’d helped them, and perhaps she felt some investment in her. Or maybe she’s just thinking about what’s about to happen.
‘I live in . . .’ the woman said. Then her face crumpled and she ran back along the cabin.
‘We need to get ready,’ Sean said. He tucked the gun into his shoulder holster and went to the kitchen behind them. Jayne tried to turn in her seat, but the pain in her hips screamed out. She leaned back and sensed their descent.
Baltimore’s burning.
‘Out of the frying pan . . .’ she muttered as Sean sat next to her and handed her a bag.
One of the terminal buildings was on fire. Others looked untouched, but there were people on the concrete surrounding various parked aircraft. Some of them swarmed around a mobile staircase beside a 757, clambering up the stairs, falling from the top, rising to climb again. The thought of what might be happening inside the aircraft’s cabin was horrible, but Jayne could not turn away.