Flight Q 986

1427 words

Skyla opened her eyes into total darkness, unable to move; something held her firmly in her seat. She sniffed the air. An amalgam of odours; metallic, fuel, vomit. Panic threatened as she struggled unsuccessfully to get out of her seat. Fragmented flashes of memory; mayhem, unbearable noise, screams and the sound of the plane breaking up in mid-air. It was all too much for her mind to absorb, her eyes closed involuntarily. As consciousness left her, the young woman decided to think about it all tomorrow.

The bright light of day streamed in from the small, cracked window, bringing her instantly into a state of awareness. The body of the elderly woman, who had been so understanding of Skyla’s fear of flying, and sat next to her in the centre seat, lay sprawled, face up across Skyla’s lap. Bloodied, long grey hair stuck to the sunken cheeks, sightless eyes stared into the younger woman’s horrified ones.

Desperately pushing the body back into the centre seat, she unbuckled herself and scrambled over the corpse to escape the horror. But there was to be no escape from what Skyla could only think was hell. As she stood frozen, unable to move any further, her eyes closed from the sickening sight of so many bodies, some still strapped in their seats, their heads hanging from broken necks.

The coppery smell revealed itself as blood. Pools of it. Splatters of dark red covered the walls and ceiling, but the sight of a single, bloodied handprint on a window gave Skyla the final impetus to move.

The overwhelming stench of aviation fuel caused her head to spin as she staggered unsteadily down the fuselage and stepped over dead passengers, the ones who had decided to ignore the fasten seat belt request. They lay scattered throughout the plane as if nothing more than rag dolls.

The thought she may be the only survivor horrified her but there were no sounds or signs from any other passenger. Unable to bring herself to break the silence, she couldn’t bring herself to call out.

Her thoughts flew to her parents. She’d said goodbye to them at the airport in Sydney only yesterday. Surely, they would have been informed when flight Q986 went missing.
She desperately needed to let them know she’d miraculously survived.

She made her stumbling way to the open door of the cockpit only to discover both pilots, dead, twisted and contorted in their seats, the instrument panel cracked, and blood splattered. Static came from the radio.

Tentatively she pressed the transmit switch. “This is Skyla Brown. I am a passenger on flight Q986. Destination Singapore. We have crashed. I think I may be the only survivor.” She repeated the message, until she could no longer speak. There was no answer.

Through the broken glass the jungle-like terrain seemed alien, and she tried to think of where they may have crashed. There were so many little islands in the Timor Sea. Or was it the Indian Ocean? It could be Christmas Island? The thought gave her hope someone had seen the plane fall from the sky and that a rescue team were on their way to save her. She held her hand to the throbbing gash on her forehead and prayed to a God she didn’t believe in.

After a while the terrified girl, barely out of her teens, roused herself from her despair. She needed water, it became the most pressing need. Come on. Think. She looked around the cockpit, avoiding seeing the twisted corpses. Searching for something which might help her in some way her eyes fell on the co-pilot’s bag. She rummaged through the contents. A plastic bottle of water reminded her once more of her desperate thirst and the need to rehydrate.

Her thirst quenched; various scenarios began to pass through her mind. What if no one came to search for the plane? Would she die of starvation here alone? What would Bear Grylls do? Skyla shook her head at the random thought. If her situation hadn’t been so dire, she would have found it amusing that her mind had thought of Bear Grylls at a time like this. She’d been watching his latest survival series only last week at her boyfriend’s house. He’d even been a bit put out when she’d praised Bear’s muscular physique. But that seemed a lifetime ago.

In the galley she found there were enough bottles of water to last her for at least a week. Food, she knew was less important, but there was some packaged food which wouldn’t spoil in the high humidity. She stuffed chocolate bars and small bottles of water into her jacket pocket.

With a sudden urgent need for fresh air, she moved as quickly as possible through the plane, seeking an exit door. Scattered, carry-on luggage tossed from the lockers above, slowed her pace. On reaching the nearest exit row she suddenly panicked, screamed, swore and wrestled with the door. Exhausted, her knees buckled and hit the floor, where she rested her head on the door and sobbed for her mother.

“Skyla! Get a grip!’ Her mother’s voice seemed to linger in the silence which followed.

When at last she felt calm enough to read the instructions, clearly printed on the door, she slid the handle to the left and pushed it outwards until it gave way and fell to the earth below.

The plane had come to a halt, tilting towards the ground. Skyla carefully climbed out on to the wing and crawled cautiously to the wingtip. From there it was a short drop until she landed awkwardly in the thick undergrowth, unhurt. From where she lay, the crippled plane seemed to tower over her like an injured beast. There at last, she gave way to her pent-up emotions once more, and screaming and sobbing she screamed, “Is there anyone here?” A deathly silence followed, until a few moments later the sound of a solitary bird filled the void.

Eventually when she felt strong enough to stand, she looked around. From her perspective there was little to see, except for broken, flattened undergrowth and scarred trees. To be able to assess her position she needed to be on higher ground but was loath to leave the aircraft, scared she might become lost.
But I can’t simply sit here and wait to die.The thought forced her to move, but turned around every couple of minutes, willing the plane to still be in sight. It soon became clear they had crashed halfway up a steep, rocky incline. The lone survivor began to climb.

Hands bleeding and scratched, she grabbed the sharp grass to assist in her attempt to reach the top of the rise. Sweat-soaked, she stopped to listen. Difficult as it was to hear anything above her ragged breathing, she thought she may have heard the thwack thwack sound of a helicopter approaching.

“Oh, Christ , I ought to have stayed with the plane.” She gasped. There was no chance of anyone seeing her from the air, the tree canopy was too dense.She began her frantic return journey to the wrecked plane. As she ran, slipped and tumbled down the steep incline, she prayed the chopper would see the glint of sun on the metal fuselage.
She approached the stricken plane, closed her eyes, stood perfectly still and held her breath for a few seconds. Yes. The sound of a motor was faint sometimes disappearing, but still there, in the distance.

At the wreckage, she hoisted herself back onto the wing and squinted into the tropical sky for any sign of rescue, her eyes shaded by her bloodied hands.
I need something to attract attention. Flares! There must be flares, somewhere.

Reluctant as she was to return to the scene of death and destruction, Skyla climbed back through the emergency door.

At last, after searching the galley, forced to step over the body of a steward trapped underneath a food cart, she returned to the cockpit where she found a box marked, Emergency Flares.

“Yes! Thank you, God.” she screamed the words with relief but the sound of her own voice startled her and she turned to look at the dead face of the pilot as if to apologise. A crazy thought entered her head that she really ought not to shout and disturb the dead.

The box of flares under her arm, she returned to the wing and waited.

Prompt: Write a story where a character quickly finds themselves
in a situation where they're in over their head.
Written for What a Character Contest