I hoped I was wrong, but nerves fledged into fully spread wings, careening around my ribcage like a startled crow.

My eyes remained glued to the seat belt sign. If it flickered again, the pilot wanted the head stewardess to call him.

Don’t flicker.

Don’t flicker.

Bing Bong.

It flickered.

The purser hightailed it up the aisle, her hands gripping the headrests for balance, disappearing past the dividing curtain.

Whatever existed outside the metal walls of the aircraft was enough for fear to pollute the cabin.

I couldn’t ignore it anymore.

The messages.

The signs.

I should’ve listened.

I didn’t care if it was stupid. I didn’t care if paranoia rotted my brain. I couldn’t switch off the instinct howling inside.

Something’s wrong.

My previous training on how to survive a ditching came back. I’d done the drills on how to escape wrecked fuselage. I’d completed exams on how best to protect passengers. What I hadn’t done was experience a true crash.

We’re over the ocean. I’m in the tail of the plane.

Contrary to what people said, the safest possible place in a ditching was over the wing. Yes, the fuel tanks were below, but if the pilot was good, the plane would skim like a skipping stone before diving and flipping. The nose would snap, the tail would break, and water would gush—

Stop it!

Needing to do something, anything, I shoved up my tray table and reached between my legs for my handbag. Yanking it onto my lap, my hands trembled.

If something happened, I wouldn’t be allowed to take anything. The only thing we could take would be what was on our person.

Don’t be ridiculous. Nothing’s going to happen.

My life sped up as another bout of turbulence shook the plane—disagreeing with my positivity.

Pessimism launched into full alert.

Something is going to happen.

My heart lodged in my throat as I tore open my bag and took stock of what I had. The puffer jacket I wore had deep pockets. Without hesitation, I stuffed my passport, money, and credit cards into the inner chest pocket, zipping tight. Rushing, I made sure my phone was turned off and the solar powered charger was in my left pocket.

Another jolt and the plane twisted with an unnatural groan.

Working faster, I tucked my compact mirror, carry-on sized toothpaste and toothbrush, jewellery that I wouldn’t check in my suitcase, three hair-ties, a pen, and an unopened poncho I’d bought from a convenience store when a thunderstorm hit unexpectedly last week in Texas.

Everything I could fit disappeared into deep pockets and secured with a zip.

Once my jacket bulged with possessions, I caressed my song notebook where every tune and melody I’d ever created, every lyric and musical tale I ever thought of rested. This notebook was as precious as gold to me. Worth more than my newly signed record deal. Better than any accolade or list appearance. Without my jotted ideas, my magic would go. I would lose the symphonic world I’d become so fond of.

But the book wouldn’t fit in my bursting pockets.

Another crush of air tossed us around like a ping-pong ball. I dropped the notepad into my handbag, letting it plummet to my feet.

I listened.

Are you happy?

The sky said no.

The wind prepared to pay.

And fate shattered any hope of ever going home.

Chapter Four

...............................................

G A L L O W A Y

......

“THANK CHRIST.”

The grateful curse fell from my lips as airplane tyres bounced onto the Fijian runway. My fingers ached from clutching the arm-rests and my heart had permanently rehomed itself in my throat.

I wasn’t a pussy—most things didn’t scare me—how could it when I’d lived what I’d lived? But when it came to that kind of event (the kind that so eloquently reminded us we were nothing in the scheme of things), then yeah, I had a healthy dose of terror.

The entire descent, my mind had exploded with worst-case scenarios of agonising pain and horrific death. Of slamming into the earth, erupting into fire, burning to char with the scent of flesh in my nostrils.

The atmosphere of the flight had switched completely the moment the first judder bar turned into a bloody loop de loop. It wasn’t ordinary turbulence—this had been mean, furious—a demon dog toying with its prey.

While passengers had remained locked in their useless seats, air-hostesses quickly secured the cabin and buckled in. The wind howled louder outside, continuing to tumble us through the clouds.

I’d looked across the cabin to Unknown Girl and wished I’d been a better person, a braver bloody man. I should’ve said hello, given fate time to show why we had a connection.

But I hadn’t, and that opportunity had been snatched away as the wings of the plane shuddered and bowed.

The closer we plummeted to earth, the more adrenaline drenched my bloodstream—especially when the TV screens hissed with white noise and a few overhead lockers popped open, raining baggage from above.

Human screams punctured the mechanical screams of engines. Our velocity increased as the same substance we flew through made its life mission to tear us apart and leave the scattered pieces in the Pacific Ocean. The blackness outside hid our destination, but streaks of angry raindrops slurped their way along the window—tasting us...preparing to kill us.

I’d expected the captain to yell, “Brace, brace, brace.” I’d prepared myself for a crash and the highly unwanted repercussion of death.