Page 74 of The Merger

I tried to force more calm into my voice than I felt. “I think it’s just some turbulence.”

The plane dropped and felt like it bounced in the air. This time Stryker wasn’t the only one squeezing the armrests. He leaned over and peered out the window. “Are the trees supposed to be this close?”

The plane started to rattle and shake harder the more altitude we lost. “What’s happening?” I shouted up to the pilot.

He ignored me as he fought with the controls. From my view of the front of the plane I could see the mountain getting closer. Captain McHenry grappled with his seat belt and picked up a pack next to his seat.

“What is that?” I asked Stryker. Almost as soon as the words were out of my mouth I realized what he was holding. “Shit! Oh, shit,” I muttered over and over. “Why does he have a parachute?”

Of course, Stryker didn’t have the answer to that question. The pilot turned around and gave us one last look before he put his arms inside the parachute and fastened it. Without so much as an apology, he pushed open the cockpit door and jumped out of the plane.

I expected Stryker to panic, but instead, his emotions seemed to shut down. He was calm and methodical as he stepped into the cockpit and took over the controls. He put on the headset and started to issue an alert that we were going down and tried to give the location to whoever was on the other end of the radio.

“How are you doing this?” I shouted.

His muscles strained in his long sleeve shirt as he fought the controls. “I’ll explain everything when we land. For now, I need you to brace yourself.”

“Land?” My head swiveled, seeing nothing except trees getting larger and larger.

Through clenched teeth, he replied, “More like controlled crashing.”

“Get ready,” he shouted.

I leaned forward and held on to the seat in front of me. If I’d thought the flight was choppy before, that was nothing compared to now as the plane descended into the trees. Branches scratched against the sides of the plane as a myriad of alarms screeched from the front of the plane.

Stryker cursed a blue streak as he fought to control the plane. I thought my life would flash before me, but all I saw was emptiness. All the years I’d moved through the world not knowing he was out there waiting for me to remember him. The last few years I’d taken for granted and all the ways we’d make up for that lost time. Now I knew, there was no way to replace those missing years.

The noise was deafening as we got closer and closer to the ground. From the left side of the plane I could see flames shooting from the engine.

“Here we go,” I heard Stryker yell above the sound of metal groaning and buckling.

The impact knocked the air from my lungs, and my head slammed against the tray table hooked on the back of the seat. Blood trickled down my forehead, and got into my eye. My head swam, and my stomach churned. I groaned, feeling on the verge of passing out, or puking, perhaps both.

The way down seemed to take ages, but it had probably only been minutes since the pilot had jumped from the plane and left us to die. How Stryker was able to take control was a mystery since he was terrified of flying.

Trees whipped past the plane, banging into it as we muscled our way through the trunks. Pieces of metal whizzed by as they hit. The nose tipped down, but he was able to pull it back up. Then the plane hit the ground, bounced, and skidded sideways before finally resting on its side.

I exhaled, and with a shaky hand wiped the blood from my brow. “Stryker?” My voice shook, but I needed reassurance that he was okay. That we were okay.

“I fucking hate flying,” he said.

A surprised chuckle escaped me. I tried to hold it back, but that chuckle turned into hysterical laughter.

I heard the click of his seat belt, and the groaning of the plane as he moved toward me. His hands lightly brushed my arms, then gently raised my face. He sucked in a breath, and I lifted my fingers to hover near the cut on my forehead. He stopped my hand before I could touch it.

“Let me get a look at you,” he demanded.

A loud pop sounded outside of the plane as the fire in the left engine grew. “Shit,” he said, looking out the window. “We need to get out of here.”

His hands fumbled with my buckle and he lifted me from the plane. “Our bag,” I said pointing toward the rear of the plane.

Stryker shook his head. “That fire is spreading, we don’t have time to dig through the back for it.”

He was right. A change of clothes wouldn’t do us any good if we never made it off the plane.

“I can walk,” I told him as he carried me toward the cockpit where the door was still open. The side door was dented and would take time and effort to force open.

“If you haven’t noticed, I’m a little bit of a control freak,” he tried to tease.