CHAPTER 9
Bradley’s timer beeped. He pulled his phone out of his pocket and turned off the alarm.
The silence was terrifying.
“That’s five minutes,” he declared in a monotone. “Time’s up.”
Chelsea held her breath. Any doubts she had about Bradley’s willingness to use the air marshal’s gun had already vanished when he shot the first passenger. Now it wasn’t a question of whether or not he was going to kill. The only question was who would end up in the aisle next, collapsed in a puddle of blood.
For a brief stint during her tenth-grade year, Chelsea had entertained thoughts of going into the medical field. Nursing, maybe labor and delivery, she wasn’t sure. Plans changed one night in youth group when they were playing a raucous game of sardines in the dark. Brie tripped over a stair on
