Broken Realms (Broken Realms, #1)

CHAPTER 3

CHAPTER 3––––––––

On her way back to the Broughton Beach boat ramp to get her car, Stephanie Jensen jogged in place on Marine Drive Trail next to the Columbia River, waiting for her husband, Paul, to catch up. After spending a few minutes staring at the State of Washington on the other side of the water, inhaling the cool early autumn air, her attention turned to an airplane approaching over the river.

Portland’s airport sat on the other side of the trail. Seeing jetliners over the river was commonplace. Even though some people thought they intruded on the natural beauty of the area, Stephanie loved watching them come in.

She sensed the plane’s trajectory was off, that it headed toward the river, not the airport. It always looked that way when she stood under the flight path like this.

She stretched, reaching down to her toes. When she switched to working her shoulders by lifting her arms, she looked up again.

The airplane was much closer.

As she watched, it split into two separate overlapping planes, one translucent, the other more opaque, stacked on top of each other. It looked as if one intended to plow into the river while the other tried to gain altitude and avoid its counterpart’s fate.

She shook her head and rubbed her eyes.

Better. Just one plane, but it was awfully low.

Her husband jogged up.

“Paul, look at the plane,” she said, pointing west. “It doesn’t look like it’s going to make it to the airport.”

“It’s impossible to tell from this vantage point. I mean we are practically on the runway here, and the jets are always lining up with the river as they come in,” he said, holding his hand over his brow to get a better look. “It does look low, though.”

They watched for another minute, waiting for the plane to adjust its heading toward the airport.

It continued to descend, perfectly aligned with the center of the river.

The couple stood frozen, until they heard the scream of the engines.

“Call 9-1-1!” Paul yelled.

Stephanie raised a phone to her ear, but Paul could no longer hear her voice over the roar.

The plane, whipping up spray that arced toward both banks, hurled past them only ten feet above the water. As it passed, Paul saw a gaping hole near the tail. His head turned as he tracked it until the nose of the plane collided with the current and dived underwater. The tail of the plane maintained its momentum, continued barreling forward, somersaulting over the front, landing upside down on the river.

By the time water thrown into the air had splashed down, the roar was gone. The engines had broken off and sunk, taking most of the wings with them.

*

The belly of the airplane floated above the waterline as it listed toward the far bank. At the same time, the current pushed it back the way it had come, past Stephanie and Paul. They watched helpless as sirens filled the air around them. People began to gather on both sides of the river.

“Do you think anyone survived?” Stephanie asked.

“I don’t see how,” Paul said. “I think we should get back to the car and go home. It might be hard to get out of here once the rescue-and-recovery people arrive, and we’ll just be in the way.”

They wrapped arms around each other and headed to their car.

When they arrived at the end of the path and began to cross the parking lot toward their car, a little girl with a brown ponytail called to them. She stood next to the ramp where the parking lot sloped into the river allowing boats to be backed into the water. “Hey, there’s a girl here. It looks like she fainted or something.”

Paul jogged over and crouched next to the young woman lying in the middle of the ramp less than two feet from the water. She appeared to be in her late teens. Something had charred her green polo and turned the legs of her jeans to tatters, but she was dry. A nasty gash oozed along the side of her head into her brown hairline. He touched her neck, felt a pulse. Her chest rose and fell.

He looked up to see if anyone nearby could help. Two docks flanked the ramp. The one on the left extended out into the river and wrapped around several floating aluminum structures, probably used to house or maintain boats. On the right, a shorter dock jutted straight into the river. Both were devoid of traffic or people.

A noise drew his attention to the wooden wall running parallel to the straight dock. Waves from the airplane’s splashdown crashed against it. Water lapped higher up the ramp but not far enough to reach the injured teenager.

In her right hand, she held a jeweled three-inch copper medallion. At first Paul thought it was a disk or DVD, but it was too small, and much too thick and heavy. He took it from her hand and tucked it into the pocket of her jeans.

“Did she fall out of that plane, mister?” the little girl asked.

“No, she wasn’t on that plane. Look how dry she is, and I don’t think anyone on that plane—”

“Honey,” Stephanie interrupted. “I don’t think we need to worry this young lady about the plane.”

“You think all the people on the plane died, don’t you?” the girl said.

Paul looked to his wife for help.

“You’re wrong. They didn’t all die,” the girl said, as her gaze followed Paul’s to Stephanie.

“Why do you say that?”

“Look out there.” The little girl pointed to the river.

Stephanie heard a splash and turned. She saw a head bobbing in the water.

Then an arm rose up out of the water and waved above the head.

“Help!”

More splashing. More shouts. More bobbing heads and waving arms.

There were dozens of them.