10
A wave of warm optimism fills my veins. I can only hope the pilot
is still alive. And if he is alive, I hope he’s conscious enough to pull us out
of this dive. Quickly, I make my way the ten or so feet to the lavatory,
crawling on my stomach for the entire distance. For some reason, if I crawl,
the suction is not so bad. When I look up, I can see the pilot’s eyes are wide
open. So are the flight attendant’s. Also, their whites aren’t glowing or
burning red or turning anything other than their natural, God-given color. More
good news. Raising myself up, I pull the tape off his mouth.
“You the real pilot?”
“Cut me loose,” he shouts while alarms
blare from inside the cockpit. “Do it now. We’re dropping three thousand feet
per minute. Three minutes before this thing careens into
