Free Squall by Sean Costello

tub, just managing to squirm around onto his elbows and knees under the fuselage, keeping the gun aimed at the hole in the debris. He said, “Play dead, okay? If they come anywhere near you, just play dead.”
    “But—”
    “Just do it.”

23
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    Mandy snugged Steve’s covers across his chest, the little guy lying flat on his back in bed now, so worried about his dad he forgot his teddy on the chair, so exhausted he could barely keep his eyes open. His party had been a wash, the poor kid sitting on Mandy’s lap in front of the radio until his guests finally gave up and went home. He hadn’t opened a single gift, telling her he’d do it when his dad got home because it was his birthday, too. It wasn’t until she promised to wake him as soon as she heard anything that he’d finally agreed to come up to bed.
    She got his teddy off the chair and tucked it under his arm, then sat next to him on the bed, offering one last reassurance as she stroked his hair. “Try not to worry, sweetie,” she told him. “Your daddy’s a good pilot. I’m sure he just landed to get out of the storm and the weather’s messing up the radio. It’s happened before.”
    “The rescue team is looking for him?”
    “They sure are,” Mandy said, and kissed him on the tip of his turned-up nose. “I already talked to them, remember? They said they’d have news for us soon.” She kissed him again. “Try to sleep now, okay? When you wake up, this will all be over.”
    But the boy was already fast asleep.
    As Mandy stood, she got a fresh jab of pain low in her abdomen and her fingers went to it instinctively, pressing as if to extinguish it, and after a moment it was gone.
    In the kitchen she poured herself a mug of stale coffee, then returned to the radio in front of the picture window, as black now as the night that pressed against it.

24
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    Sanj said, “Look at this mess.”
    They stood staring at the wreckage in the wash of the GL’s high beams, the aircraft’s tail section jutting out through the window, the severed wings and skis lying twisted against the foot of the building.
    “Unreal,” Sumit said. “You’re sure this is the right place?”
    “According to the map.”
    “Doesn’t look like the kind of thing you walk away from,” Sumit said. “Maybe we got lucky and it clipped Ed’s asshole brother for us.”
    “Give Ed his bullet back.”
    “Lights are still on in there,” Sumit said, drawing his weapon. “Shall we?”
    Sanj pulled his silenced 9mm and followed Sumit to the front door. Sumit turned the knob and the door swung open on silent hinges. They took up positions on either side of the frame for a long moment, listening, then Sumit stepped inside, bringing his gun to bear. Sanj moved in behind him, stepping around him now to get the lay of the land.
    The place was small, the lit foyer leading into a hallway that ran parallel to the side of the building the plane had come through, the hallway itself opening onto what looked like a kitchenette on the left and a sitting area on the right. There was a single closed door halfway down on the right, the lights on in there, a film of snow and plaster dust on the floor in front of it, blown there through the crack under the door.
    Sanj pointed at the door and Sumit nodded. Sumit stepped past him and kicked the door open, snapping it off its top hinge then shifting fast out of the opening to press his back to the adjacent wall. Sanj took a quick look inside, scanning for targets, then relaxed, holstering his weapon. “Shitter,” he said. “It’s clear.”
    Sumit followed him into the bathroom, both men pausing to take in the scene: the room trashed, the front third of the plane’s fuselage resting across the rims of the tub, snow blowing in from the window ten feet away on the other side of the demolished wall. No signs of life.
    Sumit said, “Shouldn’t we check the rest of the place?”
    “Forget it,” Sanj