Free SHUDDERVILLE FIVE by Mia Zabrisky Page B

positions,” another flight attendant said as she hurried up the aisle toward the front of the plane.
    There was a bright flash of lightning and a collective gasp as they bounced in heavy turbulence, and everyone automatically fastened their seatbelts and sat very still. The plane gradually filled with a worried silence.
    Will glanced at his wife, the napkins bunched in his fist. “Fasten your seatbelt, Charlotte.”
    “I can’t.” She struggled to secure her buckle, and Will had to drop the napkins in order to reach over and help her. “Shit.” He fumbled with her seatbelt, thinking how lousy his luck was. He had terrible luck. He didn’t want to forget the revelation—he tried repeating it inside his head. He forced himself to memorize what had hit him with such lightning-like acuity a few seconds ago.
    He picked up the napkins. There was another flash, followed by a loud explosion, like a car backfiring. He looked out the window. A bolt of lightning hit the plane’s wing and tore it off. The plane was on fire. They went into a nosedive. Everybody screamed and covered their heads. There was a knocking sound, like a horse butting against a stall door.
    Charlotte grabbed his hand and said, “Listen to me. I love you, Will. I don’t care what you think. You’ve been crazy jealous, and ridiculously busy, but I haven’t done anything wrong. I didn’t sleep with anyone. I’ve been totally faithful to you. I’m a loyal person. I thought you knew that about me? I resent like hell your suspicions, but I love you. Do you understand? I love you, despite how crazy you act sometimes.”
    People screamed as the plane plunged earthward.
    He nodded, in complete denial. “We’re going to be all right,” he insisted. He could feel the blood rushing out of his face. He could feel his stomach drop. A bunch of brightly wrapped Christmas gifts catapulted around inside the cabin, cards and boxes flying like projectiles. The screams became unbearable. Will could hear the horror and desperation in people’s voices—nobody wanted to go like this.
    The intercom crackled. “This is the captain speaking. Brace for impact.”
    Impact?
    Oh Jesus. They were going down.
    As they plummeted to earth, the other wing came off, leaving a hole in the fuselage through which his wife disappeared. She was sucked out of the plane.
    “Charlotte!” he screamed, his agony surreal. He couldn’t believe it. His mind kept trying to put her back in the seat next to him.
    There was a toxic smell, like burning upholstery, and he realized this was it. He was going to die. He bent double, drew his knees to his chest and braced for impact. The plummeting plane shook so violently it began to break apart in midair. The noise was deafening. Pieces ripped off and went flying into the stratosphere.
    The plane hit the trees with an earsplitting succession of crashes that ripped his entire row of seats from the fuselage, and suddenly Will was catapulted into the misty air.
    He couldn’t hear anybody screaming anymore—just the wind whistling in his ears. His wife was gone. The rodent-faced passenger was gone. He was alone in the gloomy evening air, tightly buckled into his row of seats, which kept spinning around in a slow clumsy tumble, following a wilting trajectory. Below him, the ground rotated like a roulette wheel.
    Will let the napkins go, and they flew into his face and whipped away. So much for that. The row of seats bounced through the treetops and landed in the dense brush. The impact slammed him forward and back, his belt buckle snapped open, and he was thrown viciously into the nettles and knocked unconscious.
    When he woke up, he had no idea where he was. He was in the woods somewhere. Tall pines. Cold air. He got to his feet.
    His shirt was torn and spattered with blood. He had gashes and cuts on his arms and chest and scrapes on his hands. One of his fingers was broken and he’d sprained his left ankle. Otherwise he was okay. Hell. He was