General stared at Grandma Lucy, aimed his gun at her head, and pulled the trigger.
Click.
Nothing happened.
General’s eyes widened.
“His gun doesn’t work!” The shout from the back of the plane was followed by confusion. Chaos.
“Get him.”
“Grab him.”
“Careful.”
A skirmish. Loud grunting. Someone punched General in the face.
He fell.
Several more shouts, and then it was over.
“We got him!” someone yelled.
And that was it. General was bound, his gun now pointed at his own chest. Passengers let out a collective sigh of relief. In the seat beside her, Justine heard Meredith offering a short prayer of thanks. The captain made an announcement that they’d be landing in Detroit soon.
“You think you’ve won?” General shouted with a guffaw. “You’re all going to die.”
Justine chose to disregard the ominous threat. It was the ravings of a madman. Nothing more.
“Mama?” West asked.
Justine wrapped her arms around her son, ashamed that in her fear and then relief she’d momentarily forgotten how scared he must be.
“It’s okay,” she whispered, tears streaking down her cheeks. “It’s over. They caught the bad guy, and we’re all going to be okay.”
General’s laugh still echoed throughout the cabin. “You’re all gonna die.”
Justine ignored his words, hugged her son close, and thanked God for keeping them alive.