Seconds passed. Chelsea tried to mentally calculate how much time was left, but in her terror, her mind could never count past five before she lost track of where she was.
When Bradley’s timer beeped, shivers of panic cascaded down Chelsea’s spine, then circled around to her gut, where they sat like a monument to fear and terror.
It wasn’t supposed to happen like this. She was supposed to land in Detroit in half an hour. Get off the plane, check into her room, and prepare for the next few days of interviews and investigation.
None of which she could do if she was dead.
Bradley was marching to the back of the cabin.
“Get up,” he ordered.
Chelsea twisted in her seat and stared as a young woman with bright blue streaks in her hair stood up, her entire body trembling. It was the passenger from Alaska. She looked even younger than Chelsea.
This wasn’t right.
But there wasn’t anything Chelsea could do. Nothing but sit and stare.
“What’s your name?” Bradley demanded.
“Willow,” she answered.
Chelsea wanted to turn around. Wanted to shut her eyes and pretend like none of this was really happening. But she couldn’t.
“Willow,” Bradley repeated. His voice was disturbingly pleasant, almost charming. “Tell me something about yourself, Willow. Do you have a boyfriend?”
She gave her head a slight shake.
“Family, then? Parents?”
The young woman nodded, and a grin spread across Bradley’s face.
“Is there something you’d like to say to your parents, Willow? Any last words you’d like to leave them with?”
Chelsea’s body was shaking in tandem with the victim’s. She tried to squeeze her eyes shut, unable to watch another passenger killed.
“Put that gun away, young man.”
Chelsea recognized the strong, bold voice even before the old woman stood up in her seat and stepped in front of Willow.
“Put that gun away,” Grandma Lucy repeated.
“And why should I?” Bradley snarled.
“Because,” the old woman answered boldly, “if you’re going to kill anyone, it should be somebody who has lived a full and vibrant life and who is ready to meet her Maker.”
Bradley stared at the tiny old woman and scoffed. “You must be out of your mind.”
Grandma Lucy shook her head. She barely reached up to Bradley’s chest, and yet it somehow looked like she was the one staring down at him.
“I’m not out of my mind,” she stated. Her voice was so calm and fearless that Chelsea found herself straining to hear better, as if the old woman’s words themselves could give courage to Chelsea’s soul.
Grandma Lucy was standing between the young woman and her assailant. Willow took a few steps back until it was just Bradley and Grandma Lucy staring at one another in the aisle.
Bradley had his gun aimed at Grandma Lucy’s head. “You must be crazy,” he snarled. “Either that or you’ve got some kind of a death wish.”
Chelsea squinted, preparing to shut her eyes in case Bradley shot the old woman right there.
Grandma Lucy’s voice didn’t falter. “It’s not a wish to die per se,” she told him, her eyes never leaving his. “But if you shoot me, I know that the moment my soul leaves this frail, old body that I’ll find myself in the presence of the Lord, where I’ll go on to worship Him eternally. In all honesty, I can’t think of a better way to end my life than to save this innocent girl here.” She gestured toward Willow, who was hugging her knees and shaking in her seat.
Bradley stared at Grandma Lucy in bewilderment. In the silence, Chelsea could hear the pounding of her heart. For a split second, she was almost convinced that the old woman’s faithful conviction would change the hijacker’s mind. Chelsea held her breath. Was he going to lower that gun?
Chelsea cast a furtive glance around the cabin. While Bradley was distracted, mesmerized by the spiritual force emanating from this little old lady, it was the perfect time for the other passengers to act. There were hundreds of them and only a few of the terrorists. If the passengers found a way to coordinate their efforts, they could regain control of the plane in a matter of minutes. But how many bullets did Bradley have left in that gun, and how many more lives would be lost in the effort?
Chelsea had been a too young to understand the terrorist attacks of 9/11, but years later, she learned the story about the brave men and women who took down the plane heading for the White House. As far as Chelsea knew, Bradley and his men had no desire to crash their flight at all, but she imagined how much courage and determination it must have taken for the passengers on Flight 93 to do what they did. For the first time, she found herself wondering if everyone on board that day had agreed to the plan, or if some would have preferred to take their chances with the terrorists.
Bradley’s apparent moment of wavering passed, and Chelsea watched in horror as he set his jaw and took a step closer to Grandma Lucy. He pressed his gun against her forehead. “Let’s see if this God you worship is powerful enough to stop me.”
Chelsea scrunched down in her seat, trying to make herself as tiny as she could, her hands ready to cover her ears at the sound of a gunshot that never came.
Bradley stared at his weapon and cursed.
“The gun’s jammed,” someone shouted. At this declaration, the fear that had paralyzed every single passenger on Flight 219 dissipated in an instant. Several travelers jumped out of their seats, rushing Bradley and his assistant in the Hawaiian shirt.
“We’ve got them,” a man announced victoriously.
It all happened so quickly Chelsea hardly noticed that she had unbuckled her own seat belt and jumped into the aisle. The other passengers had Bradley subdued before Chelsea could do anything to intervene, and she felt somewhat embarrassed for thinking that with her tiny stature she could have done much of anything to help. Still, the passengers had won. The terrorists were caught and bound. The air marshal was awake now and trying to keep the passengers and criminals under control.
Everything was going to be okay.
“Well, folks.” The captain’s voice over the PA system was comforting and familiar. “It looks like the danger has passed, and we’ll be landing in Detroit in just a few minutes. Emergency personnel are already standing by, so once we land, let’s let them get on board to do their jobs as quickly as possible. I’d like to thank all of you for remaining calm in a very frightening situation,” he concluded, “and lastly, I’d like to thank God who allowed us to arrive in Detroit safe.”
Bradley had been dragged to the back of the plane, where two passengers and a flight attendant guarded him with the gun.
“Safe?” he spat, his voice carrying throughout the cabin. “You don’t know anything. You’re all about to die.”