CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

As the jet shook harder, more screams filled the cabin — calls to Jesus, cries for mercy, and unintelligible wails. An overhead bin popped open, spilling a duffle bag and a canvas overnighter on top of two men across the aisle. The smell of burnt fuel and rubber filled the air.

Kelly braced herself on the seat in front and sang the first phrase of my tune, her voice feeble and quiet. “Amazing grace, how sweet the sound, that saved a wretch like me.” Every word rattled through her chattering teeth as she hung on to the mirror. During the second phrase, a woman joined in from behind as did a man somewhere to the side.

The jet angled to ninety degrees and flew sideways. The cabin lights flickered off, leaving only shafts of sunlight knifing through the windows. More bins flew open. Suitcases and garment bags rained throughout the cabin. Smoke billowed from somewhere out of sight and spread toward us.

The mirror blazed with fire and falling ash. Still playing the violin, I glanced out the window. The tip of the wing sank, just thirty feet from a fatal brush with the ground.

As Kelly and the others sang on, I stopped playing and reached the end of my bow toward the reading light in the overhead console. Would it work? Or was the plane too crippled to deliver power to the bulbs? I caught a glimpse of the camera, swinging back and forth from the strap around Kelly’s neck. I hissed, “Take a picture of the mirror.”

Her body quaking, she grabbed the camera, pointed it, and pressed the shutter button. It clicked, but the flash unit stayed dark. “I have to turn it on.”

“No time.” I strained to push the console button, fighting the horrible quaking of the wounded jet. Giving the bow a desperate shove, I hit the switch. The light flashed on.

The mirror reflected the weak beam, splitting it into multiple shafts. Two beams pierced Kelly and me, while others zipped past us. The light felt like a hot laser that sizzled through my skin and burned deep in my chest.

Kelly released the mirror, but it stayed upright on my lap and expanded in every direction, even in depth as it seemed to absorb my legs and reach toward Kelly’s.

My body slid into the mirror’s grip. I looked to the side, still able to see through the plane’s window. The wingtip struck the ground, sending the jet into a wild tumble. The jolt threw Kelly into me and shoved us fully into the mirror.

Holding out my violin to keep it safe, I rolled to a stop in an open field. The jet cartwheeled only a few feet above my head, and the nose section knifed into the ground about fifty yards away, digging a rut before breaking loose from the fuselage. The rest of the body slammed down and smashed a hangar in a thunderous explosion of horrible thuds, cracks, and squeals as its momentum swept an avalanche of destruction across the field.

Metal tore from metal. Fire gushed into the sky in an enormous cloud of orange. Heat rushed past me in a rolling wave, singeing my skin and whipping my hair. The mirror, still in my lap, radiated warmth through my pants.

Kelly grabbed my arm and buried her face in my sleeve, screaming, “Nathan! They’re dead! They’re all dead!”

A man jumped past us and dashed toward the wreckage, then another limped by — the author we had met in the terminal building. I looked around and counted. Two, three, four … at least four other people sat or stood in horror while the first two hurried into the crash zone.

Still clutching the violin, I grabbed the mirror, rose, and staggered toward the burning wreckage. Kelly stumbled along beside me, her legs wobbly.

In the midst of crackling fires and sizzling metal, sirens wailed, drawing closer. The two men who charged ahead earlier just stood and surveyed the field of hopelessness. Burning body parts lay strewn in a swath of superheated fires. No one could save them now.

The author dropped to his knees. Clutching his thinning gray hair with both hands, he shouted into the rising vapors. “I knew this would happen! Why didn’t I stop it?”

The first man joined us, short and stocky with a full beard and weary gray eyes. “I dreamed about it, too,” he whispered to me. “Did you?”

I glanced at the mirror, now tucked under my arm, but I couldn’t feel it. All sensation had drained away. My limbs, my body, even my face and hands were numb. Staring at the devastation, I could barely find strength to speak. “I saw it before it happened.”

He scanned the other survivors. “I think we all did. The ones who lived, I mean.”

I looked at each survivor — a young woman in seventies-style green pants standing petrified as she watched the fires burn, a middle-aged woman in a navy blue business suit weeping as she talked to Kelly, and a young couple sitting together in a sobbing huddle. “You’re probably right.”

He extended a hand. “Name’s John, but my friends call me Jack.”

I shook his hot, sweaty hand. “I’m Nathan.”

“I suppose we should have said something about the nightmares. Maybe if all of us had spoken up, they might have listened.”

“Maybe, but I doubt it. Don’t blame yourself.”

As fire engines roared close and a helicopter beat its blades overhead, I turned back to Kelly. She held the camera in her hands, the strap still around her neck as she snapped a picture of the crash scene. The flash lit up, though in the mid-afternoon sun it didn’t seem as bright as usual.

When she lowered the camera, her voice matched her teary, anguished eyes. “One of the survivors asked me to take some pictures for her. I hope it’s okay.” She showed me a business card. “I have her address.”

“I guess it won’t hurt anything, but I don’t know how you’re going to get the pictures to her. She’s dead in our world, and I’m not sure if we’ll ever come back to Earth Yellow.”

Kelly picked up the violin case, opened it, and nodded toward the saddlebag at her feet. “I found this near where we landed.”

I laid the violin and bow in the case, closed the lid, and fastened the latches, then stuffed the case and mirror into the bag and picked it up. “Let’s walk. The terminal’s not far.”

Staring at the airport buildings, I strode toward them, not wanting to look back as turmoil raged in my wake — blaring sirens, shouting rescue workers, and sizzling fires, a Danse Macabre performed on the strings of demonic violins. And I failed to prevent it.

Yet, the girl in red helped me save a few lives, including our own. The mystery surrounding her grew ever deeper. Since I had no answers, it probably wouldn’t do any good to talk about her recent appearance, at least not yet.

Kelly’s voice seeped into the flow of sounds. “Are you all right?”

“How could I be all right?” I winced. My words were too harsh. Heaving a deep sigh, I added, “I’m sorry.”

Her cool fingers slid into my free hand. “It’s not your fault.”

I grasped them gratefully. “I know.” But that was all I could say. Death loomed over my mind like a shadow — dark, empty, icy cold. And now I had to go to my parents’ funeral.

After following an access road that led us to the front of the terminal building, we found the motorcycles where we had left them, leaning on their stands with the helmets still in place. Cars had parked in every lane, halting the flow of traffic. People milled around. Their conversations buzzed, wordless in my ears. A few uniformed men and women hurried from place to place, some barking into walkie-talkies, but Simon was nowhere in sight.

I slipped my helmet on, attached the bag to the red motorcycle, and dug out the keys. “Still got your keys?”

“Right here.” She displayed them in her hand.

“Then let’s go.”

She mounted the blue bike, her helmet already on and her dirty beige slacks and blue polo shirt rippling in the breeze.

I straddled the seat. “We’d better not travel together. Just stay close enough to keep me in sight.”

“Why?”

“Word’s going to get out that we survived. I said something about the engine to the gate clerk. If they think I had anything to do with the crash, they’ll be on the lookout for two teenagers traveling together.”

She nodded. “Got it.”

I dug into my pocket, pulled out a wad of dollar bills, and pushed them into her hand. “For tolls.”

With my grip tight on the handlebars, I started the motorcycle and weaved through the lanes of parked vehicles. When I approached the front, I reached a row of airport security cars. Apparently they had intentionally blocked the access road to halt the flow of traffic.

As I passed one of the cars, its siren squawked. When Kelly scooted by, the officer lowered his window and shouted over the motorcycles’ rumble. “Stop! Pull over to the sidewalk!”

Kelly gave the engine a shot of gas and raced away. I roared after her, keeping watch in my rearview mirror. The police car’s blue lights flashed to life, and its siren howled as the officer gave chase.

When I caught up with Kelly, she shouted. “Ever done any dirt biking?”

“Yeah. Why?”

“Get ready.”

When we came upon a merge lane where cars entered our road from an upcoming overpass, she slowed, spun a one-eighty, and headed into the entry curve in the wrong direction.

I swung around and tore after her. As cars blared their horns and darted out of the way, I checked my mirror and caught a glimpse of the patrol car skidding to a halt back on the main road.

Once we reached the left side of the four-lane highway, Kelly crossed the two oncoming lanes, hugged a guard rail that lined the median on the right, and rumbled across the overpass, still going in the wrong direction. Again, I followed. I dodged a car, a minibus, and a pickup truck before reaching the median and taking off after her.

She angled her bike through a narrow gap in the rail and kept going, this time in the same direction as the cars already speeding along. Keeping close behind, I looked back. No one followed.

After cruising far enough to get out of sight of the officer, Kelly pulled into a restaurant lot and parked behind the building. She cut her engine and leaned her head on the handlebars.

I hit the brakes hard and skidded to her side. “You okay?” I asked as I shut down my bike.

She lifted her head. “Just tired. You?”

“Same.” I looked around the vacant lot. The restaurant was either closed or out of business.

A wailing police car screamed past, then another. I peeked around the corner. A third cruiser came by at a slower speed. An officer looked our way, scanning the front parking lot.

I pulled back. “We’d better cut through some side streets and get out of here.”

I wheeled my motorcycle around and headed away from the main road. We pushed our bikes up a gravel embankment and over a set of railroad tracks. Once across, we ran down the other side and onto a residential street.

Now hidden from the highway by the railroad berm, I turned toward the airport. “If we head that way, we’ll eventually get to Interstate eighty-eight. Since we were last seen heading north, they’ll focus their search on that side of town.”

She started her engine. “I’m right behind you.”

“Remember. Not too close.”

After meandering through the neighborhood, I came upon a ramp to the main highway and headed west, careful to stay just under the speed limit. In my rearview mirror, Kelly merged into the right lane and fell behind a little farther every few seconds.

As I zipped along, I kept an eye on her as she followed from about a half-mile back. Letting out a sigh, I shook my head. She was an unbelievable combination of female charm, sharp wits, and ice-water coolness. Most girls would’ve scrunched into a fetal curl and cried like a baby, but even locked inside a doomed jet already falling from the sky, she never lost her head. She even sang Amazing Grace. What an incredible girl!

Yet, ghosts haunted her, phantoms from the past. They haunted me as well. Although I had no right to act as her judge, doubts about her past plagued me. If I were ever to want a relationship with her, could I exorcise the phantoms?

I shook my head hard. Why was I ruminating about this? I had just witnessed extreme carnage, a disaster that killed hundreds and devastated the lives of many more. And here I was dwelling on issues that were trivial by comparison. I had to get back on track, refocus on finishing this crazy journey. I had to stop Mictar and rescue the Earth Blue versions of my parents.

Now that my brain had fought off the distractions, I gave myself a nod of approval, though I knew I was lying to myself. Even in the aftermath of disaster, I couldn’t shake the notion that Kelly was knocking on the door of my heart. Before much longer I would have to decide whether or not to let her in.