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The only thing Kennedy could think about was getting back to her seat. Get to Willow no matter what was about to happen to them. Grab her phone and find a way to call her parents. Was it day or night now in Yanji? Adjusting from one time zone to another had become second-nature to her, but now she couldn’t focus on anything.
Did her parents already know what was happening? Had the whole country watched General’s tirade? What if none of the cell phones could stream from this altitude? What if he’d given the superintendent an ultimatum that nobody heard? What if this Weston guy never responded? Would General just keep shooting people until he ran out of ammunition?
“How many bullets do you think he has?” she asked Ray.
“Not enough for all of us.” His answer was hardly comforting.
She glanced back and tried to spot Willow. General was pacing the aisle and seemed distracted, but his Hawaiian-shirted lieutenant who stood vigil over the dead body kept his eyes fixed on the passengers, scowling at each individual in turn.
It wasn’t right. She should be with her roommate. With her backpack and her phone. Several of the other passengers were whispering into their cells, probably calling loved ones on the ground.
Kennedy looked at Ray. “At least everyone must know what’s happening by now, right?”
Ray frowned. “That’s just what he wants.”
She didn’t know what to say. She didn’t know a thing about politics, about hostage negotiations. In her mind, it made sense that the more people who knew about the situation the better. It meant that many more people were working together to find a way to protect everybody on board.
She thought about the family that had gotten off the plane, and she was thankful those children didn’t have to experience this kind of terror.
“So you don’t think anybody’s going to call?” Kennedy asked.
Ray sighed. “All I know is if everyone on this plane refused to play into his little act, he’d have no leverage. That’s all these terrorists want. Sensationalism. His only goal’s to drive media attention to this school issue, and he’ll try anything to do it.”
Kennedy didn’t answer. She was thinking about Grandma Lucy’s grandson and how his story had been replaced with something more noteworthy. Ray was probably right.
“Get a plane full of civilians,” he went on, “and you’re guaranteed media updates every minute. Everyone’s talking about the passengers, the skyjacker, the issues involved, and bam. The story’s viral.”
He tapped onto his phone’s newsfeed and showed her the screen. “See?” He read the headline out loud. “Home-Grown Terrorism: Flight 219.” He scrolled a little farther down. “Or here. Detroit School District’s Dirty Soil Secret. All he had to do was take over one plane, and Brown Elementary School’s a household name. If he hadn’t already shot a man, half of these news outlets would be hailing him a hero right now.”
Kennedy didn’t care about the hijacker’s cause. Calloused as it sounded, she didn’t even care about the school kids in Detroit as much as she cared about getting off this plane. Why hadn’t the captain said anything in so long? Was he even with them anymore, or had the plane switched to autopilot? Had something horrible happened to him in the cockpit?
“I want to go back to my seat,” she said. “I really should stay with Willow.”
“I wouldn’t do that if I were you.” Ray shook his head. “You don’t want to draw attention to yourself ...”
“But Willow ...”
“... would rather have a living friend than a dead one,” he finished for her.
Kennedy bit her lip. Maybe he was right. What would happen if General didn’t get his call by the time his five minutes ran out? He’d already proven how easily he could kill. There was absolutely nothing to stop him from doing it again.
A hundred and sixteen passengers. It wasn’t terrible odds. Earlier on the flight, she’d been feeling sorry for herself that she wasn’t the kind of girl to stand out in a crowd. Maybe that would work out in her favor. What threat did a nineteen-year-old college sophomore pose? As long as she crouched low in her seat, didn’t try anything stupid, General would never notice her.
For a fleeting moment, she pictured herself standing up in the cabin, telling all the passengers, including General and Lieutenant, about Jesus. It was crazy. Maybe she was having dark thoughts, but she wasn’t suicidal. No, she just had to get through these next couple of hours alive. That’s all it would be. A couple hours max. They were already close to Detroit. The plane couldn’t stay in the air indefinitely. It would have to come down one way or another. This too shall pass ...
And then she’d tell Willow about the Lord. That was the bargain she’d make with God. If he got both of them out of this alive, she’d spend the next year if necessary preaching the gospel to Willow every hour of the day.
If they survived.
General was walking up the aisle next to Kennedy when his timer beeped in his pocket. He raised his eyebrows and stared at his phone.
“That’s five minutes,” he declared. “Time’s up.”