Flight 219
“Get out your phones,” the gunman ordered. “I’ve got a message for the good folks down in Detroit.”
Meredith wasn’t supposed to be here. This wasn’t her flight. If she hadn’t been so eager to get herself out of Boston, she could have waited an extra day and flown straight to Grand Rapids in the morning. Was this God’s way of punishing her for her impatience? A little overdramatic maybe.
“The people of Detroit have failed our kids.” The hijacker wasn’t saying anything new. Meredith and all the other passengers on Flight 219 had been listening to his tirade now for the past half hour. Of course parents wanted their children to have access to safe and quality educations, but who would go so far as to threaten innocent passengers on an airplane to make their point?
If Meredith hadn’t just lost her job, she might have offered to pay the gunman off himself. “You want better schools? Great. So does everyone else. How many improvements would a twenty-thousand dollar check buy your kids?”
This was madness. Sheer madness. If God wanted Meredith to stop focusing on her own worries, he’d certainly made his point.
Okay, God, she wanted to say. I’ve learned my lesson. You can land this plane now.
The young mother in the seat beside her was clutching her son and crying. The little boy looked stunned. Meredith wished she knew something she could say or do to offer either of them the smallest ounce of comfort. She hesitated for a moment, then reached out and took the young woman’s hand. The mother squeezed back so hard Meredith winced.
“It’s going to be all right,” she whispered.
“He’s only four,” the mother sobbed. “My sweet, precious baby is only four.” She clutched him closer against her chest.
“It’s going to be all right,” Meredith repeated, but then the gunman’s cellphone beeped. He gave the passengers a sneer and announced, “Okay then. Time for someone else to die.”