Flight 219
“I just want to go home.” The little boy sitting beside Meredith started to cry. “I want to go home.”
His mother rubbed his back and tried to shush him. Meredith understood her reaction. All the passengers were doing everything in their power to avoid catching the gunman’s attention. Keep themselves as inconspicuous as possible.
“We can’t go home yet,” the boy’s mom was whispering.
Meredith leaned over to him. “Hey, buddy, what’s your name?”
“West.” His voice was a tiny squeak.
“West?” She gave him a smile. “That’s a great name. Do you like animals?”
He nodded, his eyes wide.
“Do you have any pets back home?” Meredith asked.
He gave another slight nod, and Meredith smiled. “What do you have? A dog?”
“A guinea pig,” he answered.
“A guinea pig?” Meredith repeated, glancing behind her to see if the gunman was getting closer. “Does he like to cuddle?”
West nodded.
“What’s his name?”
West opened his mouth, but Meredith couldn’t hear his response.
Passengers screamed. West’s mother shrieked. Meredith’s body tensed, and her ears reverberated painfully with the sound of gunfire. The hijacker had just claimed his next victim.
“Five more minutes,” Bradley told the cameras pointed at him. “Five more minutes, and then another one dies.”