It was the rockiest landing Meredith had ever experienced, and based on the smell in the cabin that mingled with the acrid smoke, she wasn’t the only passenger who got sick.
Sirens. More clamoring. Meredith and Justine both used their bodies to shield little West from the passengers that jostled and tripped and fell into their row as everyone clambered to the emergency exits.
Passengers shouting. Rescue teams racing toward the injured. Meredith had to help a paramedic pry Justine’s arms from around her son so they could both get carried off the plane.
Meredith didn’t struggle when a woman grabbed her forearm. Her legs could scarcely support her weight, and she had to lean on her rescuer to the exit slide.
Her fall was broken by two men who easily hefted her onto a stretcher. She tried to tell them she didn’t need it, but as soon as her lungs took in their first real breath of fresh air, she was attacked by a coughing fit that left her unable to speak.
Someone threw an oxygen mask over her face, and she had the strange sensation that she was racing through space. The air was cold. Cold and crisp and miraculously, gloriously clean.
“You’re safe now,” a man told her. “You’re going to be all right.”