“For the last time, Mor, the plane isn’t going to crash,” Ammon Schmidt said to his mother, Mable, as he paced in the San Antonio airport. Despite the fact that he was speaking English, he had the odd habit of calling her Mom in Danish. Maybe it was because he’d referred to her that way for so many years.
Normally, he tried to be patient with his worrywart mom, but this was the fifth time that she’d called to check up on him. Still, he knew that he should be grateful that she cared enough about him to make sure that he was okay, even though he was thirty-four years old and had been living on his own in America for the past ten years.
“I know, yndling,” his mom said. She’d always called him yndling, which was the Danish word for darling. “But anything could happen. Just last week I saw on the news that a plane went down right outside the San Francisco airport. I immediately thought of you.”
“I know you’re worried,” he said, trying to sound soothing. “But I promise you that nothing is going to happen to me. Just focus on the wedding details, okay? You’re under enough pressure already.”
His mom was getting married to a man named Jarl Lund. Since Ammon lived in America while his mom and Jarl lived in Denmark, he’d never met the man, but he was happy that his parent had found somebody after his father abandoned her many years ago.
“I’m sixty-three years old,” his mom said. “I’m not some spring chicken who wants the perfect wedding with a big white dress and an extravagant banquet hall. Jarl and I are just having a small, intimate get-together with some friends. The entire wedding is already planned out. What’s there to prepare for?”
“Ah, Mor, you may be sixty-three, but you look like you’re twenty-two,” he said. “And besides, you deserve a nice, extravagant wedding.”
Especially since this was her first marriage. His British dad was flighty and hadn’t wanted to get married, even after Mable had given birth to his son.
“You’re such a flatterer,” his mom said.
“I speak only truth.”
His mom let out the big belly laugh that she was famous for. “I can’t wait to see you in person. How long has it been since I last saw you? It feels like it’s been forever.”
“You flew out to see me three months ago.” She’d spent Christmas with him in San Antonio.
“To a mother, three months without seeing her son is like a lifetime.” His mom sniffed. “I’m just glad you’re making time to come to my wedding.”
He swayed guiltily. The truth was, he should have flown to Denmark more often to visit his mom, but airline tickets were so expensive that this was the first time he’d managed to get enough money together to make the trip. “I always have time for you. It’s money that’s the problem.”
“Well, you’re coming now. That’s all that matters.”
On the intercom, Ammon heard a woman announce, “Flight 1727 to Billund, Denmark will now begin boarding first-class passengers.”
He checked his watch. “Mor, my plane is beginning to board.”
“Okay.” His mom let out a shaky breath. “I just hope everything will be all right. I have this awful feeling that something is going to go wrong. Call it a mother’s intuition.”
Ammon headed over to the herd of passengers standing to one side. “There’s only a .0001 percent chance that my plane will crash. I’d be more likely to fall down a flight of stairs or choke to death on a chicken bone.”
His mom groaned. “They aren’t serving chicken on the flight, are they?”
Ammon rolled his eyes. “Mor...”
Though he loved his mom to death, she drove him crazy. After all, she was so overprotective that he was surprised he hadn’t spent his childhood covered in bubble wrap. It was the main reason why he’d chosen to go to America after he’d graduated from university. Of course, he’d never told his mom that.
“Flight 1727 to Billund, Denmark will now begin boarding business-class passengers,” the woman announced over the intercom.
“I should go.” Ammon took a step toward the line. “They’ll be boarding economy class soon.”
“Okay,” she said. “And I’ll be there to pick you up in Billund.”
“Good. And Mor?”
“Uh-huh?”
“Don’t worry so much.” He couldn’t help but grin. “Nothing is going to happen to me.”
“I hope so, yndling. I really do.”
“I love you. See you soon.”
“I love you too.”
“Flight 1727 to Billund, Denmark will now begin boarding economy-class passengers,” the woman on the intercom said.
Ammon was pushed forward by overeager travelers. “Bye, Mor. We’re boarding.”
“Be safe,” she said.
After giving a grunt of agreement, Ammon hung up the phone.
* * * *
Ammon’s ass was so numb he felt as though it was about ready to fall off. With a groan, he tried to stretch out, but he had no leg room. One thing was for sure. He was going to be grateful to get off this plane. As a construction worker, he was used to doing physical labor all day, and he loathed sitting for long periods of time.
Trying to distract himself from his discomfort, Ammon peered over the shoulder of the blonde woman in the window seat and gazed out the small window. Today the sky was cloudless, and he was able to see the dark blue ocean that stretched out for miles. In the distance, he could make out a bright green island in the midst of all the blue. I wonder where we are, he thought, inspecting the island.
At that moment, he heard a strange whirling sound as the plane dropped a foot. The blonde woman at his side grabbed his arm and squealed, shocking him.
She released him at once and gave an embarrassed smile. “Sorry about that,” she said. “Plane rides terrify me.”
“It was just a little turbulence.” Though why they were experiencing turbulence when there were no clouds was beyond him. “You don’t need to worry about a few bounces.”
“I know.” The blonde fanned her face as if she was hot. “It’s all in my head. My husband usually travels with me, and he laughs when I act like this.”
“Just try to focus on something other than the plane.”
“I was listening to some calming music until my iPod ran out of juice.”
“Damn. Isn’t that the worst?”
“It is.” She grinned. “Now I just—”
A loud metallic screech cut off the woman mid-sentence. The plane dropped another foot.
Ammon’s stomach flopped, and he sniffed. He could swear that he smelled fire.
Oh God. Was there something wrong with the plane?
He laughed at his own stupidity. No, it was nothing. Nothing at all. He was sitting next to a woman who was paranoid, and her anxiety was rubbing off on him. And as for the smell, maybe the stewardess had burned their dinner.
“It’s okay.” Ammon forced a smile on his face as the pale blonde stared out the window. “I’m sure this is nothing.”
The plane dropped again. The stewardess, who’d been standing behind him, let out a scream and fell to the floor. Soon all the passengers were screaming too.
His stomach did a somersault, a backflip, and twenty cartwheels. He tried to suck in air, but it was hard to breathe. The popping noises became louder, and in front of him, a strange fiery cloud formed.
Oh shit. That was no burned dinner. The plane was on fire.
“Oh my God.” The blonde had tears streaming down her face.
The intercom dinged. He heard the garbled voice of the captain speaking, but the passengers’ cries were too loud for him to make out what was being said. At the same time, he didn’t think any words needed to be spoken at this moment besides, “Oh, fuck.” After all, the plane was going down. His mom had been right. There had been only .0001 chance that he’d end up in a plane crash, and he’d managed to get lucky.
The sound of screeching pierced his ears again, and he looked out the window just as the ocean loomed closer. The water might as well have been cement, and the force of hitting it peeled away the outside of the plane as if it was nothing more than paper. The impact lifted his seat from the floor. He was hurled forward, straight toward the cloud of flames. He put his hands in front of his face for protection, but when his body passed through the cloud, his skin melted like butter. A moment later he heard a splash, and he was submerged in cool water.
Darkness cloaked Ammon’s eyes as water swirled all around him. The water filled his eyes, nose, and mouth. Salt attacked his wounds like an angry army, causing him to gasp in surprise. Unfortunately, he received a mouthful of water instead of air. He realized that he was being pulled underwater by the heavy seat. Even in his panic, he thought of only one thing—survival. He tried to unfasten his seatbelt, but his burned fingers throbbed so much that they made the simple task almost impossible. In panic, Ammon sucked in more water, and he became dizzy from the prolonged lack of oxygen.
Must...
Break...
Free...
Ammon gritted his teeth and finally managed to free himself from the seatbelt that had become more foe than friend. Now that the chair was no longer holding him down, he swam to the surface and sucked in his first breath of cool air. He blinked the salt water from his eyes and looked around. Was there a life raft? His body was weak, and he knew that any minute he could pass out and die. He looked for the plane, praying that there would be someone to help him.
All he saw was destruction.
Broken parts rose to the surface of the water, and gas and oil caused a dark puddle around him. The body of the plane seemed to have already sunk below, taking the other passengers with it. But maybe somebody else had survived. After all, he couldn’t have been the only one flung out of the plane.
“Help!” Ammon screamed.
The only answer was silence.
So Ammon was all alone. In the ocean. About to pass out.
Just when he was certain he was going to die, he laid eyes on the island he’d seen moments earlier. It wasn’t far. If he could get there, then at least he wouldn’t drown or be devoured by sharks. Despite his terror and the fact that every inch of his body screamed with agony, he swam toward the island. Every stroke was painful, and the air was like acid to his lungs. But he was desperate. He had to get to that island, had to survive, no matter what.
Eight more strokes, then seven, six, five, four, three, two, one...
At long last, Ammon’s palms made contact with smooth golden sands. As his teeth chattered from shock, he scrambled onto the beach, leaving a trail of blood behind him from the backs of his burned hands. Once he was far enough from the ocean, he collapsed in a heap on the sand.
“Somebody help,” Ammon said, his voice hoarse. He wasn’t sure who he was hoping would help him, but he had to cry out anyway. “Please. Somebody. Anybody.”
The bushes rustled in front of him, and a naked man with golden skin stepped out from between two trees. A single braid of ebony hair hung down to his lean hips. Golden eyes peered out from beneath a dark brow. The man’s body was long and hard, and every inch of him was coated with muscle. The man looked wild and primitive, so different from anybody Ammon had ever met back in San Antonio or in Silkborg. He was certain that he’d imagined the person out of sheer panic.
He reached out to the strange, beastly man. “Help...Please...”
At that moment, everything went black.