“The people of Detroit have failed our kids.”
General’s loud voice carried throughout the entire cabin, over the hum of the engine, over the pounding of Justine’s pulse raging in her ears.
“They’ve sold our children’s souls to the devil, building their school on toxic land.”
That’s what this was about? The elementary school with lead in the soil? Justine remembered her husband mentioning the case, but surely it wasn’t something to murder over.
Was it?
“Five minutes,” General was saying. “The governor has five minutes to call me on my personal cell phone before I’m forced to do something desperate.” His gaze swept up and down the cabin. Justine’s stomach flopped like a fish out of water when his eyes locked onto hers. It only lasted for a fraction of a second, but it was long enough to freeze the blood in her veins. Her entire body went cold and numb.
“Five minutes,” General repeated. “Five minutes before a hostage dies.”
Justine held West close. Now instead of using her body as a shield so the shooter couldn’t see him, she covered West’s face with her hands so he wouldn’t try to turn and witness the violence erupting all around them.
Justine couldn’t believe it. Surely the God her husband spoke about so lovingly, so reverently wouldn’t allow something like this to happen. Not to her. Not to her little boy.
Justine’s heart pounded in her ears. For a minute, she was afraid she was going to be sick.
Seconds passed. The wait felt like an eternity. Was this the definition of purgatory?
The air felt thinner. Had the captain done something to the pressure system? Were they going to suffocate before General could kill them all off one by one?
General continued to pace the aisle until a single beep sounded from his phone.
“Time’s up.”
He walked up to a flight attendant. The woman was visibly shaking. Justine couldn’t pull her eyes away. She kept her son shielded as best as she could as General pointed his gun at the flight attendant’s head.
They were too far away for Justine to hear what he was saying. In her state of paralyzed shock, Justine convinced herself the entire scene was a giant bluff.
When the reverberating sound of gunfire deafened her ears, she realized how wrong she was.
The flight attendant dropped lifeless to the ground, her body heavy, the sound of its thud sickeningly solid. Final.
West dug his fingers into the flesh of Justine’s belly and started to cry. Justine pleaded with God to keep him safe. It didn’t matter what happened to her. It didn’t matter what happened to anyone else on this doomed flight. Just as long as God protected her son.
“She’s dead,” a woman screamed, her announcement to the cabin entirely unnecessary. There was no way anybody could have survived a shot to the head at such a close range.
“Five minutes,” General repeated. “Five minutes before another hostage dies.”