Crash Position

EIGHTEEN

  I stood by the door, smiling, my cheeks feeling heavy as I strained to give the expected expression. I even made the effort to squint when I smiled, creasing around the eyes to fool the victims completely. Nobody would suspect anything untoward from our submissive, subservient, photogenic crew. It was all men that day in the business class cabin. The way they all looked me and Ella up and down as we moved about the cabin, hanging coats and serving pre-departure drinks gave an air of sleaziness. Like a strip club, they leered at us like salivating dogs. The stare was familiar. They fantasized about what was under that tight dress, and how we would be in bed. We laughed at their pathetic jokes, like we were being seduced, like we would let them ravage us if they wished it. We made their imaginations go wild. We wanted it that way.

  Nobody wanted it more than Tanya, she had the most to gain from this. She made herself scarce for the first hour, as if conceding that she was not the prettiest face on board, and leaving the seduction to two younger women, with softer, prettier faces, more like silk and less like stone. With a blonde and brunette, we covered hopefully all bases. I made sure to brush up against them as I stowed their lose items. We had their trust and their wildest dreams.

  I was taking a short break in the rear galley when the familiar three call bells rung through the air.

  Something’s gone wrong.

  “You stay here,” I said to Nicki, suddenly recognising my rude tone. “I’m sorry, I mean I’ll check this out.” She smiled forgivingly. The door-side info panel indicated that the call was coming from the business class section. As I started the hike up to the front cabin, my mind’s eye pictured a businessman struggling to fight off stomach pains. Whatever it was I knew it was our fault.

  I drew back the curtain to find Ella, Simon, and Tanya heaving bodies from their seats on to the floor. Out of the twelve men in business class, five were laying on the floor. One was crawling towards the lavatory, a trail of what I assumed was vomit following behind.

  “You did this, I know it.” Said the crawling man.

  The aircraft shuddered and shook as our descent was expedited. Instead of the usual slow, smooth leisurely slide into the island of Bali, we dove straight at it. The use of full spoilers on the wings to create the extra drag needed to slow down and descend quickly caused the cabin to shake and vibrate violently. The cabin was a mess. In economy the other crew scrambled to pack away carts and get passengers seated as we passed through a layer of white fluffy cumulous, the type of cloud that looks so pleasant but ironically causes violent jolts and shaking. The crew not performing CPR sat in their jump-seats, manning their doors as the bump and grinding sound of the landing gear deploying signalled we were only minutes from the runway.

  I looked at Tanya and felt the satisfaction that disaster had struck. Even if it meant my own destruction, I was glad Tanya would go down with me. While Simon nearly hyperventilated and Ella cried, I felt a wrathful joy envelope me.

  The aircraft stopped, and we swayed with the deceleration. The end would soon be near.

  Where are the stairs? Where are the paramedics? They should be here by now.

  I inhaled the smell of corpse in the first stage of decomposition. I ate it down with relish.

  It had been at least two minutes when the doors simultaneously opened, and the flash of blinding light forced my hands to my face. The sensation of footsteps pounding the floor said that someone on a mission had come aboard. The special operations police force moved so quickly that by the time our eyes had readjusted to the light and we had regained our bearings, they had assessed the aircraft as safe. The men moved quickly about, as familiar with the layout of the cabin and its many compartments and hiding places as any veteran crew. Their guns looked heavy.

  They think we are terrorists.

  The paramedics moved into the front cabin from the left hand door. Moving immediately to the most gravely ill passengers.

  Most of them were dead. We had long given up the CPR. Ella had worked the longest. I was the first to give up.

  I hope Nicki will forgive us. The poor thing had no part of this.

  The few that could be helped were taken off. The dead stayed a little longer.

  It was soon obvious the aircraft was a crime scene. Photographers snapped every corner of the aircraft. The Indonesian police made everyone stay seated. The crew were to be separated. “No talking. No talking” They demanded.

  The first word from the flight deck came over the address system. I had almost forgotten they were there. Out of sight out of mind. The voice of God spoke.

  “ladies and gentlemen. Remain seated and allow the Indonesian authorities to conduct their duties.” The voice was youthful, suave, yet obviously nervous. The information was brief, and rather useless. It was a familiar voice.

  Who the hell are the flight crew?!

  I tried to remember who was flying. I realized I had not even seen them. Not on the ground, nor in the air. In breach of company policy I had not printed a crew list. I no longer cared whom I was flying with. I no longer cared about so many of the rules.

  Tanya had turned white, while Simon was growing the darkest shade of Arizona dessert I had seen yet. I hoped Nicki was okay in the back.

  The passengers were allowed to disembark. They had to leave all hand luggage on board. Like prisoners they were marched out and into the terminal.

  The arrests came next. One by one we were handcuffed. The cabin was now so hot that my uniform stuck to me. The adrenaline was wearing off and the pain in my wrists from the rib cracking CPR was back.

  One of the officers gestured to the flight deck door. An officer knocked firmly. A few seconds later, it opened.

  Daniel Barron appeared out of the narrow doorway. My mouth dropped. The familiar voice had a face. Perspiring and without his tie, he looked a mess. He was far from the dashing, controlled confident man that I had last seen. I looked at the epaulets on his shoulder. Four stripes: the captain. The pieces came together. Tanya Balfour and Daniel Barron, together grabbing their final haul before the big wedding. They deserved each other. Their match made sense. I was happy that was my lasting mental image of him. Taken away in handcuffs, disheveled, they were a pathetic version of Bonnie and Clyde. Only a month into his captaincy, it was a hell of a way to lose a promotion.

  The first officer and the other crew, looking rather unglamorous were escorted to the airport police quarters. Nicki, completely unaware that it was our fault she was being dragged off like a common criminal. She was the type I admired: genuine, kind and dignified, and we had probably scarred her psyche for life.

  I’m so sorry Nicki. I hope this doesn’t mess you up.