They were going down.
Captain Polly Inman would have preferred another answer, but one wasn’t forthcoming. Something had knocked out both of their engines, and though the backup had been spooling for five minutes, it wasn’t turning over, its combustion not quite taking hold. No, The Flying Alto was going down, and she was going down with it.
The rest of the crew had jumped just as she had told them to; they were good men and women, but hadn’t put their hearts and souls into making the enterprise a go. They deserved a chance at life, even if it wasn’t a particularly good one. Their position above the Atlantic Ocean was a rough estimate at best, thanks to a nav system that had gone haywire an hour ago and still couldn’t read anything worth a damn. For all she knew, her co-pilot and crew were going to parachute into the deep blue, with no rescue coming for days. For her, fate was more certain and more immediate; she was going to hit the island.
It had come up on the radar as she got closer to sea level, and now she could see dense brush and thick foliage below her as the Alto plummeted down. A quick scan of the place told her there was nowhere to set down, even if she could get the landing gear working. Polly could hear the grinding of the gears every time she flipped the switch, but couldn’t feel any change in the drag on the plane. The electronics worked, but the mechanics didn’t – no matter where she landed, it wouldn’t be smooth.
Crash was the more appropriate term, but she had trouble thinking it, let alone saying it out loud. She’d never crashed a plane in her career, and Dave had always said she was the best pilot he knew, himself included. A quick look at the picture of him and Buster, her chocolate lab, at the lake last summer was all she could spare before the ground came up to meet her. She knew it was her death, but looking away wasn’t something she could do.
Polly and the Alto would go down together.
***
Opening her eyes confirmed that she wasn’t exactly dead, but something wasn’t right. She was still in the Alto, or at least a version of it – the dials and switches looked cleaner than she’d ever seen them, and the leather on both pilot seats was soft and supple. Outside the plane was where things got really strange, and Polly took a few deep breaths before focusing her gaze on what was happening beyond the windows.
Denying it would be easy, but wouldn’t make what was happening any less creepy. Aside from a dark purple hue, the landscape outside was formless and void of anything resembling plants or scenery she was familiar with. Instead, she could see scenes from her life, snippets of what had happened to her over the last thirty-five years. Dave was there, as was Buster as a puppy, and just out the left window was a whole section seemingly dedicated to her parents. Their looks of disapproval were clear, even from behind the Alto’s glass.
It took her a moment to realize that many of the memories in front of her were not actually real. Most were what she had believed happened, what she had been scared was the truth behind the words. It was Dave walking away from her at their favorite restaurant that tipped her off – that had been the night he proposed, but she had been scared he would just up and leave her, since that had also been the night she told him she was starting the company, with or without his help.
Could this be death?
If so, this brand of hell or limbo seemed easy enough to live with, albeit unhappy. She still had her own memories intact, though she’d prefer if they were the ones on display outside.
A noise from the cabin caught her attention, and she spun quickly, reaching for the pistol she kept under her chair. Dave had been unhappy with her choice to carry a firearm on board, and he raised a few good points against it – most notably that it could blow out a window or rip through the hull, compromising the integrity of the Alto and sending them to the ground. Wouldn’t he love to know it was something completely alien that had brought them down, and not her own stupidity.
The noise came again, and she set her grip on the pistol, laying her trigger finger along the outside edge of the barrel. A random shot was a wasted at best, and could kill someone innocent at worst, though she doubted she had to worry about that here.
Moving slowly, she stood and then pulled down on the cabin door handle. Wan light flickered out from the crack made as she pulled the door open, light that had no business on her plane.
Candlelight.
Beyond the door was a strange caricature, which appeared to be half her plane and half a fancy French restaurant. Two rows of passenger seats remained, but the last three were missing and had been replaced with a table set in silver and bronze. The chair closest to her was empty, but the one across from it was filled easily by the form of her husband, a wide smile on his face.
“Polly,” he said, standing, “I was wondering when you’d get here. Sit, please. I know you must have questions.”
She was moving before she realized it, but stopped halfway to the table. So much made no sense, but she supposed that could be because she was dead. She didn’t feel dead, though.
Polly put the gun to her head.
“Polly!” The Dave in front of her exclaimed sharply. “What are you doing?”
His concern raised a few of her own. If she was dead the gun didn’t matter, but something about this strange netherworld didn’t have the feel of death. Instead, it felt more like…rummaging. As if someone were in her head, poking around.
She moved to the nearest emergency exit, and the Dave-shape moved to stop her. Polly raised her gun, and the shape paused. A quick pull up on the handle and the creeping purpose outside began to seep in, and then the door was ripped from her grasp.
In seconds, she was gone.
Dave snarled, leaping after her. She couldn’t be allowed to escape.
- D
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