The runway is huge now. I can see the white markings. I can see the edge lights. I can see, at the far end, flashing emergency lights.
My chest aches with the desperate need to live.
“Okay,” Silas says, quieter now. “You’re doing great. Keep it lined up.”
The plane descends. The ground rises. My heart pounds so hard I can feel it in my fingertips.
“I’m scared,” I whisper.
His voice softens, just a fraction. “I know.”
A beat.
Then, he says, “I’ve got you, baby. Just keep breathing.”
Warmth shoots through me like a flare. Not romantic—maybe. I don’t know. But something primal and comforting. Like someone just wrapped a blanket around my shaking shoulders.
My eyes sting harder. “Okay,” I whisper. “Okay. I’m breathing.”
“You’re about to flare,” he says. “Ease back. Gentle.”
I pull back slightly. The nose lifts. The plane slows. The runway rushes beneath me. A sound—wheels. A hard bump. The plane bounces and I yelp, panic surging.
“Don’t fight it,” Silas says, calm as ever. “Hold it steady. Let it settle.”
I hold. My hands shake. My whole body shakes. Then the wheels touch again—this time smoother.
We’re on the runway. We’re rolling. We’re alive.
“Oh my God,” I sob, the sound breaking out of me like a dam. “Oh my God.”
“Good,” Silas says. “Now keep it straight. Use your rudder. Don’t slam the brakes.”
I nod frantically even though he can’t see me. “Okay. Okay.”
The plane slows. The emergency lights grow closer. I see figures running. Medics. Fire crew. Someone waving.
“Throttle all the way back,” Silas instructs. “And when you’re slow enough, pull off to the side. Follow the signals.”
I do it. Somehow, I do it.
The plane rolls to a stop on the grass shoulder near the runway. Silence crashes into the cabin so loud it feels unreal. For a second, I just sit there, hands still on the yoke, frozen.
Then I look at Rick. He’s still out. My vision blurs.
“Help is coming,” Silas says. “Stay where you are. Don’t move.”
My voice is a whisper. “Thank you.”
A pause. Then, “I’m coming for you.”
The words send a fresh jolt through my chest.
The door is yanked open from outside and cold air floods in. Medics swarm, voices urgent. Hands reach past me toward Rick.
“Hannah?” someone asks. “Are you hurt?”
I shake my head, unable to speak. They lift Rick carefully out of his seat. He groans. Someone says “pulse is weak” and “get him on oxygen.”