Total pages in book: 194
Estimated words: 187754 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 939(@200wpm)___ 751(@250wpm)___ 626(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 187754 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 939(@200wpm)___ 751(@250wpm)___ 626(@300wpm)
Someone starts praying.
I hear the captain speaking over the intercom. He sounds calm, but he’s no Sully. I’m not convinced.
Why does it feel more like we’re crashing rather than landing?
I look out the window, but I can’t see anything except that damn white. And I can’t hear the engines anymore.
The earsplitting scraping sound returns, followed by a boom and then an unbearable rush of cold air. I don’t need to look behind me to know that the tail is gone.
The praying guard starts chanting louder, and I’m tempted to join him. But for what? My life? My salvation? Right now, they seem to be one and the same, so I start praying for an open field.
God isn’t that kind.
When I turn my head toward the window for relief from the wind, the white finally fades just enough for my heart to sink when I see where we are.
It’s not an open field or anything close to resembling a landing strip.
It’s a massive snow-covered peak, and we’re heading straight for it.
AURELIA
I wake up in a tree.
My ears are ringing, and it feels like I’m still falling. I don’t even remember leaving the plane. The last thing I remember was hearing that god-awful tearing sound once more as the plane coasted over the frost-tipped forest and then feeling suction, cold, wind, and then…nothing. When the ringing finally fades, I swear I can hear the echoes of our bloodcurdling screams.
But no, that can’t be right.
I’m alone.
It’s the first thing I notice when I open my eyes—not the tree, snow, or debris forty feet below me. I only see the isolation.
My lap belt keeps me from moving more than my dangling arms and legs, and I claw at it in a blind panic.
“Help! Somebody help me!”
My bare fingers are frozen stiff, so I have trouble releasing the latch, which is a good thing because my vision doubles after my fourth attempt. There’s blood rushing to my head from being upside down. Fear that I may pass out again terrifies me more than being stuck in a tree, but less than falling out of it.
The seat belt is the only thing keeping me from falling to my death or at least breaking a few bones. From what I can tell, I survived the crash mostly unscathed, and I’d like to keep it that way.
But I can’t stay in the tree.
As strong and sturdy as it looks, the tree sways from the force of the storm still raging around me.
My seat is wedged in the V between two thick branches, and I spot something brown lodged in the snow-packed ground below me. I think my eyes are playing tricks on me, but why would I hallucinate seeing a couch?
I can’t explain why seeing that damn couch excites me. Maybe because I know if it could survive—if I could—then so could others.
I look around, but I don’t see anyone else.
“Hello? Hello, is anyone there? Help me. Help me, please.” My breathing quickens, and my heart races when no one answers. I feel the scream bubbling in my throat until it spills free. “Help! Heeeeeeelp!”
I scream and scream and scream until my lungs and throat burn, and I can’t anymore. My vision doubles again, and I know I can’t stay like this.
I turn my head as much as I can, searching for more wreckage. Most of my vision has cleared, so I’m able to take in more detail, and I see it’s not just me stuck in the tree. There’s more debris, but not much.
I still can’t see where the rest of the plane ended up.
I can barely see more than three feet in front of me because the snow and hail won’t let up.
It’s so cold.
I’m so cold.
I could stay here and wait for help to come, or I could find shelter and see if anyone else survived. I’m a little appalled when I waver on which course to take.
Get out of the goddamn tree, Aurelia.
Reaching for my seat belt again, I inhale quick, shallow breaths, trying to build the courage. I can aim for one of the branches, but if I miss…
The snow could cushion my fall…
Or it could break my bones.
I guess we’ll see.
Closing my eyes, I take one last breath and pull on the latch. I hear the click, and I feel myself fall. My stomach smarts and the breath whooshes out of me when I collide with the thick branch a few feet below me. The bark scrapes against my bare arms when I start to slip. A few of my nails break when I dig in, grappling desperately to hang on.
“Fuck!” I hear myself scream.
And then I’m falling again.
I hit another branch on my way down, but my shoulder takes the brunt of it this time as I continue to fall. When I finally hit the ground, I immediately sink into the freshly fallen snow. More flakes and some hail pelt me from the sky I can’t see above. The blizzard threatens to bury me in a heartbeat if I don’t move.