Factions by Ike Hamill

Author:Ike Hamill [Hamill, Ike]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2020-06-20T20:00:00+00:00

We land in a heap and then Curtis is shoving me down again. I realize that he’s just trying to push himself up. Dale is backing between an empty set of seats and she has both of her hands pressed against her own mouth. One has a dangling bandage, dripping with blood. The other holds the weapon that I made out of the broken plate. That’s also dripping with blood.

She stumbles back and disappears between seats.

I try to get up to find out who else is screaming. There’s a confusion of voices coming from the other side of the aisle—where the third flight attendant was sitting.

Curtis appears again, pulling himself around the corner. I have to curl up to avoid behind stepped on. He’s not coming for me though. Instead, he bangs into the rear of the cabin and reappears a fraction of a second later with another first aid kit in his hands. I’m crawling forward to see what’s causing the commotion around the corner, but when I see him, I freeze.

More pain and more suffering are visiting us.

Brakes fail.

Bridges collapse.

People hurt each other—especially on this flight.

I’m up to my knees when I feel the pain coming from my own backside. I reach around and my hand finds the sliced fabric first. When Dale pulled the weapon from my pocket, she cut my pants. From the pain, I know that she sliced me as well.

For a fraction of a second, I have the luxury of believing that the blood I saw on the weapon was my own. Then I recognize the owner of the frantic voice.

It’s Harrie. Every other time she spoke, she had such control and composure. People immediately did what she asked because it was so clear that she was a professional who was in charge. Now, every word is quavering and stammered.

“Right there. Pressure … right there. S-s-stop it, darling.”

I have a horrible guess as to what I’m going to see. I don’t want to look, but I can’t stop myself.

I push myself up to my feet and see the boy. He’s stretched across the seats. His head is in the lap of the unconscious flight attendant. His mother is straddling him and Curtis is kneeling next to the seats.

Across his nose and down his cheek, the red line is just a scratch. The deep cut starts at his chin and runs down his neck. Blood pulses from the wound every time Harrie lifts her hand to pack on more gauze.

“What do we do? What do we do?” Curtis whispers like a mantra.

A lurching figure is coming down the aisle. Propping himself up on the seat backs, Tony is closing the distance as fast as he can on one leg.

I stand up. I only have a second to decide what to do. All I can think is that I should retreat into one of the lavatories until I know if he’s coming for me or just coming to see what the commotion is about. There’s fire in his eyes.

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