“We have to get out of here,” Tuck said. “There’s a fire somewhere. I smell the smoke. And I smell jet fuel too. There’s probably a leak.” Fire. Jet fuel. Leak. Danger. I felt numb and still shaky, and it took me several tries to reach down and remember how to unlatch a seat belt. My thoughts were disjointed, my body nonreactive. Suddenly, Tuck was standing in front of me, leaning in. I felt his warmth, and I smelled his sweat. It was familiar and somehow comforting, and I pulled in a gasping breath, not realizing I’d practically forgotten to breathe for a minute.

“Shit,” he swore, struggling with the belt across my lap. “It’s stuck. I’m going to have to pull hard. This might hurt.”

“I don’t care,” I said, suddenly desperate to be free. To get out of this death trap. He met my eyes, thinning his lips before he yanked the latch and pulled the strap away. I flinched, feeling a burning pain where the belt must have cut into my skin, but I stood shakily.

Next to me, Charlie was standing too, already having unbelted himself. He looked glassy-eyed and shocked. He lunged toward the door and pulled the lever, wrenching the door open and then practically hurling himself through the opening. A blast of cold air hit me, working to bring me from my semi-stupor.

“Go,” Tuck ordered. I did as he said, sitting on the edge of the opening and then jumping down. My legs buckled, and I landed on my knees, prickly grass biting into my skin. My breath came in white pants, and I reached down, taking fistfuls of grassy earth in my hands and gripping it, the cold dirt falling through my fingers. Sobs racked my body, and distantly, I heard the sounds of retching. Charlie.

When I finally raised my head and looked around, taking in several deep, cleansing breaths, I saw that we were in a massive field, nothing but trees and grass for as far as the eye could see.

“Help me out here!” Tuck said. I turned toward his voice and saw that he was standing in the plane’s doorway, holding the unconscious pilot under his armpits. The pilot. God, we’d left the pilot. Blood was dripping down the man’s face and there was a large gash on his forehead. I stood, trembling but swallowing my sobs. Charlie was still retching, so I took several steps back toward the door where Tuck turned the pilot’s body so that I could hold his legs while Tuck supported his upper half, sitting down and then sliding off the edge with him. The pilot’s head lolled, and I noticed the front of his shirt was soaked in blood too. Oh God. The cockpit had taken the brunt of the impact. It was a wonder Tuck had been able to get him out.