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Back The Desert of Glass Save as PDF
Chapters (84)
  1. BY MICHAEL C. GRUMLEY
  2. Prologue
  3. 1
  4. 2
  5. 3
  6. 4
  7. 5
  8. 6
  9. 7
  10. 8
  11. 9
  12. 10
  13. 11
  14. 12
  15. 13
  16. 14
  17. 15
  18. 16
  19. 17
  20. 18
  21. 19
  22. 20
  23. 21
  24. 22
  25. 23
  26. 24
  27. 25
  28. 26
  29. 27
  30. 28
  31. 29
  32. 30
  33. 31
  34. 32
  35. 33
  36. 34
  37. 35
  38. 36
  39. 37
  40. 38
  41. 39
  42. 40
  43. 41
  44. 42
  45. 43
  46. 44
  47. 45
  48. 46
  49. 47
  50. 48
  51. 49
  52. 50
  53. 51
  54. 52
  55. 53
  56. 54
  57. 55
  58. 56
  59. 57
  60. 58
  61. 59
  62. 60
  63. 61
  64. 62
  65. 63
  66. 64
  67. 65
  68. 66
  69. 67
  70. 68
  71. 69
  72. 70
  73. 71
  74. 72
  75. 73
  76. 74
  77. 75
  78. 76
  79. 77
  80. 78
  81. EPILOGUE
  82. II
  83. III
  84. IV

Double-checking the small restroom for anything he’d missed, he slid the bulky firearm under his shirt and unlatched the lavatory door with his opposite hand.

Outside, a female passenger stood, clearly irritated over the long wait.  She stepped to the side and immediately pushed in through the narrow opening when he was out of the way.

But the man in his early forties barely noticed.  His heartbeat was rapidly increasing, and his vision beginning to tunnel as he wrapped around the thin wall and crossed through the rear section of the plane, stopping at the corner and gazing up the long starboard aisle, looking for the heads of his compatriots, all of whom were patient and still.  Waiting for his signal.

With a deep breath, the man smiled and leaned forward, pulling the makeshift gun from his shirt and lowering it to his side–when he suddenly felt something press into the base of his skull.

He froze without a word before slowly beginning to turn.

“No,” the voice stopped him with a whisper.  “You turn, and you die.”

It took only a moment of contemplation.  Mission failure was a contingency for which they had planned, but not like this, leaving the man momentarily stunned until he regained his composure.

There was no going back.  It was now or never.  Even if he died, he might still get the makeshift gun to one of the others.

In one sudden movement, he would throw his weapon forward and whirl around with the hope of knocking the gun away from his own head.  If he saw anything at all, he would know he was still alive.

Instinctively he inhaled, readying himself.

In that instant, there was a loud thunk, and his entire body slumped, immediately limp. He was quickly grabbed under each armpit and hauled back around the corner.

It took only three seconds before someone screamed.  A woman waiting for one of the lavatories, and she was seized and almost instantaneously muffled by a male flight attendant behind her.

But what she did get out, the four men heard.  And in a flash, they were out of their seats, running for the rear of the cabin, knocking passengers to the side as they charged through, reaching the back area of the plane, which appeared oddly quiet.

The first of the four rounded the corner and was immediately clubbed by Rickards, with the air marshal standing behind at a safe distance, his gun raised.

As soon as the first fell, another rounded the corner from the second aisle in perfect timing to receive Joe’s second swing, collapsing like a rag doll at their feet.  Together, the last two appeared behind him from the same direction, freezing when they came face-to-face with the black barrel of the marshal’s gun.  Behind him, Joe Rickards scrambled to his feet and aimed their self-made plastic gun directly at them.

37

37

It should not have gone that smoothly.