I pulled myself up on the seat in front of me, gripped it, unsure my legs would hold. My stomach hurt, into my spine. Maybe it was just the sitting, I told myself. Maybe I was just stiff, but it didn’t feel like that.

It felt like—

‘Cait.’ Lina nudged me again. I moved. I didn’t know how I moved. It was cold. It wasn’t supposed to be cold but it was so cold. ‘Bags.’

‘Oh,’ I managed. Choked. ‘Yeah.’

My arms went up. Back down. Up. Back down. Everything still worked but it hurt. I tried to take a breath but my throat was still blocked and my heart was pounding so hard.

I kept feeling that thud, wheels hitting the tarmac, the whole plane bouncing.

Death. It felt like death.

Maybe I’d be better once we were off the plane, I thought, dragging myself into the aisle, Lina following; maybe I’d be okay once we were outside. Maybe, but I felt it all around me, a horrible dread, a terrible fear. This had been a mistake; I was finally going to die and I was going to take Lina with me and that was the worst thing. I looked back at her—not ready, not thinking about it at all. She looked so far away. Impossibly far away.

‘Leen.’

‘Yeah?’ Not paying attention. Not ready.

‘Leen.’

I felt like I yelled it, but nobody stopped, nobody looked around. We all just kept moving forward, forward towards—

I heard a sob, from somewhere too close. A wail.

‘Hey.’ A hand on mine. Cold. I felt so cold. ‘Cait. Are you okay?’

I tried to answer. Couldn’t.

It was so cold. Like ice, like death. Charged with guilt and anger. Not now, I wanted to scream at myself. Not fucking now. What the fuck is wrong with you? You’re fucking everything up. Again. I took a breath and my head spun.

‘We’re here, Cait. We made it.’

‘No.’ I tried to walk faster but there were so many people in the aisle, barely moving. Inching forward.

Not yet.

‘No, we’re …’ Something was going to happen and I wasn’t going to be able to stop it and I was suddenly so sure and everything was getting dark around the edges and my chest hurt and my stomach hurt and there was a heat, a cold, rushing up my spine, around my neck, my face. Earthquake. Tsunami. Terrorist attack. Bus crash. Kidnapping. We moved forward, but too slowly. No time left, and I wasn’t ready.

‘Caitie …’ A hand on my wrist, pulling me out of the way.

Stumbling. Falling. Sinking. Back into those tiny seats.