Frazer Lee - Panic Button

The crash axe clattered to the floor.

Shock and adrenalin pumping through her system, Jo spider-legged backwards across the cabin floor until her back hit the dividing wall. She sat there, hand clamped to her mouth, and looked at Gwen’s body, mortified.

She was dead.

Gasping, Max rubbed at the blood on his neck and clambered to his feet. He sidestepped Gwen’s twisted form and rushed over to embrace Jo; a gesture of thanks — and of comfort.

“Oh dear, Gwen failed her assignment too.” Alligator’s voice cut through the tense silence, icy cool. “If you’d just died like a good boy then I wouldn’t have to kill her sister.”

An ominous electronic crackle rattled through the speakers.

“But you’re still here,” Alligator continued.

The touch screens flickered to life again, displaying a camera-eye view of Gwen’s sister, Emily, in her concrete prison. She was still tethered to the chair, her hair, skin and clothing drenched with petrol.

Jo and Max looked on, Alligator’s captive audience, as the cameraman fumbled to light a match. Emily writhed in sheer terror, almost knocking the chair backwards as she watched him try to strike the match a second time. A lens flare blistered across the screen as the match flickered alight. The killer tilted the match carefully, allowing the flame to take hold. Then, he flicked it Emily.

Whoosh . She was engulfed in flames, writhing and screaming in agony as the fire erupted and blistered the flesh from her bones.

Jo looked away, feeling sick.

Max staggered backwards, almost collapsing against one of the seats.

Their eyes had seen too much — too much cruelty, too much suffering and death — both on, and off, the plane through Alligator’s omnipotent camera eyes.

“Come now Jo, you’re missing the firework show!” Alligator taunted. “I thought you loved this stuff? Perhaps you’d prefer it if she was a little younger?”

Jo span around to face the screen.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?”

“Oh, I’m just holding up a mirror,” Alligator chuckled. “You may want to take a good look at yourself. We’ve both got blood on our hands.”

Looking down at her trembling hands, Jo glanced across the cabin at Gwen’s body. Only a few feet away, Gwen’s head lay at a horrible angle, her neck broken. Jo choked at the sight.

Max’s expression turned from one of horror to rage. He stooped, picking up the axe from the floor and smashed it into his touch screen. The monitor clattered to the floor, sparks flying. He then took a step toward Jo’s screen.

She held her hands up to him, blocking him.

“Don’t do it, please! It’s the only way I can see my daughter…”

Squinting fixated at the monitor for a moment, Max appeared to lose his focus. His eyes darkened, then he turned to Jo and took a deep breath.

“You want to see your daughter again?” he asked.

Jo nodded.

“Then we have got to get into that luggage compartment.”

He marched back to the bathroom door, crash axe in hand.

Jo took Max’s jacket from the armrest of his seat and, crouching, laid it gently over Gwen’s face.

“I’m sorry Gwen, I didn’t mean for this to happen,” Jo whispered.

Her words would never be enough, but they were all she had to give. Her head throbbed with remorse. In essence, she felt responsible for two deaths. If she had simply allowed Gwen’s fight with Max to take its natural course, then maybe Gwen and her sister would both still be alive. Maybe Gwen would have turned her murderous rage on Jo next; there was no way of knowing if she could have defeated her single-handed. Whatever the case, Max could be her only chance of saving Sophie — she just prayed he had enough time to do what he could.

She got back on her feet and followed Max to the bathroom.

The wall panel reverberated with the impact of the crash axe.

Max was hacking at it, putting all his might into each blow. He imagined the Alligator’s grinning green face on the other side of the wall, pouring all his rage into it. Anger for all the manipulation, mind games and murder, for all those innocent people who had died. He’d be dead too unless he could do something about it.

Breaking the wall represented that opportunity. Somewhere on the other side was his laptop. He felt sure he could use it to hack into the jet’s network. If he succeeded, cracking the door control for the cockpit wouldn’t be beyond the bounds of possibility. He just had to get the damn thing first. It had to be there — he remembered seeing the stocky luggage guy loading their luggage onto the plane when they handed their phones over to the limousine driver.

Nice moves , Max thought bitterly, making sure we couldn’t contact the outside world once your damn games started up. Well, I’ll prove you wrong you bastards .

He visualised his beloved old laptop, standby light winking at him conspiratorially from the confines of his travel bag. Be with you soon, Old Girl , he thought.

He heaved the axe at the wall panel again. This time it buckled and cracked. Max wrenched the axe free and stared at the wall, not quite believing his eyes.

The crack in the wall was bleeding.

Blood oozed from the crack in the wall inches from Max’s face.

From the doorway, Jo stared at it too — horror beginning to register on her face. The dark red trickle formed an exclamation mark as it slid down the wall panel, communicating its dreadful warning of something too horrible to imagine.

Max took a breath and heaved the axe into the air again, smashing at the wall panel with increasingly heavy blows. The wall gave way beneath his attack, and he jabbed at the supporting beams with the pick head, weakening them. Dropping the axe, he shouldered the last remnants of the supporting beams and splintered sections of wall, breaking through and stumbling into the cramped luggage compartment.

It was hot and humid inside, the small interior space baked by the heat of the engines, which rumbled on noisily, either side of him. He took a step forward, sucking in a mouthful of air, and immediately wished he hadn’t.

The smell was terrible, made worse by the heat of the engines. It was an affront to the senses, ripe and pungent like rubbish bags of mouldy food left to burst open beneath the glare of a hot sun. Max gagged on the stench and bent his arm over his nose and mouth.

Behind him in the bathroom, Jo made a sound registering her disgust. She could smell it back there too.

Max was standing in the rotten belly of the plane. He glanced around at the stacks of suitcases in the scant light from the bathroom. One of the suitcases nearest to him had been torn by the axe blade and was leaking blood.

“Oh God…” Max said, grabbing the case and dragging it back into the bathroom.

He crouched and unzipped the case. Jo watched from over his shoulder, hand over her mouth. She looked terrified of what they might discover inside.

Max lifted the lid of the case, slowly.

It was crammed to overflowing with black refuse sacks. A mess of blood was oozing from the one the axe had torn. Max needed two hands to work now, trying to keep the contents of his stomach down as the full power of the stink emanating from the case invaded his nostrils. Gritting his teeth he tore open the black bag, widening the bloodied slit to see a clump of dark hair.

He jumped back in horror.

Jo cried out through her hand. “What the hell?!”

Max stared at the hair in disbelief.

It was matted with blood and protruded through the opening in the bag. He steeled himself and tore away more of the black plastic. Mike’s lifeless eyes stared back at him. Max gagged and coughed.