Richard Doetsch - The 13th Hour

“Again, you assume I’m stupid.” Sam took a painful breath, the crimson stain on his shirt growing wider as his face grew ashen. “I’ll figure it out.”

Nick finally stood, realizing what was about to happen.

“You have to stop him,” Nick shouted at Paul as he came to his side.

“Stay out of this,” Paul yelled at Nick without taking his eyes off Sam. “I know what I’m doing.”

“You don’t understand,” Nick pleaded. “If he takes off-”

“He’s my brother, dammit, I don’t know who you are, but I just saved your life, so stay out of this before you get yourself shot.”

Without warning, Sam shot at the tarmac. “I suggest you listen to my brother; he’s never wrong.”

Paul looked at Sam, at the growing wound in his side. He squeezed the exotic gun in his hand out of sheer frustration.

“If you’re going to shoot me, if you want to kill me, now’s the time,” Sam challenged.

Paul Dreyfus dropped the Peacemaker where he stood and took several steps forward.

The two brothers stared at each other, the moment hanging…

“Sam,” Paul said. “Please…?”

Without another word, Sam slammed the door closed, revved the engine of the Cessna, and pulled away from the small field, the plane picking up speed along the small access road.

NICK GRABBED THE Colt off the ground. He spun out the cylinder, grabbed four bullets from his pocket, and refilled the chambers. He took off down the tarmac after the plane and without hesitation, began firing. With his shots going wide, he stopped and took a knee, steadied his aim with two hands, and continued his barrage at the fleeing Cessna.

But after only two more shots, the pistol was twisted from his grasp. Dreyfus stood over him as he threw the pistol into the distant bushes.

“You don’t understand,” Nick shouted at Dreyfus as he raged up into his face. “So many will die.”

“What?” Dreyfus said, dismissing Nick’s statement. “I don’t care what you may think. But he’s still my brother; I’m not going to let someone kill him in cold blood.”

Nick watched the escaping Cessna 400 bounce down the taxiway, swerving onto the runway without clearance, its speed increasing as the tarmac began to run out. Nick had never been a pilot, never professed an understanding of the physical dynamics of lift and how it applied to the wing of a plane, but he knew if Sam’s velocity didn’t increase he would never make it over the fence at the end of the runway.

The Cessna’s nose began to lift as the engine strained, the wheels bouncing up and down. And as horrible a thought as it was, Nick hoped he wouldn’t make it, that he would crash into the fence, that somehow, maybe, one of his bullets had caught the engine. He was not hoping for Sam’s death but rather an interruption of his destiny, an interruption that would save 212 lives.

But then, with a final surge, the Cessna leaped into the sky, clearing the fence by inches. Nick watched it climb at an odd angle, the inexperienced pilot wounded and panicked, desperately trying to control the aircraft, hoping to escape.

And then Nick saw it: The AS 300 was circling back after takeoff, adjusting its heading toward Boston.

JULIA TOOK ONE last look out the window as they flew over the Kensico Reservoir and closed her eyes, hoping to get a quick nap in so she would be rested for what was sure to be one of the most memorable evenings of her and Nick’s sixteen-year relationship.

Without warning the jet tipped hard to the left. Drinks spilled, luggage came crashing out and down from the overhead storage bins, people shrieked in terror, as a collective fear consumed the passengers.

The jet engines screamed, their pitch climbing as they strained, pushing the jet into an unnatural angle of over sixty degrees.

Julia pushed herself back in the seat, her arms pressed tight against the armrests, her fingers clutching the edge in a death grip, holding herself in place as the jet continued to bank hard left.

And she thought of the life within her, unsure whether it was a boy or a girl. All that mattered was it was hers and Nick’s. She wanted to protect it at all costs, knowing that if she was facing imminent death she would offer up her life so the child might live.

Out the window, Julia could see the ground, only a few thousand feet below. She couldn’t breathe; her heart had surely stopped in panic. She turned and saw Jason across the aisle. His face was calm as he pulled out his phone, turning it on, no doubt calling his wife to say good-bye, to tell her that he loved her one more time.

All around her were cries for help, passengers pleading for some divine intervention, begging for somebody to do something, as if the pilot wasn’t doing everything he could to not only save them but save himself.

And then she felt the hand upon hers, it was Katherine’s, a reassuring gesture like the one her mother used to give her when she was frightened. Julia turned and looked into her elderly, wise eyes and saw a peace that contrasted with the terror surrounding them.

“Don’t worry, child,” Katherine said.

And everything slowed-the whine of the jet engines, the screams of the people all fell away as the warmth of Katherine’s loving hand held her.

And Julia glanced out the window once more. She saw the reason for the jet’s evasive actions, the reason everyone was on the brink of a nervous breakdown: A small Cessna was heading right at them. She could clearly see the man flying it, slumped forward. She could see the panic in him as he desperately steered right.

ALL EYES WERE fixed on the skies, the AS 300 banking so hard to the left it appeared to be on the verge of tipping over. The wings of the Cessna wobbled as Sam tried to swerve, but the looming disaster seemed inevitable. Nick could see Paul’s face, his breath held, hoping, praying for a miracle, but Nick knew there would be no miracle.

And though Dance lay dead on the tarmac before him, this was all his fault. He was the one who had sent Sam into a panic, trying to kill him, causing him to run for his life. There was no telling how gravely Sam had been injured, how much blood he was losing, but whether or not the one-inch projectile had lodged in a vital organ or severed a crucial artery, the wound would prove fatal.

Nick had altered fate. Dance had been eliminated from the world, and with the head of the serpent removed, the collective body of his group of corrupt cops would fall. But Nick now realized as he watched the two planes heading for each other that he hadn’t changed fate enough.

Nick watched the tiny Cessna on its intersecting pattern with the enormous AS 300 and knew all hope for the passengers was lost.

And they crashed, the Cessna driving nose-first into the jet. From this distance-the planes a mile up and a mile away-it was like a dragonfly attacking a bird, becoming entangled, but the damage the small craft inflicted on its giant victim was lethal. The jet’s banking left turn uselessly continued, Flight 502 was now inverted from the impact. A small ball of fire erupted as the two aircraft began to tumble down out of the sky like an omen from God. All eyes were fixed on the falling planes.

“Oh, my God,” Dreyfus whispered, crossing himself. He glanced at Nick, realizing what his brother had just done.

Nick could not imagine the panic within the jet. The crash surely did not end the lives of most of the passengers. They were no doubt all alive, trapped in the falling wreckage, knowing they were about to die a death everyone who ever flew feared.

And the twisted metal continued its fall, now tumbling end over end, specks of debris falling out of the back of the plane, specks that Nick knew were live passengers, all of it accelerating toward the ground like a stone at thirty-two feet per second.