Restless and resigning myself to the hateful fact that this airline designed their seats to be the antithesis of comfort, I stand up to stretch my legs before making the short jaunt to the closest lavatory. Opening the door, I position myself to make note that Beavis is making a horrid attempt at being covert while tracking my movements and Butt-head is taking a snooze. God, this is what they sent after me? Either I’ve gotten sloppy and an amateur hired them for some bullshit reason or another, or someone, most likely the Triad after my most recent… drop-in, is trying to make a poorly thought-out powerplay. If the latter then I guess it’s time to remind them why they are clients and not partners. And it looks like dumb and dumber will make perfect examples of what happens when you toe the line. Pity, really, they look like well-trained combatants, if they just had a good teacher to show them some common sense on subtlety they could have gone far.

Taking out my phone as I get situated I peek at my most recent e-mail from Dr. Gilling and feel my pulse quicken as I smile in joy and relief. Mom is going to be ok. Things are finally looking up with The Boss giving me his personal approval for cleaning up that shit-storm in China that Kai whipped up and the guaranteed cut from the weapons delivery I’m about to finish off out in Morocco everything might be alright for the first time in 10 years. No more living day to day treading water and fighting to pay the next set of medical bills. No more worrying if mom is still going to be there when I come home. No more fighting for scraps in The Charity. No, I’ve shown my worth to The Family, and I finally earned an endorsement from Abraxas of all people. That’s an achievement that I can’t wait to shove in Lilith’s smug face.

Making my way back down the aisle I catch a glimpse out one of the windows and take in the vast Sahara in the sunrise. A beautiful sight, really, if not for the disgusting fuck laying up against the window drooling onto his sleeve. Maybe now that I’ve shown my true worth, I can convince Adrestia to give me a ‘Promotion’ so I don’t have to go under radar anymore and fight for seating with everyone else.

Heh, yeah, when hell freezes over, but a man can dream, right?

Making it back to my seat, I steal a look at my fellow passenger. She’s an Arabian beauty, with smooth tanned skin, obsidian black hair, and an outfit hints at a full-bodied figure without letting you know for sure just how luscious her curves are, reminds me that flying coach isn’t all that bad. I cast one last glance at Ugg and Ook out of my peripheral and see a holster shift slightly out of the suit of the one sleeping.

I quickly reevaluate my situation. How did I miss this? Maybe I really am slipping, to not notice that they had a piece. How did they get it past security? Have I been compromised? No, The Charity wouldn’t use such ham-fisted measures. Maybe I ca-

The lights cut out and the sounds of the turbines vanish. Confusion is quickly replaced by worry as I check my phone with one hand and use the other to snap my seatbelt on. Looking down all I am greeted with is a dead non-responsive smartphone. An EM pulse? The lights turn back on but I catch my sigh of relief as the turbines have yet to restart. Panicked murmurs are quickly rising as the commotion of the flight attendants and the confusion of those already awake stirs those that are asleep.

“This is your captain speaking. Please remain calm, we are having some minor engine diffi-“

The announcement is abruptly cut off as searing bright light fills my vision and screams of the hundred or so passengers lurching awake fills my ears. My seatbelt cuts into my thighs and our altitude deteriorate at a god-awful speed. Like a popular ride at an amusement park my stomach lurches into my throat and blood rushes to my brain. A blast of wind suddenly slams my head back before I am thrown forward and my vision goes dark.

Opening my eyes, I immediately regret my decision as a band of vengeful leprechauns with cleats dance atop my skull. Groaning and clutching my head, I try to piece together what I did last night before coming to the realization that I’m sitting up. In a rare moment of inspiration, I decide to think things through. I determine my next logical step should be to figure out where hell I am and how to get to the closest bar for a quick hangover cure. I reluctantly crack my eyelids once more and look around to find myself strapped to an airline seat in the middle of a desert.

Well shit.

Pulling my hand away from my head and into my line of sight it comes back cakes in semi dried blood.

Well double shit.

Closing my eyes once more and I reevaluate my headache as a probable concussion before slowly examining and assessing the rest of my injuries. A broken left hand. Sprained right ankle. Bruising to no end. Well this is just marvelous. Moving my one good hand I unbuckle myself. Slowly, and oh so painfully, I stagger to my feet, my head spinning faster than a frog in a blender. Half shuffling, half crawling, I make my way up the closest sand dune cursing my fate aloud until I realize that talking with a parched throat and cracked lips is rather painful. Making it to the top I spot what can only be the remnants of a 747 in the distance. Let’s hope they fared better than me.

Taking a deep breath to prepare for the strenuous journey ahead, I double over in pain. Yep, Broken ribs are getting added to the list of injuries. Woozy and disoriented from the pain and sudden movement thanks to my knee-jerk reaction, I tip over and roll/fall/flip down the dune, barely clinging to consciousness as my world dissolves into pain. Finally rolling to a halt at the bottom I close my eyes and wait for the world to stop curb stomping my miserable ass.

Fuck you sun.

Fuck you sand.

Fuck you desert.

This Airline sucks horse cock. 2/10 would not fly again.

Where’s my refund?

With a shaking hand, Malika reached up and touched her face, reassuring herself once again that yes, she was alive. Wiping away the tear tracks she looked around, only to immediately come to regret that decision. She shut her eyes tight as her breath quickly shortened into panicked gasps, all the while trying to fight down the hysteria welling up within her. Once seated about midway into the plane she now had an unimpeded, albeit lopsided, view out onto the desert. Miraculously unhurt, she had come awake only to find that herself lying sideways in her seat. She was the lone remainder in her row, the others likely had fallen out during the crash.

Unsure of anything now except that she needed to get away from what was behind her, she unbuckled herself. Flopping down to the ground below, she fled under the sweltering sun, unconcerned with the unforgiving environment that surrounded her. Stumbling during her rushed exodus, she collapsed to the sand at the bottom of the dune; sobs racking her body. Despair overwhelmed her as the images of what she saw on the plane flashed through her mind; the dead strewn about, their faces frozen in grimaces of terror. Her breaths came shorter and faster, as her vision blurred and her heart pounded in her chest. She was no longer in control of her body as pure terror coursed its way through her. Trapped in her mind the thought of how her family would take the inevitable news flashed by. Would they find her out here with… the others? or would they never find the plane, her death but a number in the wake of a fresh tragedy, forgotten in a weeks’ time? Oh, god what was she going to do? She was going to die, in that moment she was sure of it, and there was nothing she could do. She was stuck out here and death would soon claim her.

No. No. No. Please NO!

I don’t want to die!

“NO! I will not die!” she shouted into her hands, repeating them in hopes that she would believe them to ring true.

I will not die, I will not die, I will not die.

She repeated her 4-word mantra, slowly regaining control and steadying her shaking limbs with every iteration. Taking a deep breath, she reached for calm. Wiping away the fresh set of tears she tried to evaluate her situation and piece together what had happened. From there hopefully she could forge a path forward.

The last she remembered she was falling asleep on a plane headed to Morocco, her layover before continuing back to the States. She was in a desert and unless things had gone wrong in so many ways worse, this should be the Sahara that she found herself in. A crash. The plane crashed. How she didn’t know. All she could remember was waking to the sound of screaming before a sudden acceleration rendered her unconscious. All she had to show for it was slight bruising on her arms and legs. If she was only this damaged then maybe there were others!

Picking herself up she made her way back up the slope towards the plane. Pausing upon reaching her target she sent a small prayer of thanks to the handsome man, Isaac he called himself, that had sat beside her for inadvertently saving her life. The bright-eyed rogue had been charming and had taken her coarse nature in stride, providing tit-for-tat. He had told some joke involving good luck or another, saying that it was better to be properly fastened by your neighbor, using the lead-in as a blatant excuse to come closer, fitting the belt across her lap himself. Audacious he was but now… it was best not to dwell on his fate.

A groan from within interrupted her musings. Failing to spot the location of the noise immediately she was nevertheless heartened at the prospect of another survivor. Finally stopping to take a good look at the husk of the former 747 she examined it in search of an acceptable path. Given her former seats’ location directly behind the wings of the gigantic vessel she realized the plane must have broken apart in the sky leaving the smaller back half where she resided behind. Seeing as the rest of the plane was nowhere in sight, she sent a silent prayer in hopes that the others fared better. The 9 columns of seats stretching into the back of the plane were no longer level, rather the entire aft end laid upon its starboard side leaving a pile of luggage and bodies strewn across the former wall. Like an eerie maw of doom, it opened up before her, the contrast between the bright sun beating down outside and the shadows that lurked within making it hard to see past the first 4 rows. The former floor was now a wall separating strewn cargo left in the hull from the gruesome fate of its passengers. Steeling her resolve she began navigating her way towards the sound of labored breathing, sidestepping bodies and looking for signs of life as she went.

Not far in she looked up, and brushing aside several oxygen masks, found a burly blonde man in a cheap grey suit with broken sunglasses dangling from his seat. Dried blood ran from a painful looking broken nose. Surrounded by carnage she acted on her failing nerves and reached up, flipping the latch on the only thing keeping him suspended in the air above her head. The man immediately tumbled several feet to the ground knocking Malika aside in the process. Startled by his fall she grabbed him under the arms and laborously dragged him out onto the sand. After laying him out she dropped to her knees beside him as he groaned and clutched his sides.

“I’m so sorry!” Malika felt around trying to comfort the man.

“Stop! Jesus!” coughing some more the man pushed her away before reaching down as if to hold his ribs. Instead his hand whipped back out, now holding a pistol leveled in her direction. “Where the cuss am I?”

“AH!” Starting to lose her last vestige of control, she brought her knees to her chest and stared at the barrel of the gun. She shut her eyes with hopes to force away her current situation. What did she ever do to deserve this? She only had one semester left for her Masters’ and an amazing job already lined up. The sound of a cocking gun snapped her out of her reverie introducing her eyes once more to the harsh desert sun.

“Hey! Answer me! Where are we?” The man asks once more, albeit much weaker and in between labored breaths.

“I don’t know! The Sahara I think? I just woke up and fell down and and and-“

“Christ, alright I get it, just shut up! Cussing useless.” Staggering to with feet and holstering his gun once more he stayed slouched over with a hand on his side.

“Are- are you alright?” Malika meekly asked, keeping away from making eye contact and staring at his side, putting into practice habits she had learned long ago for keeping unstable men from paying her too much attention. Scooting away and still acting cowed by the man before her she plucked up and asked again.

“I’ll be fine” he told her forcefully, reaching up with one hand, he straightened out his nose with an audible crack and a wheeze through gritted teeth. After watching him shuffle back into the plane Malika stood up and warily headed into the cargo hold in hopes of finding some respite from the sun. Climbing over various odds and ends she contemplated her situation once more choosing to focus more on the logistical side.

With a plane this large there must be bountiful amounts of food and water. Probably some medical supplies as well. Moving through she finds several crates marked as Humanitarian Relief with the logo of some obscure charity she had never heard of. Although several were locked the last one labeled medical equipment looked like it had busted open during the crash. Prying open the lid she hurriedly slams it shut once more.

Those were most definitely NOT used to treat injuries. Uncertainty crashed through her as she considered the reason and nature for the crate to be here, as well as its likely relationship to the man with the pistol. Shaking her head to dispel her errant thoughts she realized that she must not have seen anything. Of course not. She had most certainly not seen a charity box stuffed to the brim with automatic weaponry.

Moving further back she spotted water and food packets spread around seemed to be an elevator as well as a nearby hanging box sporting a red cross. Emptying a duffel bag, she began stuffing it with as much supplies as she could carry, sticking mainly with water, bandages, and basic medical tools. Limited though her knowledge of such things was, she had taken a few first aid courses during her college career and maybe she could find a way to help someone. Making her way out of the plane she spotted a new figure laid out on the sand, dressed similarly to the man with the gun but slightly shorter and with dark brown hair. Walking over she reached down to check his pulse.

“He’s dead if that’s what you’re wondering.” The wheezed statement brought her attention behind her where the man from before was dragging out another body. “This one though, she’s still breathing if you don’t mind.” Setting the body down, a petite woman dressed in slacks and a long sleeve, he stood back up before heading back inside, presumably to find anymore survivors. Moving to her new patient she began the best patchwork job she could as the man, she should probably ask his name, continued the search for the all too few survivors.

An hour later with 7 unconscious and 3 awake, although only one, a flight attendant, was fit enough to move around, were all spread out in a now semi-cleared cargo hold. Water was spread around and food brought out. Clutching the empty bottle in her hands she looked at what remained of the original passengers. Standing up and heading back outside lest she start crying she was greeted by the face of a macabre spectre.

“Hiya, toots? Mind lending me a hand?” Was all Isaac managed to say before collapsing face first into the sand, all the while wearing his best shit-eating grin.