The sun had just dropped below the mountains when the flares went off. Three of them. One after the other. They had been recovered from the jettisoned escape ramps and it had been decided to set off three every night in the hope that someone would be looking for us. Considering the three moons coming over the horizon it seemed doubtful us poor sods were anywhere near rescue; but you never know?

First class had entirely been cleared out as a command centre, workshop and infirmary. And they’d agreed to upgrade us if we helped out with various odd jobs on the plane. Which, as far as I can see, was a major improvement compared to sitting next to Mr. Thomson during his midlife crisis.

Right after the flare guns were fired Phillip came calling to ask us if could help sort through the luggage that had been brought up before nightfall. They’d already found two dogs and a cat which were now under the care of the only vet on board. The owners of the few other animals stored below were getting increasingly moody. And the rest of the passengers weren’t happy they wouldn’t be able to claim their luggage immediately. But Major Phillip, as we were starting to call him, was firm that survival of the group came first.

We talked as we worked. “So you’re from South Africa,” I asked Xola.

“Yes,” she said, “My parents were from the Eastern Cape but they moved to Cape Town before I was born. And you.”

“We’re from London. Though my family is Welsh. My granpa was fuming when we visited him and I couldn’t speak a lick of it. He refused to chat with me in English. My mum was on the verge of tears the whole time.”

“That’s horrible. We speak Xhosa at home. But my school is English.”

Out of the corner of my eye I saw Sara pocket a fiver. It wasn’t the first time she’d done it but I’m no nark. And it looked like there was a few hundred quid in the roll. It’s not like the git needed the money.

To Xola’s delight we found the case containing her bow. Along with two sets of golf clubs, a cricket bat and wickets, a nice set of kitchen knives, plenty of wine and a fortune of chocolate. Apparently neither us Brits or the Saffers were impressed with American chocolate; though I’d never had a chance to try it.

The food was all supposed to be rationed. Including the sweets. Though from what I overheard that even with the haul from the cargo hold we’re going to run out within days. Which was why dealing with the wolves was so urgent.

When we found a packet of sparklers like you’d see on a birthday cake Jeremy grabbed them with a huge shit eating grin on his face. “This is not the time to be playing with fireworks, Jer.” Melissa scolded him.

“Oh. I’m not going to play with them. They’re fuses for some grenades I’m working on. I also need all the aluminium and rusty iron you can find.”

I spoke up. “What are you on about? Rust and aluminium aren’t explosive.”

“They are if you mix ‘em up right.”

The university student with the hurt leg looked over from his first class sickbed and said, “thermite isn’t explosive. It just burns extremely hot. It’ll make a useless grenade. You’d need to score a direct hit on a wolf and getting the timing right on a throw will be almost impossible. It’ll likely burn through the container before reaching a wolf. “

Jeremy turned around and said, “Do you have any better ideas? It can’t hurt to try. Maybe we’ll get lucky.”

Xola then exclaimed, “I’m sure there’s a chemist or something on board. I’ll go ask Major Phillip.”

Twenty minutes later Major Phillip came by with a blond woman in her late thirties. “Thermite is a bloody stupid way to kill something. But I’ve got a few ideas you can help me with. I’ll need as many bottles as you can collect. And someone to siphon some jet fuel.”

Major Phillip interdicted, “we might need bottles to store water. I’ll look into our supplies and give you a ration. I believe jet fuel is also kerosene based. If we can use it for heating and light it’s also a priority.”

The plan under discussion was to take out the wolves as quickly as possible. There was talk of using biltong, a type of dried meat, as bait. But it was decided that we needed the food more. Instead a couple of nutters armed with bats and clubs would walk towards the wolf pack and try to drive them into an attack. They’d be wearing as many layers of clothing as possible for protection. But I didn’t think it would do much. The rest of us would be on the wing waiting to unload a barrage that they would never forget. Of course no plan survives contact with the enemy and I had my doubts about its success.

When we were done sorting it was time for bed. Before turning in Xola came up to Jason and asked, “Can I stay here tonight? Your teachers’ seats are still empty and my sister said I could come as long as I went right back to her in the morning.” I think she had a bit of a crush.

Just before bed I pulled out my guitar. It was a bit scuffed from the crash but it still sounded alright. I don’t have perfect pitch or anything. But a guitar is child’s play compared to tuning a piano. When I started playing Xola started singing in what she said was isiXhosa. It didn’t take long for someone to tell us to quiet down. But then a few others told us to keep going I think most the cabin was glad for some real entertainment. Phones and laptops were running out of battery and we were all getting serious cabin fever.

The night itself was miserable. We were in first class. But we had shifts taking care of the sick and injured. And it was freezing. The blankets we had were either sliced up into ropes and rags or already in use. Even Xola’s light winter gear wasn’t enough to keep the chill out.

When corporal Meacham came to collect us we grabbed our myriad improvised missiles and went into first class so major Phillip could give a speech. The man was certifiably mental. All of us thought we were right buggered and he wasted what little time he had left with some trite platitudes.

“Men, women. We have few options. Our radios aren’t working. We are running out of food and we are not prepared for the weather. Our only option is to kill those wolves so we have access to firewood, fish and other necessities. In normal circumstances the first rule of survival is to stay put. But we all know this is not normal. We have no idea how long we’ll be out here and we have no idea how close we are to civilisation. Or even if that civilisation is sympathetic to our plight. But if we don’t finish this today we all will die. Everyone knows where they are stationed. Infantry to the ropes and support to the wing. Good luck out there.”