A Bloody Sky

“Hands in the air. Put your f#cking hands up!”

The barrel of the man’s pistol swung towards my head.

“You!”

My heart slammed into the wall of my chest as my stomach somersaulted into my throat and deposited a trail of bile. I ducked my head and raised my hands higher.

“They’re up! They’re up.” I choked.

The man shoved my head so that it knocked into the seat in front of me. The passenger seated there was a guy not much older than I, but his voice sliced through the air with aggressive heat.

“Leave her alone!”

I kept my eyes downcast, but I clearly heard our abductor crack the pistol against the young man’s head.

“Shut up,” he snapped.

Bending over me, he began rifling through the purse that sat on the empty seat beside me. His body smelled of sweat and faded cologne as his chest pressed against my back.

I couldn’t help the heat that rose to my face and the cold tears that spilled onto my cheeks. I placed my hands over my mouth to suppress the whimpering cries that trembled out of my body. I wasn’t the only one crying; I could hear a baby howling further up in the plane. I tried to calm my sobs as the desperate hushing from the infant’s mother met my ears. I just wanted to be home. I wanted to be held.

Why did I ever get on this stupid plane? What if I never got to see my boyfriend again? Would he know that I loved him and that our argument really hadn’t meant anything?

The row across from me held a woman who murmured in Spanish and clutched at her rosary. I had never believed in God.

What if I die? Will I go to Hell?

It wasn’t fair. I was so young. I didn’t deserve to die.

I won’t die right?

“That is what happens when you guys give me trouble. So, sit still and be quiet,” the abductor barked as he straightened with my phone in hand.

Further up the plane, I heard a burst of mocking laughter from one of the other hostage takers. Our abductor began walking up the aisle, demanding the phones of the other passengers as he gradually travelled the length of the plane and made his way to his comrade. I wiped my face on my sleeves and waited until he was a safe distance away before edging over to peer into the seat in front of me. My rescuer was doubled over in his chair, clutching a bunched-up t-shirt to his head. His seatmate, a woman, rested her hand on his back as she spoke to him in hushed tones.

I leaned forward and tapped him on the back.

“I’m sorry,” I whispered once he had turned to look at me.

“Don’t worry about it,” he murmured.

The woman next to him looked at me with her wide blue eyes turned wild with fear. “Quickly, return to your seat, love,” she said in her polished British accent.

I eased back into my chair and massaged my aching neck with my hand. I watched as a group of four men exchanged whispers with eyes tracking their captors' movements.

Before I could process what had happened, the men had burst from their seats and rushed the two abductors. A shot rang out, and a scramble of bodies tumbled to the floor. A woman started screaming hysterically. Another abductor bolted to join the fray from a separate section of the plane.

Clapping my hands over my ears, I sank as closely to the floor as I could and heard the woman’s scream die as the third captor started discharging his gun in a panic. The whole plane erupted into screams of panic and frantic movement as the passengers hid behind seats or launched themselves out of them. I squeezed my eyes shut.

“Oh God, oh God, please! Please. Please...”

I didn’t know when the plane grew quiet or when I realized that things had settled. Opening my eyes, I was met with the vacant stare of one of the ladies who had jumped into the aisle in her panic. My hair stood on end, and my body was seized with uncontrollable tremors. Blood pooled around her body and drenched her summer dress. Her pretty face, pretty no longer.

Sobs and cursing met my ears as the other survivors shuffled around to see the aftermath. I rose enough to peer over the seats in front of me. The men with the guns lay dead or injured on the floor along with two of the four men who had taken them down. I sank back down into my seat and turned my head away from the interior of the plane. I looked out my window at the ocean below us and tried to leave this horrid nightmare. Before long, a voice came through the speakers and announced, in an almost disrespectfully calm tone, that the hostage situation had been dealt with and the plane would be landing.

I should have felt relief; I should have been happy to be going home, but I felt nothing. A fog had settled over me as I stared out my window, and I really, truly felt nothing.

All I recall is that, during our return to the airport, a stewardess came and checked on me, and the young man who was sitting in front of me moved to the seat next to me. I’m sure he asked me a question, but I can neither remember what he said nor what (if anything) I answered in return. I do remember, however, how I felt when I saw my boyfriend in the terminal.

He had sprinted over, wrapped his arms around me, and cried, and I had never felt such relief, comfort, or gratitude in my life then or since. I still don’t know if I believe in God, but I do know that I refuse to take anything for granted or leave things in such a way that I could have regrets… especially if it involves my boyfriend.