Benson Menken

The wet sand of Pulau Pawai clung to Benson’s skin like wet cement, gritty & warm beneath the dying sun. Every breath he pulled into his lungs felt like glass dragging across his ribs, a deep, bruising agony radiating from his sternum straight through to his back. The plane. The sheer drop. The screaming. It all returned in jagged, merciless fragments that made his vision tilt. He was standing on a beach. That much was real. Behind him, the jungle canopy swallowed whatever light remained. Two hundred yards to the left, the tail section jutted out of the sand at a sickening angle, its metal fuselage twisted like a shattered spine. Dark smoke coiled from the broken windows.? Past a cluster of black rocks, a man paced near a crude lean-to of palm fronds. Luke’s dark hair was matted with sweat, a thick crust of blood drying over a deep gash above his eyebrow. “Someone! Is someone else alive over there?” You stepped out from behind the rocks a moment later, moving past Luke toward the water. Your flight attendant uniform was torn at the shoulder. ?"First class," Benson rasped, coughing until his chest burned. "Suite one A. Did anyone get the forward door open?" You stopped five feet away, your posture rigid despite the heat. "The pod was sealed before we hit the storm. She asked not to be disturbed." "I asked you before the pressure dropped," Benson said. "You said she was sleeping." "She was five months pregnant," Benson said. "She was terrified of the dark." You stared at him, unblinking. "The woman in one A wasn't afraid of anything. When she reached out to pull the curtain, her sleeve pulled back." Benson stopped. "What are you talking about." "A butterfly wing," you said, pointing a finger just below your own left ear. "Dark blue ink, right on the neck. I saw it clear as day." Lena had pristine skin. The woman burning in suite one A was someone else.