The first of my senses to return to me is smell. The scent of fire and ashes fills my nose. It’s somehow both metallic and putrid.

Then comes the sounds of roaring flames and creaking metal. The whole place seems to be falling apart. I can feel the sweltering heat on my face and clothes, dehydrating me like hair in a blow dryer.

When I open my eyes, the world is red. Although it hurts to turn my head, I look to my left, hoping for one shred of familiarity in the form of my classmates.

I hear a scream. It’s high-pitched and loud. If there’s a trademarked sound for pain, that would be it.

I move to unbuckle my seatbelt, but immediately recoil. My right wrist is swollen and discolored.

What happened?

We were on the plane, and… and then we crashed. But why?

I lightly dab at my wounded wrist with my untouched hand’s middle finger and confirm my suspicions: it feels broken.

I struggle to free myself with one good hand and stand as tall as I can without hitting my head on the shattered luggage compartment.

Now that I’m free from my seat, I can see where the fire is coming from. Or, more specifically, where the fires are coming from. On both ends of the ship, red licks of flames block the emergency exits.

I step into the aisle and am face-to-face with Stacy, clutching her leg to stop the bleeding. A sizable shard of metal is jutting from her shin.

She gazes up at me, revealing tear lines trailing down her cheeks. It’s a wonder they don’t evaporate in this heat. “Help me, Tes! Please! I can’t feel my leg!”

I move to lift her, using my one good arm to support her bad side from below. We push off the ground together. On top of the aluminum cut into her, it’s obvious her leg is broken.

A second scream sounds off from where the front of the airplane used to be. It’s a boy’s this time. Probably Carlos, one of the class clowns. She gives me a nod of solidarity, and I dash to locate the source, avoiding sharp, jagged metal threatening to slice me open along the way.

“Someone, help!” he shouts, a potent dose of fear leaking through his strained teeth. I follow his voice to the edge of the wreckage and discover his legs sticking out of a pile of rubble. Blood gushes from his abdominal area and pools around him, slowly coating the floor.

“Tes, is that you?” someone asks from behind. I turn and spot Holly tapping the unmoving figure of her boyfriend. “What’s going on? My vision is still a little blurry. Are we in Jerusalem?”

Carlos yells again as the pile of debris on top of him shifts.

He stays silent.

We stare at our presumably dead classmate for an uncomfortable measure of time. Another classmate, Wesley, breaks our spell by popping his head over a different smoldering section of the ship and climbing up the side to meet with us.

“Glad I’m not the sole survivor,” he says. “We need to get out of here fast. The whole thing is going to crumble into the sand below.”

“Sand?” Holly repeats, echoing my thoughts.

“I’m just as confused. Tes, why don’t you sweep the aisles and grab anybody you can?”

The genuine version of this novel can be found on another site. Support the author by reading it there.

I nod and begin my search, returning to Stacy. She’s clinging desperately to her seat, trying to keep weight off her broken leg.

“Go check on the others,” she says. “I’ll be okay. I’ll hop along the sides of the seats.”

I continue down the line, scanning each row for anybody who’s still hanging on, and come across Jason, the football guy of our class, a few rows behind the spot I’d been sitting moments ago. A large metal rod is sticking out of his chest. His eyes are wide open and staring at me, but there’s no lights on inside. I look away as fast as I can. Not that it matters. The image is burned into my corneas.

As I keep going, all I find are more victims. I recognize every face, each as distraught as the last. When I reach the fire blazing from the backside, I retreat to join the small group of survivors. Stacy seems to have joined the group, and Cody woke up, much to his girlfriend’s joy.

“Nobody?” Wesley asks. I shake my head softly.

We all somberly stand in a circle.

“Well, no use in joining them,” he replies. “We can all climb down the side of the plane I used to get here if we’re careful, but it’s about a thirty-foot drop to the sand below. I’ll fasten a rope to a chair and hold it while you four climb down.”

“Holly should go first,” her boyfriend says.

“I don’t care who goes first, as long as they can help Stacy get down without totally shattering her leg.”

“What are you, a survivalist or something?” Holly asks.

“A Scout, but I learned enough to get us to safety.” He finishes tightening the rope, hooks it to the closest chair, and grabs onto it, planting his feet wide. “Go on, Holly.”

She peers off the edge of the plane to the sand below. “If you say so.”

“Catch you below,” Cody says. Whether it’s from the heat, my dead classmates, or listening to these two talk, I nearly throw up.

Holly slowly lowers herself onto the rope, clutching with white knuckles, and descends at a cautious pace. The three of us not bracing the rope watch with a hushed anxiety until both of her feet hit the dune below. Relief fills the air, mixing with the smoke and ash.

“Your turn, Cody, and then you’ll both help Stacy.”

“On it.”

He climbs down at a much faster pace than his girlfriend, making easy work of the rope despite the wind whipping it back and forth.

“He’s at the bottom,” Stacy says.

“Okay. Tes, help her get to the rope.”

She grabs on to my injured wrist, and I yelp in pain.

“Tes, is your arm broken? I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

I offer my free arm, which she hesitantly accepts, and together we walk to the edge. It takes us a hot minute to configure her into a position to grab the rope, but eventually, she’s inching her way to the couple below.

Right as she reaches the halfway point, the plane lurches down, sending me and Wesley into the air. I land on my feet but slip towards the edge a little, giving me a snapshot of a gruesome plummet to my death. Wesley stays latched firmly onto the rope but hits the metal floor with his knees, grunting on impact.

“You alright, Tes?”

I nod.

“Well, good. Hopefully Stacy kept hold.”

I glance off the edge and nod again. She’s near the bottom, now that the trip has been shortened by nearly five feet.

“How are we gonna get you down with one good arm?”

I shrug. Stacy is being helped into a sitting position by Cody and Holly.

“Alright, here’s the plan: I’ll go snag a shirt or something to wrap your wrist in, and you’re gonna have to tough it out as best you can.” Seeing the response on my face, he adds, “Unless, of course, you have any better ideas.”

I don’t and he knows that, so he fetches a shirt from someone’s suitcase, rips it in half, and loops it tightly around my wrist a few times. Tears form in my eyes with each movement.

“Use the rest to bite down on. Helps distract the pain.”

He places the shirt in my mouth, and I apply the pressure.

“Good luck. Yell for me when you’ve made it down.”

I sneer as much as I can with a shirt wrapped in my mouth and head for the rope. I grab it with my uninjured arm first and start scooting. It hurts, but nothing too serious.

I’ve barely made it three feet when the plane moves again, this time tilting to its side a solid thirty degrees. Holly and Cody step away as the rope swings violently.

If I thought I knew what pain was previously, I was wrong. I cling on for dear life, chomping down on the fabric as my bones grind.

“Come on, Tes!” Stacy shouts. When the flaring subsides, I speed through the rest of the process, doing my best to ignore the agony of gripping the rope. I reach the sandy ground and crumple to my knees. This time, I really do vomit.

“Hurry, Wesley!” Cody yells, steering his eyes away from my mess.

At the top of the rope, Wesley’s figure begins the voyage. He moves quick, covering most of the distance before the plane groans loudly. We watch in horror as the ship completes its fall to the ground, whips the rope, and sends him spinning through the air. He lands sixty feet away and doesn’t get up.