Chapter 40 - Turbulence and Treason
The aircraft suddenly bucked violently.
A sharp alarm screamed from the cockpit door. The overhead lights flickered, died, and were replaced by the harsh crimson glow of emergency battle stations.
"What was that?" I demanded, catching myself against the armrest of Seat 1A.
"We just took an electromagnetic burst from an intercept vector," Clara shouted over the wail of the alarms, lunging toward the interphone. "Cockpit! Report!"
No answer. Only static hissed through the handset.
The commander on the floor sneered, a bloody chuckle escaping his lips. "You think you're clever, little girl? You think Apex only sent seven operatives?"
Before Clara could react, the cockpit security door—a titanium slab designed to withstand explosive charges—unlatched with a mechanical groan and swung outward.
Standing in the doorway was the primary pilot. He wasn't wearing his captain’s cap. His flight shirt was torn, and his eyes were hollow, dilated with chemical stimulants. In his hand was a heavy flare gun modified to fire high-yield phosphorus charges.
"Apex Sovereign Override is active," the pilot monotone-intoned, his voice devoid of humanity. "Flight 01 will not reach Station Icefall."
"Captain Henderson, stand down!" Clara shouted, raising her weapon.
The pilot fired.
The phosphorus round ignited with a blinding, incandescent roar, illuminating the cabin with pure white fire. The flare struck the ceiling panel above the forward galley, detonating into a shower of white-hot molten metal that showered down upon the carpet and the wiring conduits.
The cabin immediately filled with choking, acrid smoke. The oxygen masks dropped from the ceiling in a clattering wave of yellow plastic cups.
Victoria screamed, diving under the seats, covering her head with her hands like a cornered animal.
"The controls!" I yelled, dropping low to avoid the toxic plume. "Clara, take out the guards! I’m taking the cockpit!"
I lunged forward through the curtain of smoke, slipping beneath the swinging arm of the drugged pilot. With an instinct honed from years of physical labor on the tarmac and brutal tactical training, I drove my elbow into his diaphragm, sweeping his right leg with my boot.
The pilot collapsed heavily onto the cockpit pedestal, his arm inadvertently dragging the thrust levers backward.
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The massive jet dipped its nose violently toward the freezing Arctic Ocean thirty thousand feet below.
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