Chapter 4 - The Descent into the Dark
The turbulence hit us like a physical assault.
The plane,
maimed and heavy with fuel,
was tossed around the sky like a tin toy.
Outside the windows,
everything was a swirling void of grey and black,
broken only by the occasional flash of lightning that illuminated the rain-streaked glass.
"Ten miles out,"
Vance’s voice was barely audible over the static.
"You’re high on the glide slope,
Malachi."
"Bring the nose down,"
"but watch the speed."
"I can't see the runway!"
Gerald shouted,
his face pressed against the glass.
"There's nothing out there!"
"Trust the instruments!"
Malachi yelled back,
his voice cracking with the strain.
"Grace,"
"tell the passengers we are landing in three minutes."
"Tell them to stay down."
I went to the door,
shouting the instructions into the cabin since the intercom was dead.
The faces that looked back at me were masks of pure terror,
but when they saw Malachi through the open cockpit door,
something changed.
They saw a boy who wasn't screaming.
They saw a child who was fighting for them.
The businessman who had spilled champagne on Malachi’s notebook was now holding the hand of the woman next to him,
both of them crying silently.
I returned to the cockpit,
strapping myself into the jumpseat.
"Gear down,"
Malachi commanded.
Gerald reached for the lever,
pulling it with all his might.
A sickening mechanical groan echoed through the airframe,
but only two green lights appeared.
"The nose gear is stuck,"
Malachi said,
his voice deathly quiet.
"The fire must have damaged the hydraulic line for the front wheel."
"Vance,"
"I have an unsafe gear indication on the nose."
"Malachi,"
Vance replied,
his voice heavy with emotion,
"you have to land anyway."
"You don't have enough power to go around."
"When the nose touches the ground,"
"it’s going to spark."
"You have to keep it off the runway as long as possible."
Malachi nodded,
tears finally spilling down his cheeks,
though his hands never wavered.
"I know."
"This is exactly what happened to my father."
"Except he didn't have a choice."
"I do."
"I’m landing this plane."
Suddenly,
the clouds broke for a fleeting second,
revealing the twinkling lights of the runway approach.
"I see it!"
Gerald roared.
"I see the lights!"
"Focus!"
Malachi snapped.
"Flaps thirty."
"Speed one-fifty."
"One-forty."
"One-thirty."
The ground was rushing up to meet us,
the runway a narrow ribbon of asphalt slick with rain.
The wind pushed us to the left,
and Malachi kicked the rudder,
straightening the giant jet at the last possible second.
"Fifty,"
the automated voice of the plane called out.
"Forty."
"Thirty."
"Twenty."
May you like
"Ten."
The main wheels hit the ground with a bone-jarring thud.
