losing control—I can feel it. I fight to keep my voice level, and I’m not sure I succeed.
“Her life wouldn’t be in danger—she wouldn’t even be sick—if she hadn’t gone into that plane and saved those people. We owe it to her to save her life.”
Nothing. No response. My rage simmers.
“Okay, Sabrina, think about what message we’re sending all these people if she dies. Huh? You stick your neck out for someone around here, and when we’re done with you, we’ll leave you for dead. That’s what you’re talking about, and that’s dangerous.”
“If I administer antibiotics to her today, when she doesn’t absolutely need them, it might be a death sentence for someone else. That’s dangerous, too. I’m taking a logical risk to save the most lives. I believe you’re familiar with this concept—you demonstrated it at the lake.”
“You’re a real piece of work, Sabrina. You know that?”
“You’re unable to see this situation objectively. You’re irrational because you’ve formed an emotional bond with Ms. Lane—”
“You know anything about that—forming emotional bonds with people? Or did you read about it in a journal?”
“Your bias is easily demonstrated. William Boyd, in seat 4D, has symptoms worse than Ms. Lane’s. You have yet to ask about Mr. Boyd.”
“William Boyd wasn’t in that plane, drowning. Harper was. Hell, she might have been the one who saved William Boyd in the first place! I asked her to risk her life, and she did. And we,” I almost shout, pointing my finger between Sabrina and myself, “are going to do everything we can to keep her alive.”
“Harper did not save Mr. Boyd. He was in the water, in the line that passed the people from the plane to the shore. But this isn’t about his role in the rescue operation. You haven’t asked about Mr. Boyd because you don’t have an emotional connection to him. You’re not objective, Nick. I am. In fact, for reasons you’ve already alluded to, I’m almost uniquely qualified to make unemotional, logical decisions about the care of these people, maximizing the number of lives saved.”
Hopeless. I’m arguing with a robot. My jaws are clenched so tight it feels like my rear molars might shatter at any second.
“Give me the antibiotics.”
Sabrina stares at me, unflinching.
“You heard me, Sabrina. Hand them over.”
“Are you threatening me?”
“You’re damn right I am. You’re threatening the life of someone I … someone we all owe a huge debt to, and I’m not going to let you. You can play your bizarre medical chess game on somebody else.”
“I knew this moment would come, but I didn’t anticipate it would be from you.”
“What moment?” I look at her, suspicion creeping into me. “What did you do?”
“I’ve hidden the antibiotics, along with all the medicine.”
Of course she has. The rage that has been building inside of me settles into a focused, ruthless calm. I’m almost scared of what I’ll do next.
I turn and march down the aisle, past Bob Ward, who’s got Mike at his side.
“We’re ready, Nick,” he says, but I don’t even look at him.
I pause at Harper’s side, slip my hand into the pocket of her sweat-soaked jeans, and fish out the key I gave her yesterday. In the cockpit, I unlock the box and flip the lid back. Four handguns lie there, stacked at haphazard angles.
I learned how to use a handgun as a kid. Kidnapping is a constant risk for every child who grows up the way I did.
I take the top gun out and weigh it in my hand for a moment, telling myself I’m acclimating to the feel of it, telling myself I can do what I’m contemplating. But as I crouch in the cockpit, holding the handgun, I know I can’t. It’s funny: you can imagine committing a vile act, something completely against your moral code, but only when you physically hold the means to take that action does the decision become real. Only then do you learn what you’re capable of—and I’m not capable of this. I’m not sure if that makes me a bad guy or a good guy.
I hope help is out there. I really do.
Slipping the other three guns into my jacket, I slam the lid shut and stand there for a moment, the key in my hand but no resolve in my heart. My bluff is called. Defeated by my own morals. So be it.
Sabrina stiffens as I approach her, but I just hand her the key. “There’s a lockbox in the cockpit,” I mutter, turning away from her. “Could be a good place for the meds—it’s close by, sheltered from the elements. That’s the only key.”
She tucks the key in her pocket wordlessly, her intense dark eyes locked on me, not betraying a shred of emotion.
I can only imagine how I must look to Sabrina and the others around us right now. They’re thinking maniac and madman, but they haven’t made the calls I have in the last forty-eight hours. I wonder what I would do if I were in my right mind, if I were well rested and well fed, if the lives of a hundred people weren’t in my hands at this very moment.
One in particular.
But force won’t work on Sabrina. I’m ashamed that I thought it and more so that I almost tried it. However, there is something she’s vulnerable to: logic. And she has another weakness: reading people. A solution forms in my mind, as clear as the plan I devised by the lake. It could work.
“In case it affects the calculus on your end, I need to say this. As you pointed out, I have an emotional connection to Harper. I stared into her eyes and asked her to put her life on the line. I feel responsible for what happened to her. If she dies, I’ll be depressed. That’s a psychological disorder. I assume your training includes psychological conditions.”
I wait, forcing her to answer.
“It does.”
“In my depressed state, I’ll be unable to take on any leadership duties. No more quick life-and-death decisions from me. As you noted previously, this camp would be in chaos without me. That could lead to a loss of life.”
Sabrina’s eyes move to Harper and back to me, and I can almost see the wheels turning in that biological computer she calls a brain. “Noted,” she says.
I search her face for any clue about whether she’s bought it, but there’s nothing there to read.
I feel every eye in the cabin upon me as I walk past Harper’s seat. I did everything I could. I’ll see if I can get myself to believe that.
Outside, I try to put the encounter behind me and focus on the very important task at hand. I pass guns to the other three team leaders. They’ll alter their vectors forty-five degrees today, heading northeast, southeast, and southwest, respectively. Mike, Bob, and I will follow Mike’s eastward path back to the glass-and-steel structure, our pace quicker today. Our goal is to reach it before noon.
“Use the guns only if you’re threatened by hostile animals—save your ammunition for absolute emergencies. If you don’t find help, on your way back tomorrow look out for big game to shoot—deer, moose, cows, whatever you come across. Run back to the camp and get people to help you lug back anything you kill. You all know the situation. I’m not going to give you a speech. The truth is, if we don’t come back with help or food tomorrow, we’re looking at casualties in the following days. The elderly and weaker passengers are going to starve, and there are people in desperate need of medical supplies. Either we succeed, or people die. That’s it. Good luck.”
The group breaks up, and Mike, Bob, and I set out through the dense green forest and frosted fields. The tall grass thaws with the rising sun, soaking my pants below the knee as we go. It’s cold, but the pace keeps me warm. I try not to think about Harper.