One of Us Is Dead

100 Tuesday 18 October 2022

Taylor felt like his head had been split open. Pain seared through his skull. It took him some moments of confusion to work out where he was. And what had happened. And as his thoughts began to clarify and his memory came back, he realized the very real danger he was in.

He heard Rorke’s request to Air Traffic Control to descend because of depressurization, and he had a pretty good idea why he wanted to do that. His former friend was bigger and stronger than him; his best — maybe only — hope would be to surprise him. And he would have just one chance to do that. From his position, on his back on the cabin floor, he could see the rear of Rorke’s head, and headset.

His brain was muzzy, all shaken up, like it had been in a blender, but not so shaken up that he couldn’t think increasingly clearly. If he could get to his feet without Rorke hearing, grab the fire extinguisher behind the right-hand pilot’s seat, he’d whack him unconscious. He held his breath. This was his chance, now, while Rorke was still occupied with levelling out after the descent.

Then he heard a metallic click — snap.

Shit.

It was a sound he knew so well, from his years of flying this aircraft. It was the quality sound of a Pilatus seat buckle opening — exquisitely engineered like everything on this aircraft. It signified, he figured, that Rorke had put the autopilot on and was now coming to deal with him.

He needed to play possum and bide his time. Holding his breath and closing his eyes, but not so tightly that he had no vision at all, he furtively watched Rufus Rorke glance down, briefly, at him. He saw a deep gash on his forehead and a trail of blood down his right cheek. Rorke stepped over him, wincing, walking with some difficulty. Good, at least throwing him around the plane had hurt him.

He heard the sound of a handle being moved, followed by a grunt of pain. Then a loud clunk followed by a hydraulic whine. Then a roaring sound and a sudden rush of freezing cold air that tore at his hair and his clothes.

The bastard had opened and lowered the front door, and was going to push him out. To fall to his death.

He felt a sudden moment of utter terror. Thought about Debbie. About how after all these past hellish years his life was finally coming good again with this gorgeous, sweet person.

You are not going to destroy this, Rufus. You are not.

But he had to bide his time. Surprise Rorke. One chance to do that. Just one chance. Don’t squander it.

Rorke knelt, grabbed him under the arms and, grunting with pain again, hefted him a few feet back, towards the open, howling vortex. Then he did the same again. Taylor could feel the bottom lip of the doorway against the back of his neck. With the next shove his head would be out of the plane and battered by the brutal airstream. He had to make his move before that happened. He had to make his move now.

He waited briefly. Watching his enemy through the narrowest slit between his eyelids that he dared. Rorke’s dyed hair was being batted around wildly by the icy wind.

Taylor had just one advantage over him at this moment, his knowledge of the cabin. In particular of the seats. There was an angled gap beneath them. He found the one under the nearest seat with his right foot, and quietly, trying not to move another part of his body, secured a toehold.

Still keeping up the pretence of being unconscious, he felt Rorke’s hands grip his armpits again. Heard his voice, leering.

‘Goodbye, Jamesy!’

Then, just as Rorke began to lift him, he struck out with a balled fist, landing a hard punch on the bridge of his nose.

Totally taken by surprise, Rorke howled in pain, jerked back and let go of him. As he did so, Taylor grabbed both of Rorke’s wrists and, using the leverage of his foot hooked underneath the seat, pulled him forward with every ounce of strength in his body.

Like a circus acrobat, with strength he did not know he possessed, he raised Rorke up above him, and hurled him out into that swirling, mad vortex behind him.

And for an instant, his muzzy brain was surprised how weightless Rorke suddenly was.

Because he was no longer holding him, he realized.

He heard a terrified scream. It lasted no more than a fraction of a second.

Then there was just the banshee howl of the wind, the hiss of the slipstream and a fleeting pungent smell of exhaust fumes.