Panic Button

Fourteen

Max stood in the corner of the cabin, over Dave’s lifeless body.

Jo was sitting on the couch near the bar area, staring at the empty seat in front of her, a haunted expression on her face.

“Will you… help me to move him?” Max asked.

Jo blanked him, staring stoically ahead.

“We can’t leave him there. I can’t… look at him.”

Jo glared at him. Now was not a good time for making such demands of her. All she could think of was Sophie and Dawn.

“You saw him. He was going to kill me if he could!”

“And now they’re both dead,” Jo said, “Why just kill her like that with Dave… gone?”

“I don’t know.”

Max sighed, and stepped over Dave’s dead body. He took a wrist in each hand and started dragging him to the front of the plane, but his own shoulder wound forced him to stop. The axe had gone deep and he was still bleeding out.

Gwen emerged from the bathroom. She looked at Jo, then Max, with tear-swollen eyes. Seeing Max struggling, she walked up the aisle, grabbed hold of Dave’s ankles and helped carry him. Dave’s back dragged on the cabin floor slightly leaving a slick of dark blood trailing after his corpse.

With some effort they lifted him a little higher, through the curtain and bundled him into the staff prep area. Gwen stood back, wiping her hands on her skirt absent-mindedly as Max tore down the dividing curtain and placed it gently over Dave like a shroud. As he stood up, Max moaned with pain as his shoulder twinged beneath his bloodstained shirt.

“Let me take a look at that,” Gwen said.

Max covered the wound with the flat of his hand. “Hurts like hell.”

Gwen pulled his hand away from the wound, took it into hers and led him away from Dave’s body.

“Come with me,” she said, pulling him towards the bathroom.

“What are you doing?” Jo asked as they passed her.

“There’s a first aid kit in the bathroom,” Gwen said.

Jo caught a shifty look in Gwen’s eyes. She looked edgier than ever to Jo, as though she were planning something. Gwen was quick to avert her eyes from Jo’s questioning gaze, shutting the door behind her and Max.

Outside, thunder rumbled as the turbulent weather system rolled in around the jet plane.

All alone in the cabin, Jo stared at the bathroom door. She felt she had no idea who the man on the other side of that door was anymore. When they’d first boarded the flight Jo had felt an instant kinship, a bond, with Max. She’d warmed to his gentle nature and apparently easygoing personality. He had seemed relaxed and unperturbed by anything, just living life for the moment. Jo guessed she was attracted to him because that was how she wanted to be in her heart of hearts — relaxed and carefree. If she was honest, she had hoped to get closer to him during the trip, much closer. But now she wasn’t so sure of her instincts. Max had killed Dave in self-defence; she knew that, but what about her attraction to someone who was still, in the eyes of the law, a murderer? Could she have even let someone like him into her life, which was all about control? Her life had to remain that way, a constant, or she’d unravel and be back at square one.

Maybe Max had simply lost his control as events unravelled around them — maybe, as he’d said, Dave wouldn’t have stopped until he’d killed him. And, in the cold light of day, Max was more important to her than Dave. She had to find a way of working with him to find a way out of the nightmare in which they had become ensnared.

Jo looked at the empty bottle of champagne on the floor and the bloodstain next to it where Dave’s lifeless body had been lying. She picked up the bottle, felt its dead weight in her hand, and studied it in quiet contemplation.

Do or die, she thought grimly, it’ll all be over soon, one way or another.

Tap water swirled into the sink as Gwen grabbed the first aid kit from the bathroom cabinet.

“Shirt off.”

Max removed his torn and bloody shirt, grimacing with pain as he lifted it over his shoulders.

“Sit down.”

He sat on the toilet seat lid, wincing.

“Hold still.”

Gwen soaked one of the plush hand towels under the tap and crouched down in front of Max. She started cleaning his wounds as best she could. The axe cut just below his shoulder had bit deep into the tender flesh between his chest and armpit. The bleeding had slowed but hadn’t quite stopped. Gwen took an antiseptic wipe from the first aid kit and pressed it over the wound.

Max groaned through his teeth at the sudden stinging sensation. As it subsided, his body relaxed and Gwen affixed an adhesive bandage over the wipe, which was already staining with fresh blood.

As she worked, she looked Max straight in the eye.

“Do you think we’re all going to die on this plane?”

Max looked back into her eyes. She looked fearful, but resolute.

“I don’t know… maybe… yes.”

As his voice trailed off, Gwen leaned forward between his legs and kissed him full on the lips. Max felt her warm body against his exposed skin, smelled her hair, her perfumed skin.

He broke away, confused.

“What are you doing?”

Gwen kissed him again, harder this time, then moved her lips across his neck and to his ear.

“Please help me…” she whispered.

Her hands were on his belt buckle now, teasing it open. Max breathed sharply as she unhooked his belt.

“If you don’t do this then my sister will die, and I can’t let that happen.”

Max took in the implications of her words and realised what she was asking of him. This was clearly the task Alligator had burdened Gwen with. It made perfect, perverted sense — force the abstainer to betray her moral code. Max’s head pulsed along with his heartbeat as her nimble fingers unzipped his trousers and reached inside.

“Do, or die,” Gwen whispered, her breath hot in his ear.

She lunged at him, kissing him passionately, her tongue finding his. Gwen kissed clumsily but passionately — she meant to do this.

Max gave himself over to her caresses, responding hungrily as all his guilt, frustration and anger turned to lust for the beautiful young woman before him. They hurriedly explored each other’s bodies, their mouths and limbs weaving together.

Loosening her scarf and unbuttoning her blouse, Gwen grabbed the back of Max’s neck as he lifted her up with him into a standing position. She wrapped her legs around him as, half-naked now; they began to grind against each other within the tight confines of the bathroom walls.

Gwen gasped as Max thrust against her. There was a hollow thud as she slammed back into the bathroom wall. She felt as though she was no longer in control of her own body. She opened up to him, inhaling the faint whiff of antiseptic from his dressing as though it were a drug. This is it, thought Gwen, I can do this, and perhaps this is how it was meant to be all along — the ultimate sacrifice.

She saw herself in the mirror, her arms and legs wrapped around Max. Her reflection looked utterly alien to her, like that of a different person. She imagined Alligator on the other side of the glass, watching them. Perhaps he had a camera hidden there, behind the mirror, recording their every move. Gwen felt as though she were looking Alligator in the eye as Max pressed his body against hers. She could feel his dark presence piercing her reflection like a threat. Her skin crawled with disgust at the thought, even as her flesh beneath burned with arousal.

Then, Max stopped suddenly, pulling away from her embrace. He had lost himself for a moment, adrift on the carnal opportunities afforded by Gwen’s task. The traumatic comedown after his fatal struggle with Dave had numbed his thought processes with shock. But it was the sound that returned his thoughts to crystal clarity. That hollow thud when Gwen’s back had hit the bathroom wall. The sound was pregnant with possibilities.

“What? What is it?” Gwen asked, breathless.

Max wasn’t even looking at her. His eyes were fixed on the wall panel behind her. If it was hollow, then something lay on the other side. He tapped at the panel with his knuckles, then his fingertips, as if checking for a pulse.

“The luggage,” he said, zipping and buckling his trousers.

Gwen looked at him, flustered.

He turned and tumbled out of the bathroom, grabbing his shirt as he went.

“Where are you going?!”

The door closed in answer.

The bathroom glowed green as the Alligator appeared on the TV screen — judge, jury and executioner.

“Your task is incomplete.”

Gwen shook her head in desperation.

“I tried! I tried, but he…”

“You…” Alligator interrupted, “must not let him gain access to the luggage compartment, understand? Stop him. You have five minutes — or Emily dies.”

Gwen pinched the flesh between her eyes with her fingers as though she was trying to squeeze Alligator’s voice from her brain. She stamped her foot on the floor in anger.

The anguished sound that emanated from her throat no longer sounded human to her.

Jo was sitting on the floor, near Dave’s blood smear, when Max burst through the bathroom door. He pulled his torn and bloodied shirt back on and Jo glanced at the dressing Gwen had affixed to his shoulder wound. Max had an intense look on his face as he marched up to Jo. Something had clearly rattled him — something new.

“In my bag, there’s a laptop. If I can get to it, I might be able to hack into the onboard network.”

“Okay…” Jo said, getting to her feet, “Then what?”

“We can call for help. Find out who is keeping us hostage on this bloody plane.”

Another possibility dawned on him.

“Get through to whoever’s in that cockpit!”

“You can do all that — with your laptop?”

Max smirked.

Over his shoulder, Jo saw Gwen emerge from the bathroom. She looked even more sheepish than she had before she’d gone inside with Max. Jo eyed her suspiciously.

“Yeah, I… do it all the time,” Max said. He hoped he could do what he was planning. In truth, he’d never attempted anything quite so audacious. He did his best to cover up his self-doubt and looked wide-eyed at Jo, seeking her support.

Jo had only ever used computers to access her All2gethr account, keep in touch with her friends and post photos of Sophie for Dawn to see. All this hacking stuff was beyond her. But Max’s earnest look told her he was serious about giving it a go. She gave a silent but encouraging nod.

They both looked at Gwen to gauge her reaction. The strain was beginning to show on her face.

“Are you both insane? He can see and hear everything!” Gwen said.

Max blinked and retrieved the crash axe. His mind was clearly made up.

“You don’t have to be involved, but I have to try something,” he said, heading for the bathroom.

“Stop,” Gwen pleaded, using her body to block the bathroom doorway, “Please, just stop!”

“I’m trying to get us out of this mess.”

Alligator’s voice joined the party, reverberating throughout the cabin.

“Two minutes Gwen.”

Gwen forced herself on Max, throwing her arms around his neck and kissing him passionately, like a longing lover.

Jo looked on, amazed at Gwen’s wholly inappropriate behaviour.

“What the…?”

Max disentangled himself from Gwen’s lips, pushing her away as gently as he could.

Gwen’s whole body shivered. It looked as though an icy wave was passing right through her, from her head down to the tips of her toes. Her eyes held Max’s gaze. The man for whom she had debased herself in order to save her only dear sister. The man who had then tossed her aside so carelessly.

“I’m so sorry,” she whispered softly.

Her words were no apology. She had to focus now, had to do it right for Emily. Her eyes narrowed with spite and she jabbed her fist into Max’s axe wound sharply.

He gagged on the pain, and in a split second the crash axe was in Gwen’s hand.

She shrieked like a banshee, an unholy sound, and stabbed the ice-pick end at Max’s shoulder. He stumbled back to avoid the blow and tumbled to the floor between the seats, his back hitting the cabin wall. Gwen leaped onto him, straddling his chest in a violent mockery of the passionate embrace they had shared only minutes ago in the bathroom.

Max managed to grab her forearms in defence, but Gwen still had a hold on the axe. Holding it with both hands, she was pushing down on it with all her of her body weight favouring his wounded side. It was almost frightening to her how easy it had been to turn the tables on him. But then, she’d degraded herself in the blink of an eye in the bathroom. The ultimate sacrifice, all for her beloved sister. It was Max or Emily, and her choice was clear. Gwen doubled her efforts and Max gasped from the pain of keeping the axe at bay. She was trying to turn the pick head into his face, meaning to impale him with it.

The sharp metal was just millimetres from Max’s eyeball, when Jo joined the fray, grabbing Gwen’s arm and trying to wrestle the weapon free. Gwen turned on Jo now, biting down on Jo’s hand and growling like a feral animal, forcing her to let go. Jo cried out as she retrieved her hand and Gwen returned her murderous attention to Max, who was still pinioned beneath her.

Max grabbed Gwen’s axe arm as tightly as he could, twisting her flesh painfully. She retaliated like a woman possessed, regaining her hold on the axe, and thrust down on it so hard that her knees almost lifted from the floor. The pick blade plunged toward Max’s neck, a hair’s breadth away from his jugular — and stopped.

Max looked up in disbelief.

Jo had Gwen in a headlock, arm wrapped around her neck from behind. She was squeezing with all her might.

“Get-off-him!” Jo hissed through gritted teeth.

Gwen doubled her efforts, her face turning red as Jo cut off her airway. She shoved as hard as she could with the axe, the blade cutting into Max’s flesh.

He gasped as a rivulet of blood trickled down his neck.

Jo tightened her grip, starving Gwen of oxygen. Gwen was struggling to breathe now, her once-sweet face turning from red to beetroot. Jo summoned all of her remaining strength to increase her grip on Gwen’s neck, her nasal passages flooded with the sickly sweet stench of Gwen’s sandalwood and fear.

Max was unable to move, trapped beneath Gwen’s body, neck at the mercy of the axe’s pick blade.

Roaring with exertion, Jo pushed her entire body backwards, thrusting with her legs. She fell back, dragging Gwen with her. As they fell, Jo twisted Gwen’s neck in her vice-like grip.

There was a loud crack, and Gwen fell limp to the floor between Jo’s legs.

The crash axe clattered to the floor.

Shock and adrenalin pumping through her system, Jo spider-legged backwards across the cabin floor until her back hit the dividing wall. She sat there, hand clamped to her mouth, and looked at Gwen’s body, mortified.

She was dead.

Gasping, Max rubbed at the blood on his neck and clambered to his feet. He sidestepped Gwen’s twisted form and rushed over to embrace Jo; a gesture of thanks — and of comfort.

“Oh dear, Gwen failed her assignment too.” Alligator’s voice cut through the tense silence, icy cool. “If you’d just died like a good boy then I wouldn’t have to kill her sister.”

An ominous electronic crackle rattled through the speakers.

“But you’re still here,” Alligator continued.

The touch screens flickered to life again, displaying a camera-eye view of Gwen’s sister, Emily, in her concrete prison. She was still tethered to the chair, her hair, skin and clothing drenched with petrol.

Jo and Max looked on, Alligator’s captive audience, as the cameraman fumbled to light a match. Emily writhed in sheer terror, almost knocking the chair backwards as she watched him try to strike the match a second time. A lens flare blistered across the screen as the match flickered alight. The killer tilted the match carefully, allowing the flame to take hold. Then, he flicked it Emily.

Whoosh. She was engulfed in flames, writhing and screaming in agony as the fire erupted and blistered the flesh from her bones.

Jo looked away, feeling sick.

Max staggered backwards, almost collapsing against one of the seats.

Their eyes had seen too much — too much cruelty, too much suffering and death — both on, and off, the plane through Alligator’s omnipotent camera eyes.

“Come now Jo, you’re missing the firework show!” Alligator taunted. “I thought you loved this stuff? Perhaps you’d prefer it if she was a little younger?”

Jo span around to face the screen.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?”

“Oh, I’m just holding up a mirror,” Alligator chuckled. “You may want to take a good look at yourself. We’ve both got blood on our hands.”

Looking down at her trembling hands, Jo glanced across the cabin at Gwen’s body. Only a few feet away, Gwen’s head lay at a horrible angle, her neck broken. Jo choked at the sight.

Max’s expression turned from one of horror to rage. He stooped, picking up the axe from the floor and smashed it into his touch screen. The monitor clattered to the floor, sparks flying. He then took a step toward Jo’s screen.

She held her hands up to him, blocking him.

“Don’t do it, please! It’s the only way I can see my daughter…”

Squinting fixated at the monitor for a moment, Max appeared to lose his focus. His eyes darkened, then he turned to Jo and took a deep breath.

“You want to see your daughter again?” he asked.

Jo nodded.

“Then we have got to get into that luggage compartment.”

He marched back to the bathroom door, crash axe in hand.

Jo took Max’s jacket from the armrest of his seat and, crouching, laid it gently over Gwen’s face.

“I’m sorry Gwen, I didn’t mean for this to happen,” Jo whispered.

Her words would never be enough, but they were all she had to give. Her head throbbed with remorse. In essence, she felt responsible for two deaths. If she had simply allowed Gwen’s fight with Max to take its natural course, then maybe Gwen and her sister would both still be alive. Maybe Gwen would have turned her murderous rage on Jo next; there was no way of knowing if she could have defeated her single-handed. Whatever the case, Max could be her only chance of saving Sophie — she just prayed he had enough time to do what he could.

She got back on her feet and followed Max to the bathroom.

The wall panel reverberated with the impact of the crash axe.

Max was hacking at it, putting all his might into each blow. He imagined the Alligator’s grinning green face on the other side of the wall, pouring all his rage into it. Anger for all the manipulation, mind games and murder, for all those innocent people who had died. He’d be dead too unless he could do something about it.

Breaking the wall represented that opportunity. Somewhere on the other side was his laptop. He felt sure he could use it to hack into the jet’s network. If he succeeded, cracking the door control for the cockpit wouldn’t be beyond the bounds of possibility. He just had to get the damn thing first. It had to be there — he remembered seeing the stocky luggage guy loading their luggage onto the plane when they handed their phones over to the limousine driver.

Nice moves, Max thought bitterly, making sure we couldn’t contact the outside world once your damn games started up. Well, I’ll prove you wrong you bastards.

He visualised his beloved old laptop, standby light winking at him conspiratorially from the confines of his travel bag. Be with you soon, Old Girl, he thought.

He heaved the axe at the wall panel again. This time it buckled and cracked. Max wrenched the axe free and stared at the wall, not quite believing his eyes.

The crack in the wall was bleeding.