Page 17 of Shattered

For a second Nate stared at him in disbelief. Jesus Christ, they were gonna crash?

His heart pummeled the inside of his ribs as he doubled over, put his head between his knees and clamped his hands behind the back of his neck. There was no time to panic, or pray.

He thought of Taya and their unborn child. His mind latched onto an image of her smiling up at him on their wedding day. The sun glinted off the tangle of dark curls pinned up on the crown of her head, the spray of flowers tucked there glowing in the late afternoon light. Her gray eyes were luminous as she gazed up at him, and so full of love and trust that for a moment it was hard to breathe.

His stomach lurched as the plane suddenly tipped sideways, dropping faster.

Please God, I don’t want to die.

They hit the ground hard with a bone-jolting, sickening metallic crunch.

Nate’s chin slammed into his right knee. Blood filled his mouth. The plane bounced upward for a second, enough time for a spurt of hope to burn through the shock.

Please, please…

But it was smothered when they smashed into the ground again a heartbeat later. His breath hitched as the aircraft flipped to the left and continued to skid on its side, the terrible scream of tearing metal shrieking in his ears as the wing behind him was ground away.

The lights went out, dropping them into complete blackness that was even more disorienting when the aircraft flipped upside down and kept sliding.

Nate squeezed his eyes shut and hung on, now upside down in the jump seat and held in only by the belt across his lap. He swallowed more blood, his heart lodged at the top of his throat. It seemed to go on forever, the broken fuselage bouncing and pitching along the ground. Finally it lurched to a stop, wrenching another grunt out of him as it snapped him sideways in his seat toward the cockpit.

In the eerie, stygian blackness, it took a moment to register that they’d stopped. That he was still alive.

He thrust one hand up to brace himself against the ceiling, and fumbled with the other to get the buckle of the lap belt undone.

“Anyone hurt?” Tuck called out beside him.

Groans and cries of pain answered him, then a few positive responses.

Nate winced as his head and shoulder slammed into the roof when the buckle released. He scrambled to his feet, shot a hand out to grab for something to orient himself with. It landed on something hard and solid. A shoulder.

He squeezed tight. “Bauer?”

“Yeah. I’m…okay.” His teammate was struggling to find his footing.

“Doc, you good?” Tuck asked from his left.

“Yep.” Who was hurt? He glanced toward the closed tail ramp. No way they were getting out that way. Searching around, his gaze caught on a small amount of daylight coming in across from him. A hole had been torn into the belly of the starboard side fuselage, just behind the wing.

The groans and cries around him grew louder, mixed with frantic, stressed voices from the other taskforce members onboard. Nate started toward the opening, barely able to tell which way was up. But they had to get out in case—

The unmistakable scent of smoke and jet fuel hit him.

His chest constricted.Fuck. “Everybody get out, right now.” He lurched forward, struggling to find his footing in this strange new terrain. “There’s a fire.”

Someone was already at the opening, banging at the side of the aircraft. Coming closer, Nate made out the silhouette of someone struggling to get the emergency exit door open. “It’s jammed,” the familiar voice said. Cruzie.

Nate headed over to help, bumped into someone on the way. He didn’t stop to see who it was, just made for the door as fast as he could. All the gear they’d brought on board was scattered all over the place, rendering any of their tools and equipment useless because they couldn’t spare the time in searching for any of it.

Together, he, Cruzie and the third man shoved and fought with the hatch. Nate gritted his teeth, his back, arms and legs straining against the unforgiving wall of metal standing between them and freedom.

A small explosion sounded up near the cockpit, sending a bolt of adrenaline surging through his veins.

Goddamn it,no. He was not dying in here. He wasn’t burning to death, trapped in this metal coffin.

A snarl of animal determination grated in his throat as he pushed, pushed with the others.

Metal squealed as they forced the hatch outward, fraction of an inch by torturous fraction of an inch. “Again,” the third man ordered.

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