It started on 9 am, Anchorage time.

It ended eight hours later.

The flight was a typical Northwest Airline one, quick boarding, smooth takeoff and just the service everyone paid for. Pressurized inside the plane cabin was an air of calm. The arctic turbulence was nothing to be worried about, because who actually flew without one? Anyways, it was a sunny day where Flight 122 came from. It seemed like the runway cleared itself of snow by nothing more than sunshine. Alaska blew by in a few hours.

The Bering Strait was windy. The other side of the International Date Line didn't seem as bright. Though this route went east to west, almost as if the day never progressed as Flight 122 chased the sun. It looked like the same time of the day when sea turned to land. Clouds cast shadows on aluminum wings, and someone with a window seat rubbed their eyes open to see a snow-covered valley less than a kilometer below.

Then something shook the 707, it wasn't anything strong, but it was unlike natural turbulent earlier. Smoke emitted from three of the four jet engines, at that instant, everything turned downwards. There was the pilot announcement, the scrambling of flight attendants securing loose objects and the mass panic to prepare for crash landing. Seconds later, the left wing caught fire. Lights flickered without warning to further the passenger's fears. Suddenly, the entire aircraft sounded like fright.

The fall itself took no more than two minutes, but it was the longest two minutes no one wished to experience. As if the boiling panic prior suddenly exploded into a deafening touchdown, every screech felt like the aftermath of a quake. Initially, the pilots found a strip of clearing and attempted to guide landing gears onto it. However, their plan was dashed by descent quicker than expected. At the same time, fire on the left wing dipped the entire aircraft in its direction. Wood met metal head on, those sitting up front to hear a disturbing shatter of glass, it would later reveal as a stubborn tree ramming into the cockpit; all fours pilots were killed in that instant. Thankfully, landing gears became cushions and prevented a straight nose dive. The 707 continued to skid forward until the left wing collided with a large boulder. The inner engine exploded immediately, ripping the nearby cabin open and either killing, or even more mercilessly, throwing nearby passengers out. Even at this speed, which was several hundred kilometers per hour, at the very least, being flung out equated to certain death.

Three things happened to make matters worse; the right wing also caught fire, the landing gears gave out and the entire plane split in two. The first two came hand-in-hand as a one-two punch against the last. When the plane split, it rolled. The burning wing attached initially to the front, but it was flipped directly into the rear section, where the outer engine smashed inside the airframe and somehow blew up. This explosion shifted the rear section from the front, causing it to stop after a bundle of pines and a mound of slush.

The front, however, dived in a pond. Because it still carried momentum, the cockpit plus business class slid several hundred meters into ice. Crack, an already battered nose broke through thin sheets. The forward section finally stopped, but it stopped buried into mud. Their surrounding was a pond just under ten meters, and with the remaining cabin longer than ten meters, only half was submerged at an angle. As if nature was handing out a cruel mock, the cockpit door clicked open, the crushed corpse of a dead pilot spilled out.

Getting out of freezing water and reaching dry land should be priority for the three survivors in front. Because the cockpit door now came apart, the gruelsome scene inside reminded that the black box and flight plans were still in there. Recovering vital documents could reveal what destroyed a seemingly routine flight ten minutes ago. One survival kit consisted of basic medical equipment, a simple tool kit, a compass, a flashlight, a flare gun with four cartridges and a survival knife, could be found near the attendant's seats.

Fire was burning in the rear section. Only passengers in far back rows had a living chance, and even so, many were killed by a variety of hazards during the crash. The former center rows were burning, and it would surely spread backwards. Two more exits existed behind the washrooms, but unfortunately, their levers produced no reactions what so ever. However, a red-bladed axe and a fire extinguisher could easily be seen inside an overturned compartment. Behind everything was a dark chamber, one hidden by a busted door identical to cabin walls. There was a small table inside, a table with a built-in sink for developing photos. On the floor laid a trapdoor.

Outside was chilly, the faint swoosh of wind could be heard. There was a long line of wrecked trees behind everything, a reminder of the crash course. To the side of the rear half was a circular clearing, where a still burning engine lodged in the center. A couple of trees were burning too, but it didn't seem like fire was spreading to the entire forest. A short mole hill sat no more than a kilometer away, and several kilometers behind it, a much taller mountain stood. Ravens have already started cawing around the wreckage, but beyond them and other bird songs, there was no sign of civilization.

"Its your fault! You always gallivanting across the damn globe, leaving him alone!He only did this to impress you, because he loved you more than any of us! This is all your faul-"

Charlotte Summers jolted awake. She didn't know where she was, she didn't know what had happened. All she knew is that her whole bloody body ached. Her vision focused and she blinked a few times. She was looking down at a half submerged plane. It was unbelievably cold, and she shivered as a northern wind swept through the aircraft. Charlotte looked down at her body and found that she was latched to her seat, held up by it, acting against gravity. Her body and head ached the worst and as she touched her temple with her finger, she saw blood. Her clothes were relatively untouched, ripped in a few places but other than that they were fine. It was only now that she realized what had happened and as she looked around the plane, she became increasingly horrified. Bodies, all the passengers. Corpses were strewn about, seats ripped, necks broken, luggage peppered the scene.

Charlotte grunted and fumbled with her emergency latch. Her hands were shaking and it took her over ten seconds to undo it. She jerked forward and hit the seat in front of her, gravity kicking into effect. She was breathing heavily as she looked around, her head throbbing. How had this happened. She struggled to her feet, not helped by her business heels and looked around the plane. She noticed that the back half was gone and the cockpit was completely submerged, a pilot's crumpled form blocking the doorway. The archaeologist rested her head on the back of the seat in front of her as she panted, her whole body shaking.

'Get it together, Charlotte. Don't panic. You've been in sketchy situations before, just keep your head.'

But then again, this situation could be described as a lot more than 'sketchy'. Charlotte looked over to where her luggage was sitting and it seemed it had stayed in the compartment during the crash. She struggled over to the compartment, fighting the slanted footing and opened the door, ripping out the bag and letting it fall to the floor. Maybe she had something that could help her. As she dug through the bag, she gasped as she saw them. The syringes. She had almost forgot. She stared at them for a moment before searching through the rest of the bag. No doubt the change of clothes will be welcome, plus they could be used for bandages or bedding. The rest, she wasn't so sure, but it couldn't hurt to take the whole bag. Charlotte zipped it up and stood up once again, looking around the plane for the third time. Her eyes fell on the cockpit and the thought dawned on her.

'The cockpit will most likely have first aid and emergency supplies, as well as other areas of the plane.'

Charlotte shivered, a stronger wind blowing through. She realized how cold it really was. She would die if she ventured into the cockpit at this temperature, with the water as deep as it was. She sighed as she dragged her hands across her face. Her head snapped to the right as she heard a groan. Someone was alive! She made her way towards the noise and spotted a stewardess, a young woman, possibly younger than Charlotte. She quickly rushed to her and searched her over for wounds or significant injuries. She shook the woman lightly saying "Oi, are you okay?"

@TheMoatedGrange

Kalterherberg | The Ardennes
Early Morning, December 17th, 1944

Julian crouched low and loosed the scarf from over his mouth. He bit a cigarette out from out a thin paper pack then plucked a pack of matches from his chest pocket. The snap of the match as it burst into a small flame caught the attention of his comrades. Allen glanced down from behind the machinegun and sandbags that made up the front of the trench chuckling. One of the newer members of the platoon, Hamilton, paid more attention to the freshly lit cigarette than he did keeping the belt of ammunition out of the mud and snow. Julian enjoyed a long drag, fully aware of the hungry eyes.

"I swear not a year ago you were all high and mighty about smokin'. Sign of weakness, dirty habit, any of that sound familiar?" Allen recounted as Julian stood with the cigarette offered. The gunman accepted with a nod, eyes never tearing from the field of white before them.

Smirking, Julian stood and held the cigarette near Allen's shoulder. The gunner scanned the field of white ahead of them, then turned his head briefly to take a deep drag. A calm appeared in the gunner's eyes and Julian moved in a crouch further a few steps down the trench toward the next seasoned member of the group. Julian replied to the comment as he approached Bradley, "You sure that was me? I think you've got me and Bradley here mixed up again." He winked, then handed the cigarette to the sharpshooter bundled in white blankets. Bradley responded with the faintest of smiles before taking the smoke under the blanket and handing it back amidst a faint cloud. The sight was almost comical. Finally, Julian turned to Hamilton who was staring flatly.

"Bradley ain't no nigger, boy," Hamilton snapped. The belt slackened, further dipping into the mud. "No mongrels shoot as good as him, don't even joke or I'll remind you of yer place. Hear me?"

Julian made to respond until he noticed Allen. He caught a flash of annoyance recognized from years together, while Hamilton caught only the back of the gunner's hand. Allen struck the man twice before sneering at him long enough to hiss, "Shut the fuck up. Callin' folks mongrels? You sound like the fascist bastards we're here to send packin'. Besides, seems like keepin' the ammo ready to feed is hard enough for you, consider talkin' a privilege you gotta earn." Allen shook his head then returned his gaze to the field. "Hamilton just forfeited his turn. Mind fittin' me with another drag, Jules?"

"Got something," came a voice slow and cool. Both Julian and Hamilton turned to Bradley, while Allen pulled the bolt back on the M2 Browning. "Civilian. A woman with a bag. Looks like a nurse."

Allen kicked the frozen dirt wall of the trench. "Goddammit again? These people go wandering off like they don't know guns pointed in both directions. If Jerry pops up and she's out there I can't just --"

"I'll get her," Julian interrupted, flicking the cherry out the end of the cigarette. His eyes were large and still and almost unnerving as he smiled. "You wouldn't tag the only one with smokes, right?"

The joke hung in the air as Julian grabbed his rifle and climbed out from the side of the trench. He jogged to the nearest tree before then dashed to the next. After the third tree he came to a great clearing where the Arden parted and around which lines were drawn. Julian sat with his back pressed against the bark and leaned to the side until he could see the field. It was simply pristine. A new blanket of snow fell in overnight and glowed under the cloud washed morning sun. Yesterday's horrors hid beneath a glistening expanse unspoiled by man or beast or least of all war. The brightness, or perhaps it the sheer quality, caused Julian's eyes to tear.

Julian charged into the heavenly expanse. His boots drove cut the packed snow like a butter knife through steak. With each step he imagined the sight all the more foolish for Allen, Bradley, Hamilton, and any of the Germans enjoying this bit of morning entertainment. The tattered, mud speckled green scarf issued by Uncle Sam flicked to the side in the bittercold wind. He thought of the flags that hung below shooting targets to judge wind and of the forest which had spared him the tortuous weather before. Through the biting wind and flakes of snow glowing the dawn's light found a silhouette. She by the shape of the shadow, though the image delicate behind the blur of white. Julian slung the rifle over his shoulder and stepped faster. He heard a gentle song. When his vision cleared a woman appeared.

The Wreckage | Unknown
Morning, February 24th, 1969

Françoise smiled softly with a thin line of red contrasting against her pale cheek. He awoke to her hand clasped in his as it had been when the turbulence began. Three little cuts from her manicured and polished nails pressed nervously into the top of his hand bled a little. He'd cupped her cheek softly and kissed her. A show of affection and trust despite years passed. He wondered how many saw their wives or husbands or children last in a moment of anger. He wondered how many couples shared a beautiful memory as their last. He shut his eyes and drew a long breath.

Julian stood slowly feeling years beyond his age. He placed a hand on the seat ahead a little too hard causing the passenger to stir. Before he could apologize, they slumped into the aisle and began to drip dark blood. An unnatural stench hung in the air reminding him of a kitchen fire and his years at war. As he stepped into the aisle and scanned the plane, or rather the half that remained. Suddenly, reality hit.

"Get off the plane," Julian gasped. His eyes widened and chest broadened as he repeated in a shout. "Everyone get off the goddamn plane!"

Julian barely remembered his duffle bag in the overhead compartment. Stepping hard alongside rows of the dead, dying, or stirring, he made his way to the first emergency exit near the lavatories. He grabbed the lever and jerked downward. Not only did the handle of the lever break off completely, but the emergency door remained entirely still. Swearing under his breath, Julian kicked at the door twice before trying uselessly at the second exit. By now at least one other was shuffling in their seats closer and closer to a rude awakening. On any other day he might wait to consult with the other passenger, but not on a day when the room looked of hell and reeked of burned flesh. Without any other obvious paths to escape Julian scanned the cabin.

An emergency axe and fire extinguisher lay spilled out among the fallen baggage and toppled compartments. Julian slung the duffle bag over a shoulder then took the axe firmly in both hands. His eyes glanced back toward the lavatories, but he wagered the emergency doors would handle the axe as well as his kick. The windows along the cabin were also too small for anyone of his size to slip through. Then his gaze shifted to a darkness at the end of the cabin. Julian approached the shadowed space, axe ready, intent on escape.

"Get off the plane," Julian gasped. His eyes widened and chest broadened as he repeated in a shout. "Everyone get off the goddamn plane!"

Edward gave a start, eyes opening. Vision blurred from a thin film of moisture over his brown orbs. Before his head had caught up with him, he felt the ache first. The young man hadn't felt such an ache before, even after a double shift at the steel mill. He reached down, a dull pain flooding his arm as he did so. He placed his hand upon his chest and abdomen, and was so very thankful that he couldn't feel anything broken. But why would I...?

Realization dawned on him like the sun's light waking him up in the morning on his off day. It was just as unpleasant of an experience as well. He began to suck in deep breaths, the air around him ice cold and he felt like he was filling his lungs with shards. "Holy sh...I mean...this is a drag."

He realized just how much of an understatement that was after he said it. This can't be real. You're dreaming. You dozed off on the plane and you're dreaming. I know you daydream a lot but this is taking it too far. The chill air felt all too real however, as did his ache. The surrounding plane was too detailed and...fire. "Jesus." he said when he noticed it, trying to unbuckle himself. For a few nerve wracking seconds, he couldn't get it to come off. He nearly tried to rip it free before it whipped across and smacked the passenger next to him. Edward glanced to his side, and he let out a shout when he realized the business man that had sat next to him was now a cold corpse. His unseeing eyes gazed at Edward, hanging limply by a broken neck. "I gotta book it out of here." he breathed, and swallowed.

He was hyperventilating now as he stood up, just after the older black passenger had passed him with the equipment. He needed to grab his medicine. He needed it! He scrambled at the latch of the overhead compartment, not caring anymore for politeness and ripping the small door open. It caused him to lose balance however and he fell backwards, roughly hitting the arm of the chair across from him and having his things spill atop of him. He gathered them all up, placing his inhaler in his pocket as he looked around. The fire felt nice, but he wasn't about to stay. As he followed the man heading to the back of the plane, he suddenly felt a tinge of something in the back of his chest. An inner pain he almost didn't recognize. Regret.

‘’You know, I specifically asked them not to give me a BLT, but they did it anyway,’’ the burly, sleazy-looking man next to Richard huffed out as he took a sip from a can of Dr. Pepper. ‘’I prefer Cubans, you see, the bread’s soft, and they’ve got this sauce they call mojo, and it makes for a more authentic experience. It’s like Nirvana in your mouth.’’ The man smacked his lips, and continued. ‘’The toast bread always cuts my palate, you know? I hate it when that happens. You can’t enjoy anything when that happens.’’

Richard smiled at the man, while his eyes lamented being seated next to him, and agreed. ‘’Yeah, I know that. You should have switched it when you had the chance,’’ he said, turning his head to look out of the window. He had taken this ticket to enjoy the opportunities created by being a high-up in an electronics company, such as getting away from his wife and children, and yet, here this vagrant was, pissing on his dreams of peace and quiet with his sandwich preferences.

‘’I would have, but I hate to put extra work on the shoulders of the attendants, you see. I think it’s horrid, having to dress up in high heels and putting on makeup just so mister Wilkins over there,’’ he pointed at a fat man in a suit, ‘’feels like he can jerk off. I don’t like this sort of society. Let them have their way. I’m not going to be part of it.’’

Richard smiled. ‘’Yet you’re on Business Class, aren’t you?’’ He said coyly, his eyes glinting with the pleasure achieved from finally getting back at the man and his troupe of annoyances. If only he could get this man to shut up too, then it’d all be perfect. But it seemed the man was feeling argumentative.

‘’Hey, I never asked for a Business Class ticket,’’ the man said hastily, his voice reeking with hints of frustration, and even slight anger. ‘’It’s not my fault that my agent got me a ticket for this seat. I’m no man of comfort, buddy – I’ve had to spend days waddling through shit and malaria-laden waters in Vietnam!’’ He took another sip from his can of Dr. Pepper. ‘’You folk and your prejudices.’’

Richard actually felt a tinge of regret for snapping back at his fellow veteran, and a newfound sense of respect for him. ‘’You served? You never struck me as that type,’’ he replied with a newly found friendly tone. ‘’Richard Samuels, I was a Lance Corporal, got a Purple Medal in Da Nang during the Tet.’’

The burly man looked slightly distressed by this information, and replied a moment later. ‘’I’m Isaac, Isaac Graham. Funny, I was wounded on a convoy from Tam Kỳ to Da Nang during the Tet. That was the end of my time in Vietnam. Small world, huh?’’ He asked, trying to cut down on the conversation amicably. He didn’t want for the man to find out his line of work and end up giving him shit because of it. But Isaac was no pacifist – oh, no, he’d punch a man a new mouth if things were to get there. Not that he was an advocate of violence.

‘’Certainly is. So where’d you-What’s that?’’ Richard asked, rustled by the sudden shaking.

‘’Oh, don’t worry, I’m sure it’s just some turbulen-Holy shit, the wing’s on fire!’’ Isaac shouted, and as the lights began to flicker, suddenly everyone began shouting. ‘’Fucking hell, we’re crashing!’’ Richard screamed as his stomach bounced with the odd movements of the plane. Luggage began flying around the cabin like pellets in a snow globe, or maybe more like squash balls, and Isaac was hit in the face by his half-empty Dr. Pepper can, spilling its contents all over him. Isaac screamed in fright, mistaking the fluid all over his clothes and face as blood in the dim light, adding to the cacophony of horror going on inside the cabin. Immediately after, the plane rumbled like it were growling, and at that point Isaac nearly got his skull cracked open by a stray piece of luggage that bounced off his head into the face of some kid sitting two rows in front of him, to the right side. Isaac closed his eyes, not wishing to see whatever happened, and not being able to see without pain now with the burning feeling on the side of his head, as the plane canted towards the left. Isaac stopped screaming and just kept his mouth open at an uncertain moment, and suddenly, a hand on his shoulder latched on, trying to comfort him.

‘’Good God, calm down!’’ Richard screamed out, himself barely adhering to the command, and the screaming and the weird mechanical failure sounds made his appeal to Isaac barely comprehensible. Isaac wasn’t going to have any of it, and just kept blurting out air. With another rumble, suddenly, the plane started vibrating as if it were thrown onto some lethal massage chair, and one explosion and crashing sound later, Isaac found himself looking at a hull breach where Richard once was, flames and snow making a (from an observer’s perspective, and not a participant’s) nice, if foreboding, change of scenery than the plane cabin full of screaming people. Of course, Isaac being there and experiencing things firsthand, he wanted to jump away from the large hole, but found himself unable to, courtesy of his seatbelt. Moments later, he felt as if he was in zero gravity, his stomach feeling in a vacuum, and then, alongside more crashing, he lost consciousness, his last glimpses of sight being that of faint flames, blur, and screaming people.

When he came to, from visions of explosions, screaming, and shouting, Isaac found his shoulders, face and chest peppered with blood, be it from the seats in front of him, or from the gash on the side of his head. Slanted down, he could feel wind blowing from the rip on the fuselage right next to him. Ironically, his rucksack sat right in front of his feet, somehow having found its place next to its owner in all the chaos earlier. Isaac felt an overwhelming need to smoke, be it a regular cigarette or a joint, but unfortunately for him, now really wasn’t the time. He fumbled with his seatbelt to free himself, but his eyes were darting around the scene. He could see some conscious, and one woman was even trying to wake up a flight attendant. And at that moment, he couldn’t help but think the whole sight would make for an excellent photograph.

Cold. Wet. Smoke? A wave of events washed over her fried brain, forcing her to the brink of nearly passing out. What the hell happened? That was a damn good question. The last thing she remembered was watching a great burst of fire erupt from the wing. The plane shook, a drastic loss in altitude, terrified passengers screamed in horror at the reality that they would be crashing, just like the captain had blurted out, the fear evident in his own voice. Luggage had fallen free from the overhead compartments, and she vaguely remembered her head slamming into the window. A fierce ache in her arm forced her to stir as she came to terms with her surroundings. The man that sat next to her, the one that had tried to talk to her before take-off, which Athena politely evaded, lay still, slumped over in his seat, held in place by his simple lap-belt. Reaching out with a hand, Athena tried to wake her fellow passenger.

"Hey, mister..." His body moved like a limp rag doll, head rolling on his neck. A bubble of fear and concern began to grow in the pit of her stomach. Somewhere up ahead, a fire burned steadily, eating away at the leather seats and the carpeted flooring. Fumbling with the metal clasp that secured her in place, her eyes darted frantically around the cabin, it was then that her eyes wandered out to look at the window, snow. Snow and pine trees. Snow, pine trees, a lake, and a grey outline of a mountain range in the distance. They certainly had not crash-landed anywhere near Japan. Perhaps Siberia? Or maybe somewhere further down the Pacific coast line, near China perhaps? Well shit, Siberia was an expansive wasteland, few inhabitants, and certainly no sign of civilization.

When the buckle gave way, Athena staggered to her feet in a rush. Instantly, a mirage of swirling colours came to dance before her eyes, practically blinding her. Grunting, she blinked rapidly in hopes to clear away the colorurs. Sliding past the man, uncertain if he was unconscious or dead, likely dead, as she presumed from the amount of blood that poured out of his ears, she made her way into the aisle.

Everyone get off the goddamned plane!

She turned her head in the direction of the voice to see an older black man sporting an emergency axe. Other passengers that were conscious had begun to stir, as if coming to reality with the horrendous fact that they had indeed crashed, quite possibly, in the middle of nowhere. Another passenger had stirred, and escaped the confines of the airplane seatbelt, stumbled into the aisle way, and hastily yanked his suitcase free from the compartment above.

"Hey. Hey wait for me!" She croaked, her throat unnaturally parched. The compartment in which she had stowed her luggage opened during the descent of the plane, the red leather suitcase was easy to spot amongst the blue-and-white interior of the plane. Tears filled her eyes, and a hard lump at the back of her throat made it hard for her to breathe. Please don't leave me! She thought, grabbing the spilled contents of the suitcase, and thrusting them back inside.

"HEY! Is anyone else alive?!" Athena managed a weakened cry, hoping to awake any of the other passengers that remained strapped in their seats. The smoke in the torn cabin was thick, yet, an ominously cold gust of air made its way through the interior, sending shivers up her arm. Following after the black man, and the other passenger, she made her way towards the tail of the plane. It was then, as she slipped on loose leaf papers in the aisle way, and fell into an empty chair, an iron-hot pain seared through her bicep. She could feel some type of foreign material lodged in her arm. If she made it out of the plane, she would take her jacket off, and take a look at it.

Nervous was probably the best word to explain Jack upon boarding the plane. His first trip through the air, and a damn long one at that. He had not been looking forward to the experience, and he was certainly looking forward to it a hell of a lot less considering he would be alone on the flight. Throughout the entire boarding process, though he smiled, the facade was broken by his shifty eyes and shaking hands. On taking his seat, he made the acquaintance of a sweet sounding woman -something in her accent was foreign, but Jack wasn't entirely sure from where. The first words he heard from her was a question -something about whether or not he had flown before. Jack had clenched his hands tightly when he realized the question was more than likely prompted by the shivering in his fingers.

Itching at his leg, he had told her that he had of course flown before, but her chuckle had shown him that she wasn't entirely convinced. The up until takeoff, the two got to know each other. Kumiko was her name -she was from Tokyo, but had been visiting family in Minnesota before coming back up to Anchorage for the flight. Apparently Kumiko's family got around quite a bit, although Jack wasn't even sure how possible that really was. Despite Jack's earlier anxiety about the flight, talking with Kumiko soothed his fears quite effectively -to the point where Jack hadn't even noticed the takeoff.

A couple hours at most passed, before Kumiko suggested Jack get some sleep, and did the same herself. Though Jack was able to drift off into the clutches of sleep, it was an uneasy sleep. Time and time again, Jack woke in a panic, sure that the plane was about to crash. Waking up the third time, he found Kumiko's head resting on his shoulder, and he fell into the clutches of sleep again, now more deeply as he realized just how silly his fears of a plane crash were. A blanket of slumber fell over Jack's mind, numbing him to the outside.

AAAAAAUUGGGGH

OH MY GOD


The cacophony of misery in the air mingled with the stinging heavy smell of smoke and blood that filled the plane, and roused Jack from his slumber. His awakening was slow at first -narrow and blurry vision showed him nothing but the black and red blur of deadly flames that tread ever closer and closer with crackling footsteps. As the world around him grew only more chaotic, Jack was shaken more roughly into action. Furious fingers fumbled with his seat belt momentarily, before a click signaled his freedom. A look crossed his face similar to that of a man who realized he left the stove on at home, and he turned to the seat next to him. He shook Kumiko perhaps a bit too roughly -she couldn't be dead, he was sure that he saw her take in a breath.

Attempt after attempt failed to rouse her, and the gentle brush of heat against his back warned Jack that he was out of time. He let out an angry shout, before accepting her death -perhaps her head resting in the seat just behind the rest of her body should've been his first indication of such. Almost ripping the door off of the overhead compartment in his anger, Jack took a two handed hold on the tweed material of his suitcase as he rushed -or rather, stumbled, away from the ever approaching embrace of the flames. He felt numb, cold, and sore -how very nice it would be to simply sit in the flames and let them warm him. More screams from within the orange curtain shook him from the trance like state, and he continued his unsteady limp towards the back, and other survivors.

A younger white woman, a man of similar color and age, and an older black man wielding a fire axe. Though a bit late to the party, it seemed, in the chaos he had seen the older man attempt to open the emergency doors to no avail. Not that he didn't trust the man's strength, Jack simply trusted his own strength more. Dropping the suitcase near the feet of the young white man, Jack approached the emergency door with the unbroken lever, and pulled with all the strength he could muster. When he felt the lever shudder rather than budging in the way he had hoped, he backed away, not wishing to break this as well. He growled gutterally, a noise more animal than human, kicking against the cabin wall. He then followed the black man's gaze to the darkness in the back, and took it as a cue to act.

Taking hold of the fire extinguisher still lying on the floor, Jack walked with purpose towards the already busted door -had that always been there? Jack could've sworn that area had been a wall earlier in the flight. Not taking the time to second guess himself terribly much, Jack simply moved, shoving the broken door aside. Flickering light from the wall of orange and red approaching from the front -or what was once the center of the plane, illuminated the inside of the chamber just enough for Jack to make out a small table with a sink of some kind, and something on the floor. He stumbled inside, dropping the fire extinguisher in the corner as he leaned against the table. He had had high hopes for escape through this James Bond secret chamber, and it appeared to only be a dead end.

"Shit. Fuck. Fucking goddamn shit."

In the back, Jack had been fortunately to step on a creaking object. It was a loose hinged door on the floor, which bounced in place only to be held a locked chain running through a set of rings. This chain could easily be broken with the fire axe. On the table were raw film waiting to be processed, but there were also paper-sized maps detailing the Russian Far East. When the hinged compartment eventually opens, it would reveal a way out among broken plane under-sections and several destroyed cameras. However, the escape would be pressed by fire rapidly encroaching from the middle. Flames were already licking where the survivors' seats used to be as someone worked on the door. Smoke filled the cabin, with few alarms still blaring, breathing started to become difficult, especially for Edward. Using the extinguisher would be risky in close quarters, however, there was a box of meals and another case of blankets to be salvaged.

At the forward section, what was left of business class steadily sunk into the lake. Ice cold water began filling into the shoes of the survivors. Charlotte could feel the flight attendant stirring, but she had yet to respond in any meaningful way (though there were faint heartbeats). No injury worse than a bruise on her elbow appeared on the flight attendant, and the name pin on the airline uniform wrote "Mary-Louise". One small red pack laid beside Charlotte; it was made of durable fabric and held bandages, a flashlight, a flare and four flare shots. As for Isaac, a large compass dropped out of a nearby passenger's jacket. This person was dead, but their jacket was made of warm down and just Issac's size. The front wreckage would be emerged in minutes, but fortunately, ice pieces flowed within stepping distance the opening (where the wings used to be). Shore was a good ten meters (33 feet) away, the water was deeper than human height for half of that distance. It would be a choice of risking it on fragile ice sheets, or swimming between them, with the help of buoyant seat pieces (as proscribed by safety manuals).

Once everyone have made it outside, the roar of jet engine suddenly screamed overhead. A military plane flew low, over the crash site and pulling above the mountains.

---

"Hey. Hey wait for me!" Edward heard behind him, and for a moment this was too unreal for him to respond. In fact he stood rigid, his head downcast and his eyes unseeing as his mind escaped into his own little world where all of his writings had come from. He could suddenly feel his breathing in a more subtle fashion as his mind began to play tricks on him. Why was this happening? Was it actually happening?

"Hey! Mister, can you give me a hand?" Athena struggled desperately to her feet, the shard of metal, or at least that's what the iron-hot foreign metal lodged in her arm felt like. The fall against the seat had driven the shard deeper into her bicep, practically immobilizing her arm as a stabbing sensation of pins and needles raced to her fingertips. Perhaps she was just imagining, but she could have sworn that through the haze of the smoke and fire, she could see the man at the last of the survivors pause, and with a deer-in-head-lights gaze fought with his inner demons. She couldn't blame him, this was a dog-eat-dog world, every man for himself, especially when the plane carrying you to Tokyo had crashed in the middle of wintry Asia, possibly Russia, and your only chance for survival was to make it off the burning inferno.

"Please, I can help us all, I'm a park ranger. It's my arm, there's something lodged in it. Quick, just help me up!" While she wasted quintessential microseconds explaining her occupation, Athena knew she sounded desperate. Even if the man left her behind, she would still do her best to exit the plane, yet with the raging fire inching closer every second, Athena calculated that the amount of oxygen left in the plane quickly diminished. She would suffocate and die if she couldn't make it to the rear door where the black man, and the foreigner had disappeared to.

A cry from behind him broke the young man from his reverie, noticing that it sounded like the same voice who had called for help earlier. Don't be an asshole, do something! his mind screamed. "Right right, yeah." he said breathlessly, and turned around ungracefully. This woman (he'd seen her before earlier, perhaps?) was on the ground, and he could see something lodged into the flesh of her arm. "Shit shit shit oh god." he continued, making his way over to her. "H-Hey. I'm not tryin' to be or do anyth-Listen, I'mma help." His voice was shaken, as was his body, but he slipped his arm under her undamaged one and hauled her up as best he could. He might be a cowardly writer, but all those years in the steel mill had given him formidable strength when he needed to use it.

Before she had the chance to continue her plea for help, the man had came to her rescue. By now the smoke became as thick as a swatch of charred velvet, one that clung to her skin, and threatened to suffocate her if they didn't reach the exit soon. While she leaned into him, her eyes watered from the acrid black smoke.

He saw a the black man with the axe attempt to break open the door, and the foreign man taking the opportunity to find another means of escape in the other direction. "Uh" he said, and breathed. "Um..." Edward didn't know what to do or where to go. It was at that moment that he smelled something suspiciously like smoke, and soon it was obscuring his vision enough for him to need to be blind to not see it. Hell, even if he was blind, he could tell it was there. Namely because he felt a shudder within his throat, something he had been hoping at all costs would not happen in this fucking situation. It's ok! You have some time before you need to take the inhaler. If you're stuck in here long enough for your attack to be irreversible you'd die anyway from the fire. You wouldn't HAVE to suffocate! He started to sweat on his brow. So much for cheering himself up.

Stifling a cough as best as she could, Athena practically pulled the man forward with her own bodily weight, "Back here! They went back here! I know I saw that black guy with an axe come this way. C'mon, we've got to hurry before this smoke smothers us, and leaves us both for dead." With her good arm grasping the suitcase firmly, she managed to lumber forward, every breath felt as if it would be her last, for what felt like a slow, agonizing eternity, Athena and her rescuer made it to the rear of the plane, where a mysterious floor panel seemingly blended in with the blue carpeted flooring. It would appear that the black man, and the foreigner had made their way through the compartment for now a large hole, likely made by the crash, revealed a sizeable area for them to squeeze through. While Athena did not readily question the compartment, as she sidled down into the room, she noted several rolls of undeveloped film along with other camera equipment she deemed useful or would perhaps serve a practical purpose until rescue. To most, she would seem illogical, or even irrational in the behaviour that followed next, as she plopped her suitcase on the table, and with a quick click of the metal clasps, stuffed the film cartridges inside. Who knows, maybe if they ever got rescued, the film would prove useful after all? With that, she snapped the suitcase shut, her movements accelerated by the amount of adrenaline coursing through her veins, her fight-or-flight instincts bordered on simple survival, her days spent in the parks and hiking across America's beautiful landscapes kept her in an observant state of mind, one where she readily found herself thinking on her feet. As for her rescuer, Athena could have sworn she had heard him with labored breath, was it the smoke? Was he asthmatic? She didn't have time to clarify that answer, but knew that precious seconds ticked away. Edward coughed and held his arm to his mouth as she began to grab...film? He was about
to question why she was doing such a thing, given the predicament they were in. But hey, it was only life or death. No need to be rude, right? You've got a problem, he thought to himself.

"We're almost there! C'mon now, we've just gotta squeeze through this hole!" Setting her luggage down, Athena put all of her weight that her tiny body could muster, and worked at broadening the gap. Then, she tossed her suitcase down, and looked at the man, it was hard to discern any of his features amongst the haze of the smoke, and even below, from the outside, smoke could be seen spilling out from the main cabin where they had sat moments ago.

"You first!" She barked, she would have jumped herself, but the least she could do was try to repay the man that had taken the chance to save her life by giving him a chance at saving himself.

Edward shook his head, pointing at the hole and then at her, before taking a shuddering breath. Oh god no. Suddenly a chill ran up his spine and a cold sweat appeared above his brow, and he suddenly felt panic welling up inside of him. He was suffocating. He'd felt this way before, and he knew he didn't have long.

With the last of his strength, he tossed his suitcase down the hole, grabbed the girl with his strong arms and lifted her, before shoving her through, and then he too went down onto the snow.

"Agh!" She cried in obstinance as she felt a burly arm wrap around her, and quite literally, toss her through the exposed belly of the compartment. The impact onto the ground was cushioned by thick layers of snow, fortunately, she had avoided landing on her own suitcase. Shortly after, her rescuer had emerged through the hole as well. He let out a hacking cough, and then scrambled for his asthma inhaler within his pocket. He shook it, and in front of Athena's eyes he took a puff and held his breath for 10 seconds, before letting it out.

It would take awhile for the medicine to work to full effect, but his life was saved. However, even outside of the plane, he was breathing so lightly that he could barely stand or move, his head swimming and his body as heavy as lead. He shuddered and lay upon the snow, trying his best to breath while the medicine took hold. He mouthed 'you're good' and all that could be heard was a hoarse whistle from his struggling throat. His youthful brown eyes, so full of a mixture of relief that Athena was fine, and panic from his lack of air, began to stare into the snow as his vision began to fade, and he lay there barely twitching for a few moments, his breathing slow but labored.

Pushing herself up off the wet snow, as she could feel it soak into the seat of her pants, Athena scrambled over to the man, and peered down at him, in the light of day, she could see his features better. From his height alone, she could tell that he was a lanky fellow, certainly taller than her. Whether his mop of black hair originally appeared in an unkempt manner, or that it had become dishevled in the crash, she could not tell. His eyelids opened and closed slowly, from which she could discern that his eyes were a soft, earthen brown color, it vaguely reminded her of the mud she had to trek through in the Appalachian's, deep and rich, and painstakingly difficult to move through. As Athena gathered her bearings around herself, she noted two sets of footprints leading away from the plane, which she presumed were the other two passengers escaping to safety.

"Now is not the time to rest, c'mon, this plane could blow at any rate." Athena leapt to her feet, grabbed her suitcase, and just as she cleared the underbelly of the plane, noted a peculiar scene. Off in the distance, a mysterious plane jetted away from the crash site. While hundreds of questions blossomed in the forefront of her mind, she stuffed them in the rear corner, where she would address them later. Scanning the area, her eyes followed the set of footprints that led up to an embankment where she spotted the two survivors standing on a snow-laden knoll. Chucking her suitcase a relatively safe distance away from the plane, Athena turned back to the young man that had saved her. By the time she approached him, his breathing had slowed considerably, remembering that he had used an inhaler before collapsing into the snow.

"Can you move at all?" She inquired, worried that she would have to drag him through the snow, not that that was a problem, except for the fact that she might not be able to. At least she would try.

Shaken and still struggling to breathe, he did his best to lift himself up by his hands. He looked to her, and didn't have the luxury of noticing much of their surroundings, or the features of the woman. He nodded, his throat still clenched. With a determination, he got to his feet unsteadily and did his best to move forward, away from the plane. He gave her a reassuring smile, though his eyes were still a bit panicked.

Glad to see him able to stand, Athena came to his aid, looping his arm around her shoulder, and returned the favour by helping lead him away from the wreckage, making sure to pick up his own suitcase. Edward was going to thank her, but he'd wait until he had a bit more breath in his lungs before he did so. He was surprised at how strong she was considering how tiny the woman seemed. As they cleared the plane, and reached her suitcase, Athena set down his luggage, and let out an exasperated sigh. Her adrenaline had slowed considerably now that they were safely out of the plane, and her arm felt as if someone had poured gasoline over it, and set a burning match to the wound where the shrapnel remained lodged. As the chilly winter air struck her, she felt a peculiar wetness one that revealed to be blood, as she had expected from the shrapnel. There was even a tiny piece of metal poking out of her jacket. "Thank you... for coming back for me." Athena began, stepping away from him to retrieve the red leather case. The possibility that she, and the three other men were the only survivors weighed heavily on her mind. She set the thought aside, just like she had when she witnessed the strange jet-plane leaving the scene, and nodded her head to the other men atop the knoll.

"Let's head that way, we'll be safer out of range in case the fire reaches the fuselage, and sends this whole thing up in smoke."

"I agree." he breathed slowly, and as the small minute or two had passed, he seemed to get some color back to his cheeks. His arms and legs were no longer pins and needles and he felt a bit more lively and his old self. Now all he had to deal with was the whole...plane crash thing. Awesome. "And no problem." he continued as they moved up the hill. "Y-you were hurt and I'm not the kind of person to be all...assholish." he gave a smile, and while he enjoyed spending time with people who seemed nice, he often had an easier time being alone. He always felt awkward often enough. Probably why he wrote a lot. It was easier to speak once you've thought and planned things. "Thank you too, for the whole suitcase thing. Now we just need to...I don't even know." He seemed a bit crestfallen, having finally said his fears outloud. He might have been convinced this was still a dream if his suffocation and the chill of the snow were not so real to him.

The young man, albeit, not much younger than her, perhaps in his early twenties, chose a set of...awkward phrases, Athena couldn't help but smile. He seemed like a shy fellow, "Don't worry, we'll figure something out."

"Are any of you injured?" Athena turned suddenly to the other two men, now in the light of day, she could see that the black man, perhaps in his late-thirties to early-to-mid forties was a well-muscled figure, with a thick barrel chest. The other man standing next to him, the foreigner she had spotted on the plane, also appeared younger than her, with a swath of black hair, and strikingly dark eyes, almost black in color.