The Always War by Margaret Peterson Haddix

suddenly, as if hit by a brutal gust of wind.
    Dek patted Tessa’s hand.
    “Sorry!” she yelled, over the noise that sounded like the whole plane was being torn apart. “This old tub wasn’t meant to carry passengers. When my bosses retrofitted it for human transport, they weren’t exactly trying for comfort, you know?”
    She took a close look at Tessa’s face, then dug down under the pilot’s seat and produced a paper sack.
    “Airsickness bag, okay?” Dek said, handing it to Tessa. “Use it if you need to.”
    Tessa shook her head. She didn’t think she was in danger of throwing up. It felt more like her throat had closed over, like she wouldn’t even be able to squeeze out the words to ask,
Are we all going to die? Please … I don’t want to die.
    Gideon leaned over Tessa’s seat from behind and yanked the bag from her grasp.
    “Give her—another—,” he choked out.
    And then he was gagging and retching into the bag.
    Dek laughed.
    “Still think you’re so high and mighty, Mr. Military Pilot?” she taunted, even as she reached for another bag for Tessa.
    The plane jerked and lurched and rolled. Tessa closed her eyes and bent her head down.
    “No, no—
look
at something!” Dek yelled at her. “Watch the movement! It’ll fend off the airsickness!”
    Tessa wanted to say,
Leave me alone! Let me die in peace!
But just in the short time she’d spent with Dek, she could tell: Dek wouldn’t stop bugging her. Dek wasn’t the type to ever leave someone in peace.
    Tessa opened her eyes and stared at the computer screen. Surprisingly, this did make her stomach feel more settled. But were they supposed to be dropping toward the ground so rapidly?
    Gasping and still gagging, Gideon struggled up behind her.
    “Trees … nothing but trees … not supposed to be trees here,” he murmured, lunging toward the computer screen again.
    Tessa tried to focus on the shapes and colors on the screen, rather than the sensation that the ground was rushing toward them too quickly. The ground did seem to be full of hillocks and mounds of green—she guessed those might be trees.
    Gideon dropped the airsickness bag from his face long enough to punch in commands to open a new window down in the corner of the computer screen. Then he called up something recorded—maybe more of the spy satellite video Tessa had seen before. This time Tessa noticed both the geographical coordinates and a date stamped at the bottom of the screen: yesterday’s date. Tessa blinked and focused on the scenes: rows and rows of houses and streets and apartment buildings. They looked like they might once have been quite nice, with neatly mowed yards and flowers growing along the sidewalks. But now the yards and flower beds were pitted with craters; facades were ripped from the buildings. In one house lacy curtains fluttered out a window, a portrait of some cozy normalcy Tessa had always longed for. But those curtains, that window, the wall that held it—that was the only part of the house that hadn’t been turned into rubble.
    Gideon moaned.
    “There was a bombing raid here
yesterday morning,
” he murmured. “Why aren’t
our
cameras showing this? This is all right below us. Why can’t we see it from the air?”
    He minimized the scenes of destruction, so the trees rushing toward them filled the whole screen.
    “Did the enemy just this morning unveil some incredibly advanced masking technology?” he asked. “I’ve got to tell—”
    He reached toward the controls again, but Dek slapped his hands away.
    “You are not sending any message out to our military, from this plane, right now,” she ordered, in a tone that would have been perfect for a general if it hadn’t carried just the slightest hint of little-girl squeakiness. “Are you trying to make our chances of being killed go
over
one hundred percent?”
    Gideon paused to retch into his airsickness bag.
    “It’s just—,” he said, when he could speak again.
    “Unless the enemy