The President's Shadow by Brad Meltzer Page B

epileptic seizure—until it swerved toward the side of the plane, just below the wing. From the back right-hand side of the plane, words and screams tumbled together in that picosecond before impact.
    “ LOOK OUT! ” a woman shouted.
    It didn’t help.
    The crash of truck into plane sounded like metal teeth being smashed together. The impact created a ruthless shear as the truck sliced through the plane’s belly. For Alby, it was as if he were moving forward in one moment, and in the next was weightless, floating like an astronaut. Every strand of his sandy hair swayed and swerved like he was underwater. A flick of spit hovered in the air, and then, as gravity and momentum returned, he was violently jerked sideways, to the left.
    The seat belt bit tight against his side, and he opened his mouth to scream. The sound was still stuck in his throat.
    “ The truck — ! Gasoline! ” someone yelled. “ It’s gonna — ! ”
    An explosive burst mushroomed upward, engulfing the back half of the plane. Smoke punched though the cabin, stampeding up the main aisle in a black wave. The cockpit door stayed shut. No one came out. The screams were deafening, coming from behind them.
    In moments of crisis, the reason people say that things move in slow motion is that the brain is struggling to process too much information at once. As a result, the brain slows it all down to digest each bit of emotion, pain, and reality.
    Choking on smoke, Alby didn’t see anything in slow motion. For him, it was all happening too fast.
    He was twenty-two years old. This was it. The moment of his death. The only image in his brain was of the airline worker with the pointy breasts.
    Across the aisl e , there was a metal snap. Ripping open his seat belt, Nico shot out of his seat and dashed for the front door. Alby couldn’t see much. There were sounds of kicking, pounding. Nico was trying to jimmy the latch with his fingers. There was a loud click as the lock unclenched and the door…
    A burst of daylight stabbed through the smoke, which spun in a tight swirl—a beautiful tornado—which was sucked outward from the change in cabin pressure.
    Nico jumped outside, disappearing. Right behind him, Irish Timothy was yelling as he ran full speed to the door and did the same. Barely twenty seconds had passed. There were sirens in the distance, plus a rumbling from the main cabin as the rest of the passengers fought to get free.
    Behind him, ther e was another click as the redheaded recruit undid his seat belt and ran to the door. “ Good God! The flames! ” Julian called out, staring outside. He turned back to Alby, their eyes locking. “ Get out…! The gas…! You gotta get out! ” With a jum p , he was gone.
    Alby’s lungs burned with heat. He couldn’t see anything through the black smoke. He was clawing at his seat belt, but it wasn’t working. It was stuck. The sirens outside were screaming full blast, but nothing was louder than the screams coming from behind him, in the main cabin. Were they burning back there? He smelled gasoline and smoke.
    “ Jonathan…! ” the elderly woman screamed behind him. Out of the corner of his eye, through the smoke, Alby saw the older couple across the aisle. She held her husband’s shoulders, shaking him. He wasn’t moving.
    Tearing at his seat belt, Alby lifted the buckle, but the tongue of the belt wouldn’t come undone. He lifted it again. And again. The impact from the crash…
Why wasn’t it working!?
    “ Jonathan, please…! ” the elderly woman begged.
    A well of tears blurred Alby’s eyes. He was coughing so hard from the smoke, a burst of snot shot from his nose. His lungs were burning. As he pulled on the buckle again, he couldn’t help but look at the elderly woman. She wasn’t crying anymore. Her eyes were closed. In defeat. She had given up.
    Some people think they know how they’re going to die. Thrashing in his seat, all Alby could think of was what his wife had said at the bus