The twins held them each aloft, the heavy sounds of one twin’s labored breathing echoing in Gabe’s ears. The overwhelming roar and grind of the plane’s failing engine made it impossible to hear August, even with his earpiece, but Gabe was confident he knew what to do.

“TO THE FRONT!” He yelled over the noise. They dipped and followed the careening jet down, the ground inching closer and closer. The sparse patches of tall trees were just postage stamps right now, but they were growing larger by the second. He hoped they made it to the clearer patch nearby, over the rocky terrain and past the densest part of the forest. 

“FOLLOW THE PLANE. WHEN ITS FALL SLOWS, DROP ME ON THE NOSE.”

“OKAY.”

Gabe hadn’t anticipated the slow dread of watching the jet fall, waiting helplessly for the split second they would intervene. He held hundreds of lives in his hands, and it was all down to this singular plan, concocted in seconds amid panic and chaos.

His friends were on that plane. Kira was on that plane. George was on that plane.

It made his stomach sour.

He kept his eyes trained on the nose of the jet and on the distant speck that he knew was August and the other one of the twins. He swallowed hard, and he hoped, and he watched.

Then, the plane began to slow.

Masterfully. Carefully. Just a couple thousand feet from the ground, the jet’s speed fell into controlled, if intense, decline — like someone had pulled back on an emergency brake. Gabe watched in surprise as the landing gear popped out from beneath the undercarriage, and he kept ten seconds in his mind like a mantra. 

Gabe’s eyes watered, the wind whipping his face, his ears popping violently.

He readied himself.

“NOW!”

His twin dropped him on the plane’s nose. Gabe dug his gloved fingers into the metal, tearing in enough to gain a proper grip and climbing to the lowest point he could, putting him parallel to the front wheels. The nose was still pointing down at an angle. Gabe hoped his feet could get enough purchase in the snow to make a difference.

The impact was bone-rattling. His eardrums were obliterated, and the violence of the air in his eyes forced him to keep them closed. Gritting his teeth, Gabe bent his knees, kept his weight on his heels and pushed.

It was so loud, his eyes and ears were so painful, he thought maybe this was what it was like to die.

But Gabe kept his muscles engaged and pressed his head against the overheated metal, the showers of splinters bouncing harmlessly off his back. The rubber on his shoes, on the landing gear of the plane, made the air smell like hot tires and smoke. He could feel the crunch of metal beneath his fingers.

On it went. 

It seemed like minutes, but it was probably only a few dozen seconds at most.

Gabe didn’t dare to breathe. The air stilled around him, the noise fading all at once, the latch to the plane’s door falling open. Everything was muffled except for a loud, piercing ring blasting him in both ears.

“GABRIEL!”

Was someone yelling? It sounded like his name.

He felt something warm and wet trickle down the sides of his head. It seemed foreign. Sticky.

He touched his neck with warm, ash covered fingers and they came back red. 

Had he ever bled outside his father's expensive gym?

“GABRIEL!”

He blinked. His eyes were tacky and irritated. Were they bleeding too? He blinked a few more times. 

Then August’s earnest face swam into view. His skin was dirty, streaked with debris and mud and soot. August paused, eyes searching Gabe’s face. His drained of all color. “Gabe, are you…bleeding?”

Gabriel steadied himself, dizzy. “I don’t know. I think?” His voice was hoarse. “I’ve never felt pain like this. It’s so sharp.”

“Gabriel? GABRIEL?!”

Gabriel's head swam.

He was so very tired.

So he let the blackness take him.