Abe was sleeping soundly, tucked away from the storm in the hollow part of an old tree. He dreamt of a seaside he didn't recognize, with strange people on the shore who ached with a torn-up sort of longing. He hoped they wouldn't see him. He felt somehow that their pain was his fault, and that they would certainly kill him if they knew he was near.
A sharp, sudden slap on his cheek woke him up with a start. The rain had stopped and he heard footsteps, but when he pulled himself out of his little shelter no one was there. "Ava?" he yelled.
Ava! He checked his watch and his heart dropped to his gut. He was already eight minutes late.
23. The Faces of Ghosts.
She held her gun out steadily with one hand and lunged forward for what looked like a steering wheel with the other. "No!" the far pilot screamed and pulled his pistol out, but she pushed forward with all her might and the plane lurched downwards. She heard something explode, and a blinding pain in her side knocked her to the floor. She lay there in a daze, unable to rise, and vaguely wondered what was so warm and wet that crept across her shirt.
The pilots' faces lost all color as they desperately tried to regain control of the plane, but it was too late. They were locked into the nosedive and gaining enormous speed. They looked at her, then at each other, furious and confused. One grabbed the photograph of the sea, barely catching it in all the shaking, and clutched it in a white-knuckled fist. "I'm sorry," said Ava between labored gasps, but her voice was far too small for them to hear.
22. The Photograph.
It was her fifth time through before she finally made it to the cockpit. Two men were at the controls, and a third asleep in the corner. She raised her pistol before they could reach their weapons, and they eyed her suspiciously. "You a spy?" one of them yelled, the propellers nearly drowning out his voice. Neither of them looked overly frightened. And why should they? she thought with a twisting sensation in her gut. She didn't feel frightening, even with a gun in her hand. She felt like a fool.
A photo taped to the console caught her eye. "That your home?" she yelled. It might have been a postcard, so lovely was the bright morning view of the sea. One of them nodded. "Good," she cried. "Keep your eyes on that."
21. The Second Hour.
The officer walked towards her hiding spot with fury in his face, just like he had before. But she didn't step forward this time. "Who in the hell are you?" he yelled when he found her behind the cargo box.
She was back at the beginning of the hour, the moment she first came on board. This strange fragment of time was somehow stuck on repeat, and Ava realized with sickening certainty that if she didn't fix it, she'd be stuck, too--caught in the loop of an impossible reality. "I have to get to the cockpit," she muttered.
The officer raised an eyebrow at her request. "Do you, now? And where'd your friend go? How did you two get on board?" Ava didn't have a response for that, so she stepped around him without offering one. "Hold your horses," he said in a low voice. She heard the distinctive sound of a pistol being cocked, and turned around to see the raised barrel nearly at her nose.
20. The Unchangeable.
She couldn't do it. She sat strapped to that extra seat for over forty-five minutes trying to convince herself to try. The men were already dead, she reminded herself. They had to be. This wasn't real.
But they looked real to her. They laughed and joked with each other, overjoyed to be going home. One caught her eye and winked. He was missing an arm, and the extra sleeve was folded neatly against his shoulder.
Maybe this wasn't really an unchangeable. Maybe she could just ride home, and find her grandad--he'd have the watch by now, and--
Ava felt a wave of nausea whip through her body and fade away suddenly. "Where'd that damn hitchhiker get to?!" When she looked up, she was back behind the cargo box, next to the window, and the officer was arguing angrily with his men.