ACT I, CHAPTER THREE
❛ how are a rotten apple and a crashing plane alike? ❜
content: child abuse, vomit/emetophobia, blood/gore, violence, dissociation.

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a/n . . . this chapter includes a physical fight between parent and child, graphic gore, and violence. please do not read if you're sensitive to any of the cws stated above.

"I warned you not to overdo it last night," scolded Lottie, eyes focused on the road. "But you just had to have two chugging contests."

Evie groaned and pressed the lukewarm bag of once-frozen peas to her temple. "I couldn't let Bobby-goddamn-Farleigh call me lightweight and walk away not emasculated!" Even the effort of stringing together one sentence made her head split in agony, and the motion sickness from being in a moving car made saliva flood her mouth occasionally, a harbinger of the puke rising and falling in her throat. She willed it down each time. Caulfields always hold their liquor.

"Bobby Farleigh's opinion doesn't matter," Lottie was saying. "He thinks there are robot colonies on the Moon."

"He's on the football team. They basically control the gossip in Wiskayok, and I won't let myself be slandered!" Evie paused to let another woozy wave of nausea pass. Once she'd gotten the bile back down, she croaked miserably, "I won, anyway. Because Bobby went home crying. And wrong."

Lottie clicked her tongue, as if to say, do you really feel like you won? and Evie was all too happy to ignore it. Forehead pressed against the cool car window. The bag of peas sweating in her hand. Head splitting, eyes burning, puke rising. She knew already this would be a Hell of a day.

Evie and Lottie had returned to the Matthews mansion at nearly two in the morning, so tired and drunk they'd crawled into bed with their clothes from the party still on. Evie only managed to get an hour or two of fitful sleep before Lottie was gently shaking her awake again. Pepto-Bismol and a couple aspirin helped get Evie on her feet, but the hangover wasn't daunted.

Lottie'd tossed Evie a bag of frozen peas as they walked out the door: "You look like half-baked shit." Evie didn't doubt it. Christ, why did I drink so much? She had severe regrets.

It wasn't long before Lottie slowed the M3 to a stop at the curb of the ramshackle house that Evie's father called home. 941 Wormwood Ave. was just as grubby as its namesake. Evie squinted out the window at the beercan-strewn lawn, clapboards peeling from years of neglect, grass still the beaten yellow of winter.

It was like sickness oozed from inside the walls, preventing the grass from growing green.

"Do you want me to come in with you?"

Lottie's voice startled Evie from her thoughts. She turned, and Lottie's eyes were locked on Kip Caulfield's dinted blue Ford parked in the driveway.

"It's fine, Lot. I'll be back in a minute." Evie tried her best to look composed as she tossed the bag of peas on the passenger floor and slunk out of her friend's car.

Evie wobbled once as she shut the car door, caught herself, and made for the side of the house. Lottie shouted something Evie couldn't make out through the window, for she was too focused on walking without keeling over. She laid her hand on the hood of the Ford as she passed by. The engine seemed cold underneath. She could only pray that her father would be passed out in bed after his night shift at the warehouse. The alternative option, that he was awake, was a frightening thing to imagine.

Really, all Evie needed from inside the house was her boarding ticket, stuffed under her mattress with a baggie of Xanax for the plane ride. If she were smart, she would have left her window unlocked, so she could jump through, grab the shit and leave. But her bedroom window was locked—had been since she stopped living at her father's house last Christmas. Since she started sleeping at Lottie's house every night, Evie didn't see a need to visit her lunatic father anymore.

So, she would have to risk entering through one of the doors. Her dad might be asleep, and he might not see her. Might.

The kitchen door at the side of the house always stuck in such a way Evie had to ram it with her shoulder to get it to budge open. She stumbled into the kitchen . . .

And right in front Kip Caulfield himself in his work clothes, standing in the white glow of the refrigerator with a scowl.

Evie let loose a sigh, struck by her own rotten luck. Sensing her father's bad mood by his posture alone, she decided to let him talk first and lingered near the door. Finally, he spoke.

"What the hell do you think you're doin' here?" He'd turned to face her, the fridge forgotten. His brown eyes scanned her face critically. "Are you drunk?"

"I quit drinking," Evie lied on instinct. It didn't matter; judging by his red face and the vein bulging out of his forehead, Kip didn't believe her, anyway. She added, "I just need to grab my plane ticket, then I'll be gone."

She tried to make a move for the hallway, but he blocked her path with his body. "I'll save you the trouble, you goddamn liar!" he shouted.

He moved quick, and before Evie could react, he'd shoved her back into the kitchen door. Her hip jutted against the doorknob, spine slamming into the wood, but she barely registered the pain. Her eyes were trained on his hands. Somehow, she'd stayed standing. She fumbled for the doorknob behind her. He was raising his hands again. Her heart was pounding in her chest.

Kip cleared the distance between him and Evie, grabbing the front of her sweatshirt in his fist. "I don't wanna see your face around here any more! You're dead to me, you hear?"

By the time he'd finished yelling, Evie'd wedged the door open a couple inches. In one motion, she twisted out of her sweatshirt, leaving him holding onto the clothing like an idiot, before she dashed out the opening and slammed the door in his face. She was halfway down the front lawn when she stopped dead. Her plane ticket was still inside. She glanced back. Kip hadn't followed her out the door.

Lottie, who must have seen Evie running toward her, had jumped out of her car and approached Evie with a worried expression on her face. Evie was thinking so deeply it took her a second to understand what Lottie was asking her: "Are you Ok?"

Evie looked up at Lottie, face uncharacteristically blank. "I'm breaking into my room." She spun around and walked back toward Kip's house briskly. "He aims low, I aim lower."

Lottie started stammering protests, saying it was a bad idea. But Evie was determined now. It was only then that she realized how angry she was. Her fists were shaking as she climbed into the bed of her father's Ford truck, tore a tarp aside to reveal his work tools resting at the bottom. After assessing the selection, she chose a nice, heavy crowbar. Her blood felt like magma flowing beneath her skin, heartbeat thumping like running feet in her head. Lottie was still pleading for sanity, but Evie had already made peace with what she was about to do. In that moment, she was certain. This is a fantastic idea.

She hopped out of the truck bed, crowbar clutched in her fist. Her old bedroom window was on the left side of the house, and Evie planted herself in front of it. Lottie seemed to have decided there was no talking Evie down, and she stood on the lawn, both hands on her head as she gaped in disbelief at the scene unfolding. "He'll call the cops!" Lottie cried.

"And we'll be on a plane to Seattle!" Evie sang.

Without pausing to reconsider, Evie raised the crowbar and swung with the might of a thousand Babe Ruths. 

CRASH!

Glass flew in arcs of flashing shrapnel. Evie didn't waste a second. She chipped off the glass along the bottom of the window frame with the crowbar before diving through the window, twisting her feet around so she didn't land on the shards on her bedroom floor. Already, she could hear Kip stomping down the hall toward her. Her sneakers crunched beneath her as she ran for the door, locked it tight. As she scrambled for her plane ticket on the nightstand, Kip started beating the door in, screaming all the while.

"You nutcase! You slag! You filthy, good-for-nothing bastard! I'll burn everything in that room!" 

This was never my room, Evie wanted to yell back. I hated every minute I lived here. Burn it. I don't care.

She didn't speak, blinking away hot tears as she shoved the plane ticket and the Xanax into her bra, as the door began to bend off its hinges as Kip clawed to gain entry, as she threw herself back out the window and spilled onto the front lawn. She got to her feet, knees trembling.

The image of Kip breaking through the door in a minute only to find an empty room was enough to make a breathless laugh fall from her lips. She ran toward Lottie's car, scratched, bleeding, and grinning past her tears, veins coursing with adrenaline.

Lottie had ran for her driver-side door soon as she saw Evie making a break for it. Lottie's eyes were wide, looking at Evie like she was trying to decide if she was completely sane or not. Evie felt half-crazed herself as she wrenched open the car door and threw herself onto the seat.

"Drive, drive!" Evie shouted.

Lottie slammed on the gas pedal just as Kip Caulfield ran out the front door, chasing the M3 down the street even as they veered around the next corner, tires squealing. Evie's heart was thumping like a jackhammer in her chest, skull aching so bad it felt like it was filled with stinging wasps, stomach roiling with every bump of the road.

"Jesus, what just happened, Eves?" Evie barely felt Lottie place a hand on her back. "I've never seen you so . . ."

Evie rolled down the window, and vomited out of the moving car.

✷

In the parking garage of the Teterboro Airport, Lottie pressed a cold bottle of water to the back of Evie's neck as Evie took measured sips from a canister of red Pedialyte. Evie had apologized to Lottie a hundred times along the way, and had insisted on washing off the puke from the car door despite Lottie's insistence that she do it. Evie still felt bad, even when the mess was gone. Only a carwash could get the M3 truly clean, and they had had no time to scrub down the car at the gas station because their plane for Nationals was taking off in less than an hour.

Evie had tried her best to push the thoughts of her fight with Kip to the back of her mind, stomping down painful memories like she always did. Luckily, the cuts on her face from the glass had scabbed over in minutes, and Lottie had helped clean the blood from her skin. Evie ignored the pain, trying instead to think only of Seattle. Of winning Nationals, of proving everybody wrong. Excitement was a balloon in her chest, lifting her up just barely.

"Can you stand?" Lottie asked softly, tearing Evie from her thoughts.

Evie scowled. "Christ, yes. Taissa didn't break my legs."

And honestly, the puking and the sips of electrolytes from the Pedialyte had made her feel a little better. Her head still pounded and sunlight still hurt her eyes, but at least the nausea had ebbed so she didn't feel like puking anymore. 

And the anger that had controlled her so completely just minutes earlier had evaporated soon as she'd shattered the glass. It scared her a little, how quickly she'd lost control. It was like as soon as the idea entered her mind, she was unable to stop herself from obeying it. She'd never deliberately destroyed someone's property before. The only reprieve she felt was by reminding herself that her dad would have to pay for the damage. Replacing a broken window is nothing. He deserves worse. Pain flared in the jagged scar on her upper arm. The scar he made so long ago.

"Do you . . ." Lottie hesitated, "want to talk about what happened at all?"

Evie bristled. A knee-jerk reaction to her family (and her meltdown) being referenced. As much as Evie liked Lottie, maybe even trusted her, the thought of showing that much vulnerability, of letting Lottie witness the festering sore of Evie's childhood, was much too overwhelming to tell in an airport parking garage. They'd been friends for years, but Evie had never been brave enough to broach the subject. No, she did not want to talk about it.

"We should get going," she said, glancing at the clock on the dashboard. "We've got less than twenty minutes before takeoff."

Lottie frowned but accepted Evie's change of subject without much protest. "Fine." She sniffed. "We can talk about it later. Let's go. The airport staff know my father, so they'll let us past security no problem."

This was one of the things Evie liked about Lottie: she didn't pry. Over the course of her life, Evie'd been told time and time again she was "too much" for any regular person to handle. She was too loud, too impulsive, too dramatic, too wild. Most people saw her coming and crossed the street to avoid walking by her. Lottie, however, could see the worst in Evie and still want to be around her, without asking for anything in return. Evie never understood it. Why Lottie would keep a terrible, flaming dumpster fire so near to her. Maybe Evie would never understand. Whatever Lottie's reasoning was, Evie was never more thankful for her friend's presence than she was in that moment.

Evie scanned Lottie's face as they stepped out of the car: the set in her jaw, the line between her eyebrows. Evie thought about what Lottie had said. Lottie rarely talked of Mr. Matthews, and though she always tried to make her tone lighthearted, Evie could hear how her friend's voice tensed around the word "father." It made Evie's gut turn with rare sympathy. She never called Kip Caulfield "dad," either. She never spoke his name kindly. It was comforting, at least, to know she wasn't alone in hating her father. As much as Evie wanted to ask more about Lottie's home life, she made a habit of not prying into other people's daddy issues. Let Lottie tell her story on her own; just like Evie would.

So, Evie and Lottie barely talked as they half-jogged through the front doors, the wheels of their suitcases clacking against the tiles. Evie, swaying on her feet in the aftershock of her adrenaline, took swigs from her Pedialyte while she and Lottie checked their bags in, and watched as Lottie chatted up security (along with sliding them a few twenty-dollar bills) to let the two of them skip the line entirely. Just like Lottie had predicted, the security guards caved immediately, and the girls were through the metal detectors within five minutes. Then they were off in a mad dash for their gate.

There was a line of JV and varsity girls already boarding the plane through Gate 13, lugging their duffel bags and suitcases, chatting amiably in anticipation of the flight. Coach Martinez, who was standing lookout in the hallway, saw Evie and Lottie running in his direction, and waved them on impatiently. Evie didn't need to check her watch to know they were very late. Coach's face was stern as the two girls stomped to a messy halt.

"Cutting it a little close, huh girls?" Coach asked. There was nothing playful about his tone, and his eyes narrowed unkindly at Evie's ragged appearance—oversized jacket and miniskirt, Pedialyte-stained lips and scraped face.

Lottie employed her best apologetic smile. "We're so sorry, Coach. There was a bad accident on Route 46—"

"Just stop lying and get in line, you two. And take out your boarding passes, for Pete's sake." He shook his head disapprovingly as he walked off, his mouth a thin line of displeasure.

Evie waited till he was out of earshot before she muttered, "Who the hell's Pete?" Lottie coughed to hide her laugh.

As the line inched forward, Evie checked to see if Lottie looked happy (which, thankfully, she did) before bothering with the other girls around her. Most everyone had dark circles under their eyes, too, postures slumped with visible hangovers. Even Kay Jang, usually so hard to read, had her arms folded over her chest, headphones on, and a scowl pulling at her face. Van Palmer chatted with Lottie as Evie zoned out, thinking about nothing more than her pre-flight nerves.

The sun shining through the large bay windows around the gate made Evie squint as she handed her ticket to the glum-faced gate agent. Even though she was aching to sit down, Evie waited for Lottie. Together, they boarded the plane through a short, covered bridge. As they passed through the doorway, Lottie kissed her fingers and patted them on the plane. Evie found this amusing and comforting at the same time.

This was the first time Evie had ever boarded a plane in her life, so she kept her eyes on a swivel as she stepped inside. The interior was small but not cozy, the only flash of color being the worn brown leather seats. Evie was thankful she brought Xanax to ease her worry. Her surroundings really did nothing to comfort her. Already, her excitement was beginning to border on anxiety.

In front of Evie, Van made a noise of excitement as she took it all in. "I can't believe your dad paid for a private plane!" she said to Lottie, smiling wide.

"Yeah, that's pretty much his only form of parenting," Lottie replied lightheartedly. Like she didn't care. "I guess I'll take it."

"You know, he can donate some of his money to me anytime . . ." Evie teased. Lottie nudged Evie's shoulder with hers.

To this, Van crooned, "Well thank you, Mr. Matthews!" and the other girls joined in.

Even though Mr. Matthews had never once shown up to one of their games, he still paid for many of the Yellowjackets' celebratory dinners, new sports equipment, limos to events, and other expenses. It was an inside joke on the team that Mr. Matthews might be dead, and his ghost, invisible to the human eye, might be the one wiring over money. Because they'd never seen him, who could tell if he was still alive or not? So, might as well thank the air in case his ghost was listening. It was supposed to be a joke. Evie had never found it very funny.

But Lottie looked unbothered by what Evie interpreted as a jab, smiling as she walked to an empty row of seats in the middle of the plane. Evie slid past her for the window seat and stuffed her duffel bag under the seat. Most of the varsity girls clustered near each other, with Laura Lee claiming the row in front of Evie and Lottie, and Jackie and Shauna taking the row just behind. Assistant Coach Scott's creepy little helper Misty Quigley sat down across from them, too, just listening silently to the conversation around her.

"Still feeling decent?" Lottie asked Evie once she'd settled beside her.

Evie nodded, grinning despite the headache. "Leave it to a private plane and Pedialyte." She wanted to ask if Lottie was feeling okay, but she hesitated for too long. Lottie spoke first.

"Well, Caulfield, did you bring the bars?" She held out her palm.

Finally, a question I can answer. Evie fished out the baggie of Xanax from her jacket pocket discreetly so Coach Martinez couldn't see her snap one of the scored pills in half. She passed one half to Lottie with a wink before hiding the baggie once more. Evie let her half melt on her tongue with a bitter taste as she wiggled her Pedialyte out from under her seat. Muffling their laughter with their hands, Evie and Lottie took drags from the canister, swallowing the Xanax.

Lottie grimaced once the juice went down her throat. "Gross. It tastes like medicine."

"Wild cherry's the best flavor, actually."

"Oh, Evie." Lottie patted Evie's head sadly. "Blue raspberry is clearly the best."

"You're just completely wrong!"

This sparked a debate, as Laura Lee overheard this exchange and said, "I agree with Lottie. Blue raspberry's better." And Evie couldn't just be outnumbered and not fight back, so she decided to stand up to get the opinions of the other Yellowjackets. As Coach Martinez and Assistant Coach Scott marched up and down the aisles, Evie took tally of the votes. Shauna, Jackie, and Nat said cherry; Taissa and Mari said blue raspberry. Kay Jang was the traitorous tiebreaker that took Lottie's side. "The flavor's made-up, but it's the best." So blue raspberry it was. The Yellowjackets had no sense at all.

Evie had to accept defeat when Coach Martinez yelled at her to "sit the hell down!" so the flight attendants could give their safety speech.

After that, the debate fizzled into silence as the plane took off down the runway. Evie counted her breaths so she wouldn't hyperventilate, rationalizing that, We're not going to crash. Millions of planes take off and land every day without an issue. I will make it safely to Seattle. We will not crash.

The Xanax had started kicking in just after the wheels left the ground. Evie watched the ground shrink beneath them as they gained altitude, the buildings thinning out into rippling farmland once they'd left the city behind.

Lottie laced her fingers with Evie's soon after the plane took off, and Evie swam in and out of sleep like this, feeling Lottie's heartbeat under the skin of her wrist. For a few drowsy hours, it seemed that everything would be okay. That they'd reach their destination with smiles on their faces. That fate was not cruel. That the future was something to look forward to.

But Evie startled awake to the sound of the pilot's voice crackling through the speakers: "Folks, please return to your seats and fasten your seatbelts. Turbulence will get a little bumpy as we fly over the Rocky Mountains."

For some reason, Evie didn't expect the turbulence to be as violent as it got. She had closed her eyes again, rested her head gently on Lottie's shoulder. But soon enough, her sleep was interrupted as the plane jolted up and down. Once. Then twice. And suddenly the plane was rocking constantly.

By then, Evie had lifted her head from Lottie's shoulder to find her friend's eyes were wide with fear, too, her grip white on the armrests. Evie strained against her seatbelt to find that the girls around her looked just as frightened as she felt.

She could hear the plane's metal wings groaning against the wind, the sput-sputtering of the engine. And her stomach was sinking with a feeling like she was on a rollercoaster, hurtling down a hill toward the ground. She flicked open the window beside her that Lottie must have shut while they slept, to see that the plane's nose was angling downward. Toward jagged mountaintops and hills of green forests. Evie whined, feet kicking forward like she could slam on the brakes, stop the plane in the air.

Everything was in chaos. Masks dropped from the overhead compartments. The pilot, barely audible over the violent turbulence, yelled, "Put on your oxygen mask and prepare for a rough landing!"

It was then that Evie's fingers found Lottie's again. Evie helped Lottie with her mask before thinking to slide hers on. She clutched onto her friend tighter when she saw black smoke fly past her window.

For once, she couldn't speak. It was like a stone sat in her throat, not letting any noise pass. She wanted to cry, to hold Lottie in her hands and vanish them away, out of this plane, out of this fever dream. She wanted to pinch herself to wake herself, convinced that she was trapped in a Xanax-induced nightmare. It was all happening so fast. How could things go this bad this fast?

As the plane lilted and jumped, sinking closer and closer to Earth, Evie wrapped both her arms around her best friend, holding her close. Lottie was holding to Evie just as tightly, eyes clamped shut in fear.

Is this real? thought Evie. Am I really about to die? She didn't want to die here. She hadn't even done anything with her life yet, hadn't proven to everyone that she was more than a rotten apple felled from the Caulfield family tree. She was about to die hungover, high off Xanax, and too frightened to even move. What a life she had lived. And now she needed to accept its shortcomings, accept that she was doomed.

Evie knew only one thing as they inched nearer and nearer to the trees. That if she died here, at least it'd be with her best friend.

"I love you, Lottie." Evie's voice sounded far away from her.

"I love you too, Eves," came Lottie's shaky reply.

The plane rocked as they crashed through the treeline.

━━━

The strange moment of stillness that followed after the plane finally jarred to a creaky stop on the ground came as no comfort to Kay as she waited silently, expecting something more.

Her whole body was trembling, hands clasped so tight behind her head that her fingers felt cramped by rigor mortis, seatbelt digging painfully into her abdomen. She knew she was still alive only by the hammering of her heart and the panicked huffs of breath fogging her mask. Is it over? she thought, the world seeming too still around her. Is it finally over?

For a second, Kay couldn't move. Fear and adrenaline had shredded any sense of relief that might have come from surviving the rough landing. She still felt like she was plummeting from the sky, stomach clenched inside her like a fist. Her vision spun as she shakily lifted her head and loosed her stiff fingers from the back of her head.

The screams and groans of dying people nearby registered suddenly in Kay's mind. All around her was terror. There was blood everywhere: on the walls, the carpeted floors, the seats, even spattered across the right sleeve of Kay's jacket. The breath knocked out of her lungs when she found the source . . .

The girl sitting across the aisle from Kay had a metal rod impaled through her throat, blue unseeing eyes staring directly at her.

Kay whimpered, fumbling for the release on her seatbelt. She tasted smoke and coppery blood at the back of her dry mouth. Somehow, she freed herself, and then she was standing, tearing the safety mask off her face, stumbling out of the aisle.

Electricity sparked out of the rubble at the front of the plane; the first few rows of seats had been crushed into a lump of scrap metal and plastic. Dazed, Kay faced the back of the plane and gasped. Just a dozen rows down, fire consumed the entire tail-end of the plane, burning hungrily down the center aisle, black smoke rising from the seats and the melting overhead bins.

One of the flight attendants was engulfed in flame, screaming and writhing on the floor as if trying to fight off the fire with her fists.

The fire's melting her eyes, Kay realized with a sinking feeling. Her eyes are dripping down her cheeks!

Kay watched on in horror, unable to move. The atrocities she saw counted up in her mind: a heavy smear of red on the wall where a girl's head had been crushed into pulp; a corpse with its lower jaw ripped off, tongue hanging limply from a ruined mouth; a sobbing girl clutching the clearly-dead body of her seatmate, so drenched in blood Kay couldn't tell if it was hers or her mutilated friend's. The burning woman had stopped writhing and now lay still as the flames ate merrily through her charred skin and spread further down the aisle toward Kay. Kay was breathing too quickly. Sweat dripped into her eyes, trickled down her spine.

Am I really here? Is everyone dead? Am I cursed? Kay felt delirious, barely there. Her knees nearly gave out and she stumbled into the seat nearest to her. She couldn't stop staring at the burning girl's body. She might have stayed there, too steeped in her own terror to move, if she hadn't heard the voice.

"Help me!" cried someone two rows ahead. "Oh, my god! Someone help!"

Somehow, the urgency in the voice gave Kay the courage to stand straight again. I can help someone. I have to help somebody. She was barely cognizant she was moving until she reached the row the cry came from. And she paused.

Nat Scatorccio was pinned to her seat beneath a fallen shard of the overhead bins, unharmed but visibly panicking. Eyeliner was bleeding from her teary eyes, and Kay hesitated for the barest of moments when she saw Nat's face. Nat caught sight of Kay, and Kay saw relief flood her blue eyes.

"Holy shit, Kay! Help me push this off!" she yelled, but Kay was already grabbing one end of the shard.

Both Kay and Nat pushed hard against the shard, but it didn't budge. Nat was getting more frantic as the fire inched closer by the second. Kay forced herself not to panic, dropped to her knees, searching for the holdup, and found that the shard's other end was wedged tight under a seat. Kay stood to get a better angle on her hold, took a breath of smoky air, and pulled.

Miraculously, it moved back a few inches. Nat cried out with relief, and stoked by new determination, they both yanked the shard out of the seat and away. Now free, Nat was able to stand shakily to her feet.

"Thank you," she said breathlessly.

Kay nodded solemnly and focused back on the task at hand with sudden clarity. "We need to abandon ship." She pointed to the now-open side exit a couple rows forward, spilling sunlight into the blood-spattered plane.

Wordlessly, they scrambled down the center aisle for the light. Kay tried to not look at the bodies she passed, nor acknowledge the terrible taste of burning flesh at the back of her mouth. She tried to focus only on getting off the plane. Kay barely registered Jackie Taylor rushing past her out the door, when Kay heard someone else calling her name from inside.

"Kay! Jang! Help me!"

Suddenly Kay was back on the plane, moving for the fiery tail-end. Nat reached for Kay's sleeve and said something that included the word "hopeless", but Kay tore her arm out of Nat's grip, racing toward Van Palmer.

Kay saw the situation clearly as she approached: Van's seatbelt was clamped firmly shut, probably broken in the crash. In an instant, she'd snatched a triangle of shattered glass off the blood-soaked carpet, the sharp edges opening cuts on her palms as she ignored the fire—now blazing only inches from Van's seat—and fell to her knees with gritted teeth, sawing through Van's defective belt in one clean stroke of the weapon.

They couldn't talk past the smoke, the heat, and the panic. Kay held tight to Van's arm as they both staggered toward the exit, away from the dead bodies of their teammates behind them, coughing up acrid smoke all the way out the plane's door.

Just as Kay's shoes hit the dirt, an explosion blasted a belch of black smoke where they had been standing just moments before. Van, looking rather breathless, grabbed Kay's face with both hands and planted a thankful kiss on her forehead.

"I owe you, Jang!" Van's voice was raspy from the smoke. She was smiling. Kay didn't know how she could. "You saved my life!"

Kay shrugged faintly, but Van had already caught sight of something behind Kay that made her smile fall flat. And just like that, Van was storming off, and Kay finally let out the breath she'd been holding, stumbling against the nearest tree.

She felt like she was in a trance. Like she was dreaming, watching everything happen through a foggy window. Survivors of the crash were scattered through the trees, some helping others to get a safe distance away from the burning plane, some sobbing inconsolably on the earth, some gaping at the carnage around them like she was, all looking just as terrified as she felt.

Kay hiked in an unsteady breath, trying to ground herself. Dimly, she worked out the facts:

Our plane crashed in the wilderness. I saw death again, more mangled corpses. I almost broke. I almost stayed and burned on the plane. But I helped Nat and Van escape with their lives. Now we're stuck in the woods until the rescue team comes. Now we must stay alive until they reach us. Now I must move, now I must help the others.

Kay's sneakers were scuffling across the leaf-strewn ground before she knew she had moved. She carefully realized she was searching for something, anything to keep her mind off what she'd seen. She needed to think of something else. She needed to feel useful somehow. (If only to forget the uselessness of her own survival, when so many better people were burning and suffering.)

"Kay!" yelled a voice nearby.

Kay whipped around to find Nat, waving Kay over as she helped an injured girl sit down. Kay staggered forward, trying not to look as shell-shocked as she felt. Once the injured girl was sitting, Nat jogged to meet Kay in the middle.

"Your lip's bleeding," Nat pointed, eyes still wild with adrenaline. "And you're covered in soot . . . I can't believe you ran toward the fire."

"Van might have died." Kay's voice felt far away from her. She touched a red-stained finger to her split lip and winced.

"You're crazy," Nat declared, "but brave. Really fucking brave."

Kay relaxed just barely. Why, she did not know. Nat didn't smile, but her eyes had softened at the corners, not angry. Kay noticed for the first time that there were flecks of green in Nat's dark blue eyes. For some reason, Kay found herself speechless.

Thankfully, Kay was saved from embarrassment when someone cried out for help nearby.

Kay spun to find that the voice was coming from the other side of the plane. A group of survivors were already following after the cries, disappearing in the smoke billowing from the cockpit. Kay shared a glance with Nat before they followed after the others. The man's screams, pained and urgent, stopped soon as they walked through the smoke to the other side of the plane.

Kay recognized the other varsity girls gathered around a giant panel off the plane's wing. As she neared, she recognized Coach Scott pinned beneath the panel with an expression like a caged animal. Kay swallowed dryly as she noticed the blood creeping up past the knee of his trapped leg.

"C-Can you try to move it?" Coach asked the onlookers. His tone was surprisingly calm despite the circumstance.

Other girls finally seemed able to move, scattering themselves around the edge of the panel. Kay roused from her daze and joined in, taking hold of the panel between Nat and Evie. She tightened her grip as Misty gave a countdown from three.

On one, every girl heaved with all her might.

The panel groaned stubbornly but did not shift. Kay pushed herself harder, grinding her teeth together and pulling, pulling, pulling. The metal whined, budged just once, then gave way with a rasp of metal on dirt. It lifted off Coach, taking half his leg with it.

Below his knee, Coach Scott's leg was only mangled flesh and exposed muscle, pulsing rivers of blood onto the forest floor. Coach went limp, his head lolling to the side.

Kay staggered backward as bile burned like acid up her throat. Everyone cried out around her, and Kay, distantly, realized she was unable to move again. She stared blankly at the pool of dark blood where Coach's foot should be, at the long ribbons of shredded calf muscle twitching under his torn, ruined skin.

Kay was frozen to the spot, so still she wasn't even breathing. She didn't know what to do. How to help. Who to blame. She stayed standing there, deaf to the voices around her.

Someone brushed past Kay, and she tensed, finding Misty Quigley with an axe slung over her shoulder, wearing a stiff look on her face. Kay could only watch vacantly as Misty trudged over to Coach Scott, raised the axe over her head . . .

And brought it down on Coach's leg.

Blood sprayed across Misty's face like macabre paint. Coach's leg jerked once against the blade, but he stayed blissfully unconscious. Kay took a step back, astonished by Misty's sudden, unexpected violence.

"What the fuck?!" Nat looked more shocked than she had as the plane crashed.

Misty tossed the axe aside and unhooked the clasp on her belt, ripping it from her belt loops to use as a tourniquet. She pulled the slack tight around Coach's thigh, slowing the heavy bloodflow visibly. Unfazed by the blood on her face, Misty leered at the group of shocked bystanders.

"Help me move him!" she shouted scornfully despite it all.

Kay had seen too much. Something boiled over inside her. She fought against the fainting spell, even as it made her knees buckle and her vision go fuzzy. The earth rushed up to meet her, and the world went dark.

▬▬▬▬

Q: How are a rotten apple and a crashing plane alike?
A: They fall hard and always make a mess.

felix says . . . this chapter was so traumatic to write LIKEEE sorry if it was super gory i'm j trying to keep it realistic as possible ... i hope all the scene transitions flow smooth cuz atp i think it's as good as it's gonna get lol

BUT WE'RE DONE WITH EPISODE 1 FINALLY!!! lord it took forever but now the chaos can really begin >:D the next chapter is more kay-centric bc the past 2 have been majority evie pov & there must be balance or else i'll lose it

edit: i added better evie backstory bc i was unsatisfied with how i originally left off her relationship with her d*d?? the fight was terrible and i didn't like writing it (which is why i tried to make it as fast as possible) but i do think it's necessary to understanding evie's development. & i liked making her destroy kip's house what can i say.

word count . . . 6314