Cold Fire

noise.”
    Her smile became a little wider but less sincere, and she went into her reassure-the-nervous-traveler mode. “Well, you see, during flight it's perfectly normal for the pitch of the engines to change as the pilot alters airspeed and—”
    “I know that.” He tried to sound like a reasonable man to whom she ought to listen. “I've flown a lot. This was different.” He lied again: “I know aircraft engines, I work for McDonnell Douglas. We designed and built the DC-10. I know this plane, and what I heard in the lav was wrong.”
    Her smile faltered, most likely not because she was starting to take his warning seriously but merely because she considered him to be a more inventive aerophobe than most who panicked in mid-flight.
    The other flight attendants had paused in their lunch-service preparations and were staring at him, no doubt wondering if he was going to be a problem.
    Evelyn said carefully, “Well, really, everything's functioning well. Aside from some turbulence—”
    “It's the tail engine,” he said. That was not another lie. He was receiving a revelation, and he was letting the unknown source of that revelation speak through him. “The fan assembly is starting to break apart. If the blades tear loose, that's one thing, the pieces can be contained, but if the entire fan-blade assembly shatters, God knows what could happen.”
    Because of the specificity of his fear, he did not sound like a typical aerophobic passenger, and all of the flight attendants were staring at him with, if not respect, at least a wary thoughtfulness.
    “Everything's fine,” Evelyn said, per training. “But even if we lost an engine, we can fly on two.”
    Jim was excited that the higher power guiding him had evidently decided to give him what he needed to convince these people. Maybe something could be done to save everyone on the flight.
    Striving to remain calm and impressive, he heard himself saying, “That engine has forty thousand pounds of thrust, it's a real monster, and if it blows up, it's like a bomb going off. The compressors can back-vent, and those thirty-eight titanium blades, the fan assembly, even pieces of the rotor can explode outward like shrapnel, punching holes in the tail, screwing up the rudders and elevators … The whole tail of the plane could disintegrate.”
    One of the flight attendants said, “Maybe somebody should just mention this to Captain Delbaugh.”
    Evelyn did not instantly object.
    “I know these engines,” Jim said. “I can explain it to him. You don't have to take me on the flight deck, just let me speak to him on the intercom.”
    Evelyn said, “McDonnell Douglas?”
    “Yeah. I've been an engineer there for twelve years,” he lied.
    She was now full of doubt about the wisdom of the standard response she had learned in training. She was almost won over.
    With hope blossoming, Jim said, “Your captain's got to shut down engine number two. If he shuts it down and goes the rest of the way on one and three, we'll make it, all of us, we'll make it alive.”
    Evelyn looked at the other flight attendants, and a couple of them nodded. “I guess it wouldn't hurt if …”
    “Come on,” Jim said urgently. “We might not have much time.”
    He followed Evelyn out of the attendants' work area and into the starboard aisle in the economy-class section, heading forward.
    The plane was rocked by an explosion.
    Evelyn was thrown hard to the deck. Jim pitched forward, too, grabbed at a seat to avoid falling atop the woman, overcompensated and fell to one side instead, against a passenger, then to the floor, as the plane started to shimmy. He heard lunch trays still crashing to the deck behind him, people crying out in surprise and alarm, and one thin short scream. As he tried to scramble to his feet, the aircraft nosed down, and they started to lose altitude.
     

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    Holly moved forward from row seventeen, sat beside Christine Dubrovek, introduced herself as a friend of Steve Harkman's, and was nearly thrown out of her seat when a sickening Shockwave pumped through the aircraft. It was followed a fraction of a second later by a solid thump, as if they had been struck by something.
    “Mommy!” Casey had been belted in her seat, even though the seatbelt signs were not on. She was not thrown forward, but the storybooks on her lap clattered to the deck. Her eyes were huge with fear.
    The plane started to lose altitude.
    “Mommy?”
    “It's okay,” Christine said,