Chapter 173
~ Franklin ~
Darkness didn’t feel like darkness. It felt like an imnse, suffocating pressure, heavy and unrelenting, as if the weight of the entire world pressed down on my chest, crushing the life from my bones. There was no up, no down, no sense of self—just an endless void filled with muffled, chaotic sounds that echoed like distant thunder. For a terrifying mont, I didn’t know where I was or even who I was. It was as if death had claid , pulling into its silent embrace.
Then the pain hit. Not gradually, but like a living beast slamming into with feral force. It tore through my chest, splintered my ribs, ignited every nerve in my skull and limbs all at once. My body convulsed violently. Air rushed into my starving lungs in a brutal gasp, yanking back from the abyss. I choked, coughed violently, and tasted the sharp tang of blood—tallic and warm—coating my tongue.
My eyes snapped open. Everything was bathed in a hazy red glow, and for a heart-stopping second, I thought it was blood flooding my vision. Panic surged through like wildfire. I tried to move, but my limbs felt leaden, unresponsive, trapped in so twisted nightmare. The light flickered weakly—ergency lighting, not blood. A shaky breath of relief escaped , but it shattered instantly as mories crashed back in vivid, rciless detail: the plane’s violent shudder, blaring alarms, the sickening lurch of impact, and the final, catastrophic crash.
My chest tightened with raw terror. I forced myself to shift, ignoring the fire ripping through my side. A blinding stab of pain lanced from my ribs, freezing in place. I clenched my teeth, a low groan tearing from my throat. Everything was wrong—terribly, irreversibly wrong. Shards of jagged tal protruded from my right leg, pinning like so grotesque anchor. I sucked in ragged breaths, willing my mind to push past the agony clawing at my sanity. My fingers twitched first, then my arm. Slowly, agonizingly, I pushed against the mangled tal beneath , hauling my upper body upright.
The pain in my leg exploded anew, white-hot and nauseating. I paused, panting hard, sweat stinging my eyes as the wave crested but refused to recede. It settled deep, a constant companion I would have to endure. I scanned the wreckage, and a chill colder than death settled over .
What remained of the cabin no longer resembled an airplane. It looked like so apocalyptic beast had torn it apart in a fit of rage—tal twisted into unnatural shapes, seats ripped from their moorings and scattered like broken toys, shards of glass glittering ominously under the dim red ergency lights like scattered diamonds from a forgotten life. The air grew thick and acrid, heavy with lingering smoke that clawed at my throat. Beneath it lurked the sharp, suffocating reek of jet fuel and smoldering plastics, and sothing far worse: the faint, coppery undertone of blood and charred flesh. I swallowed hard, shoving the horrifying thought aside before it could consu .
My gaze landed on Ian’s body, flung like a discarded rag doll against a pile of twisted debris on the far side. Desperation fueled . My legs trembled too weakly to stand, so I dragged myself forward on elbows and hands, every inch sending fresh agony screaming through my body. "Ian?" My voice ca out as a weak rasp, barely cutting through the oppressive silence. "Ian?"
No response. I crawled closer, groaning with each movent that jarred my injured leg. "Ian, co on... wake up, please." I reached him and began pulling debris away, my hands slick with sweat and gri. Still nothing. My heart hamred wildly as I pressed two fingers to his neck, searching desperately for a pulse.
Nothing. No flutter, no life. A shard of cabin tal had impaled his chest, a cruel final blow. Ian was gone.
A silent cry lodged in my throat, then burst out as a raw, frustrated yell. "No! Ian! No!" I shook him harder, but his body only shifted limply, lifeless. A cold, hollow void opened in my chest, swallowing hope. Panic clawed at , brutal and unrelenting. I released him, forcing myself onward through the wreckage, dragging my battered form while trying to block out the searing pain that threatened to pull under.
I reached what was left of the main cabin—or what I could recognize of it amid the devastation. "Raquel!" I shouted, my voice cracking with desperation. Silence answered. "Raquel!" I called again, scanning frantically through the rubble. Nothing. Grief and exhaustion weighed on like chains, but then—a faint, weak moan pierced the quiet.
My head snapped toward the sound. There she was, partially buried under a collapsed section of ceiling and seats, her body barely stirring. Relief flooded so intensely it nearly stole my breath again. I crawled to her side as quickly as my broken body allowed. "Raquel? Hey, can you hear ?"
Her eyes remained closed, unresponsive. A thin trail of blood trickled down the side of her face, weaving into her matted hair. My hands worked feverishly yet gently, clearing away debris while murmuring, "Stay with , Raquel. Please." I pressed my fingers to her neck. Her pulse was there—weak, thready, but present. "Okay... okay," I exhaled shakily. She was alive. In this hell, that was everything.
A deeper groan echoed from the crushed cockpit ahead. Ignoring the burning protest from my legs and the way my vision blurred at the edges, I pushed forward with every ounce of remaining strength. "Captain!" I called out.
The cockpit door hung precariously, twisted and buckled inward like a warped portal to chaos. I shoved it open with a grunt. Inside was pure devastation: the control panel shattered beyond recognition, erratic sparks dancing from exposed wires, acrid smoke curling lazily. Captain Harris slumped forward in his seat, blood soaking the front of his uniform, his breathing shallow and labored.
"Captain, stay with ," I urged, moving closer. His eyes fluttered open, unfocused and glassy. "...Mr. Flemington..." he rasped, voice barely audible over the dying hum of the wreckage.
"Yes, I’m here, Harris." My words ca rushed, tight with dread.
His chest rose and fell unevenly as he struggled to speak. "...We didn’t... we didn’t make it..." A wet hitch interrupted him.
"I know," I muttered, throat constricting. "But you’re going to be fine. Just hold on—"
He shook his head weakly, summoning the last of his strength. "No... listen... Rescue... won’t co fast. The forest... too dense..." Each word cost him visibly, his face paling further. "You have to... get out... yourself..."
"Don’t talk like that, Harris," I pleaded, but he was already slipping. His eyes t mine for one final, lucid second—haunted, resigned—before the light faded completely. Silence fell, heavy and final.
Harris was gone. Ian was gone. Only Raquel remained, clinging to life by a fragile thread.
I crawled back out slowly, my mind no longer drowning in shock but sharpening with cold clarity. Survival instinct took root. I dragged myself toward the jagged opening in the fuselage and erged into the outside world.
The air hit like a living wall—hot, humid, thick with the primal breath of the jungle. Towering trees lood endlessly in every direction, their dense canopy forming a green prison that blocked out much of the sky. Vines twisted like serpents around ancient trunks, and the undergrowth rustled with unseen life. No clearing, no roads, no distant hum of civilization. Just the vast, unforgiving Amazon rainforest—a place where people vanished without a trace, swallowed whole by nature’s indifferent maw.
My breathing slowed, not from peace but from grim realization. Smoke still rose in thin tendrils from the wreckage behind , a fragile signal that might never be seen through the impenetrable canopy. The lives already lost weighed on like stones. I glanced back at the twisted tal that had once been our sanctuary, then at the wall of green ahead.
No one was coming. Not soon. Not in ti.
If we were to survive, it would fall to alone—to fight the pain, the elents, the unknown terrors lurking in this erald hell. Raquel’s faint pulse echoed in my mind; her life now rested in my hands. The thought of failure clawed at , but then another resolve surfaced, quiet yet razor-sharp.
My grandfather. Octavia.
My jaw tightened with fierce determination. Surviving wasn’t just about escaping this green abyss anymore. It was about clawing my way back to them—no matter the cost, no matter the blood or the miles of hostile wilderness. I would fight for every breath, every step. For her. For them. For us.
The jungle watched in silence, as if daring to begin.
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