Nightmare At 20,000 Feet Read Online Free
hand. "Will you, for God's sake, look?" he asked.
Drawing in an agitated breath, the pilot bent over. In a moment, his gaze shifted coldly to Wilson's. "Well?" he asked.
Wilson jerked his head around. The plates were in their normal position.
"Oh, now wait," he said before the dread could come. "I saw him pry that plate up."
"Mister Wilson, if you don't-"
"I said I saw him pry it up," said Wilson.
The pilot stood there looking at him in the same withdrawn, almost aghast way as the stewardess had. Wilson shuddered violently.
"Listen, I saw him!" he cried. The sudden break in his voice appalled him.
In a second, the pilot was down beside him. "Mister Wilson, please," he said. "All right, you saw him. But remember there are other people aboard. We mustn't alarm them."
Wilson was too shaken to understand at first.
"You-mean you've seen him then?" he asked.
"Of course," the pilot said, "but we don't want to frighten the passengers. You can understand that."
"Of course, of course, I don't want to-"
Wilson felt a spastic coiling in his groin and lower stomach. Suddenly, he pressed his lips together and looked at the pilot with malevolent eyes.
"I understand," he said.
"The thing we have to remember-" began the pilot.
"We can stop now," Wilson said.
"Sir?"
Wilson shuddered. "Get out of here," he said.
"Mister Wilson, what-?"
"Will you stop?" Face whitening, Wilson turned from the pilot and stared out at the wing, eyes like stone.
He glared back suddenly.
"Rest assured I'd not say another word!" he snapped.
"Mr. Wilson, try to understand our-"
Wilson twisted away and stared out venomously at the engine. From a corner of his vision, he saw two passengers standing in the aisle looking at him. Idiots! his mind exploded. He felt his hands begin to tremble and, for a few seconds, was afraid that he was going to vomit. It's the motion, he told himself. The plane was bucking in the air now like a storm-tossed boat.
He realized that the pilot was still talking to him and, refocusing his eyes, he looked at the man's reflection in the window. Beside him, mutely sombre, stood the stewardess. Blind idiots, both of them, thought Wilson. He did not indicate his notice of their departure. Reflected on the window, he saw them heading toward the rear of the cabin. They'll be discussing me now, he thought. Setting up plans in case I grow violent.
He wished now that the man would reappear, pull off the cowling plate and ruin the engine. It gave him a sense of vengeful pleasure to know that only he stood between catastrophe and the more than thirty people aboard. If he chose, he could allow that catastrophe to take place. Wilson smiled without humour. There would be a royal suicide, he thought.
The little man dropped down again and Wilson saw that what he'd thought was correct-the man had pressed the plate back into place before jumping away. For, now, he was prying it up again and it was raising easily, peeling back like skin excised by some grotesque surgeon. The motion of the wing was very broken but the man seemed to have no difficulty staying balanced.
Once more Wilson felt panic. What was he to do? No one believed him. If he tried to convince them any more they'd probably restrain him by force. If he asked the stewardess to sit by him it would be, at best, only a momentary reprieve. The second she departed or, remaining, fell asleep, the man would return. Even if she stayed awake beside him, what was to keep the man from tampering with the engines on the other wing? Wilson shuddered, a coldness of dread misting along his bones.
Dear God, there was nothing to be done.
He twitched as, across the window through which he watched the little man, the pilot's reflection passed. The insanity of the moment almost broke him-the man and the pilot within feet of each other, both seen by him yet not aware of one another. No, that was wrong. The little man had glanced across his shoulder as the pilot passed. As if he knew there was
Drawing in an agitated breath, the pilot bent over. In a moment, his gaze shifted coldly to Wilson's. "Well?" he asked.
Wilson jerked his head around. The plates were in their normal position.
"Oh, now wait," he said before the dread could come. "I saw him pry that plate up."
"Mister Wilson, if you don't-"
"I said I saw him pry it up," said Wilson.
The pilot stood there looking at him in the same withdrawn, almost aghast way as the stewardess had. Wilson shuddered violently.
"Listen, I saw him!" he cried. The sudden break in his voice appalled him.
In a second, the pilot was down beside him. "Mister Wilson, please," he said. "All right, you saw him. But remember there are other people aboard. We mustn't alarm them."
Wilson was too shaken to understand at first.
"You-mean you've seen him then?" he asked.
"Of course," the pilot said, "but we don't want to frighten the passengers. You can understand that."
"Of course, of course, I don't want to-"
Wilson felt a spastic coiling in his groin and lower stomach. Suddenly, he pressed his lips together and looked at the pilot with malevolent eyes.
"I understand," he said.
"The thing we have to remember-" began the pilot.
"We can stop now," Wilson said.
"Sir?"
Wilson shuddered. "Get out of here," he said.
"Mister Wilson, what-?"
"Will you stop?" Face whitening, Wilson turned from the pilot and stared out at the wing, eyes like stone.
He glared back suddenly.
"Rest assured I'd not say another word!" he snapped.
"Mr. Wilson, try to understand our-"
Wilson twisted away and stared out venomously at the engine. From a corner of his vision, he saw two passengers standing in the aisle looking at him. Idiots! his mind exploded. He felt his hands begin to tremble and, for a few seconds, was afraid that he was going to vomit. It's the motion, he told himself. The plane was bucking in the air now like a storm-tossed boat.
He realized that the pilot was still talking to him and, refocusing his eyes, he looked at the man's reflection in the window. Beside him, mutely sombre, stood the stewardess. Blind idiots, both of them, thought Wilson. He did not indicate his notice of their departure. Reflected on the window, he saw them heading toward the rear of the cabin. They'll be discussing me now, he thought. Setting up plans in case I grow violent.
He wished now that the man would reappear, pull off the cowling plate and ruin the engine. It gave him a sense of vengeful pleasure to know that only he stood between catastrophe and the more than thirty people aboard. If he chose, he could allow that catastrophe to take place. Wilson smiled without humour. There would be a royal suicide, he thought.
The little man dropped down again and Wilson saw that what he'd thought was correct-the man had pressed the plate back into place before jumping away. For, now, he was prying it up again and it was raising easily, peeling back like skin excised by some grotesque surgeon. The motion of the wing was very broken but the man seemed to have no difficulty staying balanced.
Once more Wilson felt panic. What was he to do? No one believed him. If he tried to convince them any more they'd probably restrain him by force. If he asked the stewardess to sit by him it would be, at best, only a momentary reprieve. The second she departed or, remaining, fell asleep, the man would return. Even if she stayed awake beside him, what was to keep the man from tampering with the engines on the other wing? Wilson shuddered, a coldness of dread misting along his bones.
Dear God, there was nothing to be done.
He twitched as, across the window through which he watched the little man, the pilot's reflection passed. The insanity of the moment almost broke him-the man and the pilot within feet of each other, both seen by him yet not aware of one another. No, that was wrong. The little man had glanced across his shoulder as the pilot passed. As if he knew there was
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