Free Fall Read Free Page B

the airport when the line clicked and Dwayne returned.
    â€œSorry, who’ve I got here?”
    â€œKate Page with Newslead. What happened to Flight Forty-nine Ninety? Why did it declare an emergency?”
    â€œWe’re still assessing matters. We’ll put out a statement soon.”
    â€œAre there fatalities? How many injur—?”
    â€œI have to go.”
    â€œCan you estimate the number of injuries?”
    â€œWe’ll put out a statement. I really have to go.”
    The call ended as Kate’s cab slowed on the edge of havoc.
    Red, white, orange and blue lights blinked from the police, fire and paramedic vehicles that were jammed outside the Terminal C arrivals area, backing up traffic. Kate paid her driver, who hastily scrawled a receipt.
    Her phone was chiming with news alerts. She saw two news vans parked to the side. Up ahead, TV crews with shoulder-held cameras were shooting footage of people on stretchers being loaded into ambulances. Kate arrived to see one woman, her back raised on a gurney, her head bandaged and tears in her eyes. Microphones hovered near her and reporters hurled questions at her as paramedics placed her in an ambulance.
    â€œCan you describe the flight?”
    â€œIt was horrible!” the woman said. “Just horrible!”
    A cop inserted himself between the paramedics and cameras.
    â€œBack off guys, back off!”
    Kate’s phone continued chiming with alerts. Bloomberg and Reuters had issued bulletins on Flight 4990. Finally, she saw one from Newslead. Someone on the desk must have woken up, Kate thought. It sure as hell couldn’t have been Sloane.
    Things were buzzing online, too.
    Pictures were popping up everywhere. Twitter had images of the aftermath in the cabin. Luggage, clothes, books, laptops, food containers and other items were strewn about the interior. In one clear photo she was certain she’d seen streaks of blood.
    Kate scanned the crowd for a Newslead photographer. Not finding one, she went inside to the busy baggage-claim area where more news cameras had encircled passengers who were recounting their ordeal for reporters. She joined one group and extended her recorder.
    â€œCould you please take us through it again?” someone asked.
    â€œIt was right after they’d served us drinks,” a man with bloodied scrapes on his cheeks began. “Then bam, the plane tilts like we’re going to roll upside down. Like this.” He extended his arms, one hand pointed to the floor, the other to the ceiling as the woman beside him nodded.
    â€œEverybody and everything not belted or bolted down flew,” the woman said, her eyes still wide with shock.
    â€œPeople were hurled like rag dolls. The service trolley smashed around. We were hanging on with all we had,” the man said. “Then the plane rolled the opposite way, tossing people and things around like we were in a clothes drier. People were screaming and praying.”
    â€œThe luggage bins opened,” the woman said. “Suitcases and bags crashed on everyone. Then the jet just dropped and we were plunging, diving down. My stomach was in my mouth.”
    â€œWhat went through your mind at this point?” a reporter asked.
    â€œThat we weren’t going to survive. That we were so helpless. That this was the end,” she said.
    â€œHow long did it last?” another reporter asked.
    â€œI don’t know.” The man shook his head. “Five, maybe eight minutes.”
    Kate glanced around and was relieved to see Stan Strobic, a Newslead photographer, had joined the group.
    â€œWhen it was over,” the woman said, “and they got things under control, it got quiet, except for the moans and sobs. People were trying to comfort those who were hurt. I think one lady was a nurse. But the pilot never came on and said what happened. Nobody has told us anything.”
    As the interview wound down, the couple—Connie and