I pulled the red inflation strips, the rubber seal popping open.

“Put this on, Malachi,” I said, pressing the mask toward his face.

“No,” Malachi said, turning his head away. “If I put that on, I can’t hear you. I need to hear the engines.”

“Malachi, please.”

“I can keep her level, Grace,” the boy said, his knuckles turning white as he gripped the yoke. “My dad told me. If the autopilot fails, you have to feel the floorboards. The floorboards tell you where the wings are.”

On the floor, First Officer Danny Cole let out a low, rattling groan.

His eyes fluttered open, staring blankly at the underside of the main instrument panel.

“Danny,” I knelt beside him, checking his pulse. “Danny, can you hear me?”

His lips moved, but only a dry hiss came out.

“Gas…” he whispered. “Under the… seat…”

“He’s rambling,” Thorne said, stepping closer to the door. “The neurotoxin has already entered his cerebral cortex. He won’t be of any assistance.”

The countdown timer beeped once, a high, sharp sound that echoed in the small space.

00:20.