“Neither does Malachi,” I said, looking him dead in the eye. “But he’s twelve, and he’s the only one holding us in the sky.”

Gerald looked at the boy, then at the dark cockpit, and finally at the lightning flashing outside.

He swallowed hard, his chest heaving.

“Tell me what to do,” Gerald said, dragging himself up from the floor.

“Get into the right seat,” I said. “Don’t touch anything until Malachi tells you to.”

Gerald squeezed past the center console, his bulky frame awkward in the tight space.

He carefully avoided the unconscious first officer, climbing into the seat and buckling the five-point harness with shaking hands.

“I’m in,” Gerald said, his hands hovering over the control wheel in front of him. “What now?”

“Hold the yoke,” Malachi said, not looking at him. “When I pull, you pull. Just keep the little white airplane symbol in the middle of the blue part.”

“The blue part,” Gerald repeated, his eyes fixing on the standby instrument.

Another flash of lightning lit up the cockpit, brighter than the last.

In the glare, I saw the main overhead panel flicker.