Next to them sat a small, black electronic unit that did not belong to the Boeing’s standard equipment.

A blue light on the unit pulsed in rhythm with the clicking sound.

“Malachi, did your dad ever talk about the flight control computers?” I asked, my voice tight.

“They’re directly beneath us,” Malachi said, his eyes locked on the horizon indicator. “The main autopilot servos are down there too.”

Suddenly, a loud, two-tone horn blared through the cockpit speakers.

The red master warning light flashed, bathing the entire cabin in a bloody glow.

“Autopilot disconnect,” Malachi whispered, his knuckles turning white on the yoke.

The plane suddenly lurched violently to the left, throwing me against the center pedestal.

My shoulder hit the thrust levers, and the engines roared as they adjusted to the sudden shift.

“I’ve got the airplane,” Malachi said, his voice trembling but determined.

“The wheel is shaking!” Gerald yelled, his hands flying off the controls as if they were on fire.

“Hold it, Gerald!” I screamed, pulling myself up by the back of the captain’s seat.