The storm was screaming outside now, rain lashing against the windshield with the force of gravel.

“We are entering the core of the cell,” Malachi said, reading the primary flight display. “The airspeed is jumping.”

The digital speed tape on the left of his screen was bouncing wildly between two hundred and eighty knots and three hundred and twenty knots.

“If we go too fast, the wings will overstress,” Malachi said. “If we go too slow, we stall.”

“What do we do?” Gerald pleaded, his voice cracking. “Tell me what to do!”

“Keep the nose five degrees above the horizon line,” Malachi said. “Don’t let it drop.”

Another wave of turbulence slammed the plane, dropping us hundreds of feet in a single second.

My stomach surged into my throat, and I felt my grip slip from Malachi’s harness.

I slammed back onto the floor, my hip hitting the metal corner of the observer’s seat.

A sharp pain shot up my leg, but I ignored it and crawled back to my feet.

Through the window, the tip of the left wing was flexing up and down in terrifying arcs.