His twelve-year-old hands were gripped tight around the heavy black rubber of the yoke.

“We have to force it down,” Malachi said.

“How?” I asked.

“Gravity drop,” he said.

“I have to yaw the plane hard to the left and right.”

“The centrifugal force might swing the gear leg into place.”

“But we’re already in a crosswind,” I said.

“Yes,” Malachi said.

He reached up and toggled the seatbelt sign.

The double chime rang through the cabin.

I grabbed the overhead handrail.

“Grace, you need to go out there and make sure everyone is buckled,” Malachi said.

“No,” I said.

“I’m staying here.”

“I need you to watch Thorne.”

I looked at the doctor.

His hands were now in his pockets.

He was watching the primary flight display with a cold, analytical stare.

“I’m not going anywhere,” Thorne said.

“You’ll need me if the Captain stops breathing.”

Captain Pierce was still slumped in the observer’s seat behind us.

His breathing was shallow and wet.

First Officer Danny Cole groaned in the corner.

His eyes fluttered open for a second.

“Danny?” I knelt beside him.