I reached for the center pedestal.

My hand hovered over the two heavy red handles.

If I pulled them, we would lose all engine power and the fire extinguishers would detonate.

“Now!” Malachi shouted.

The plane was vibrating so hard I could barely see the panel.

I grabbed both handles and pulled them down.

The engines died instantly.

The roaring sound of the turbofans vanished, replaced by the screech of metal and rubber.

The plane skidded along the wet runway, tilting heavily to the right.

Sparking metal flew past the cockpit windows.

We were slowing down, but we were running out of runway.

The end of the concrete was fast approaching, marked by a row of red lights.

Beyond that lay the dark, cold waters of the bay.

“Brake!” I yelled.

“I am braking!” Malachi screamed.

He was standing up in his seat, putting his entire body weight onto the top of the rudder pedals.

The brakes squealed.

The aircraft slid sideways, spinning slowly through ninety degrees.

We came to a stop just feet from the water.

The silence that followed was deafening.