The way an emergency slowly erased everything that did not matter until the world became a handful of instruments, a runway, and the people depending on your next decision.
Zoe disappeared from his mind.
Not because he loved her less.
Because thinking about her now could kill them.
“Four percent,” Foster said.
Marcus moved forward.
“I want the controls.”
Foster stared at him.
“You said you weren’t replacing me.”
“I’m not.”
“You just asked for control.”
“You know the systems. I know what an aircraft feels like when the systems disappear. You stay on instruments and call everything. We do it together.”
Foster hesitated.
The warning tone sounded again.
Three percent.
Foster let go.
“Your aircraft.”
Marcus wrapped both hands around the yoke.
“My aircraft.”
The first thing he noticed was how little authority remained.
He made a small correction.
The airplane answered almost two seconds later.
It felt as if Marcus were shouting commands through several locked doors.
“Ten miles,” Foster said.
Marcus saw the runway lights.
A bright white line stretched across the darkness.
“Shannon, Flight 602 established final.”
“Flight 602, cleared to land Runway 24. Wind two-five-zero at eleven. All emergency services standing by.”
Marcus keyed the radio.
“Copy.”
Two percent.
The nose drifted right.
Marcus corrected gently.
Nothing.
Then too much.
The aircraft rolled left.
He eased the opposite direction, resisting the instinct to fight aggressively.
“One thousand feet,” Foster called.
The runway filled more of the windscreen.
“One percent.”
Marcus said nothing.
“Five hundred.”
The hydraulic indicators dropped.
Zero.
Foster looked at him.
“We lost both systems.”
The yoke suddenly felt dead.
The aircraft began drifting right.
Marcus’s hands moved immediately to the throttles.
“Differential thrust.”
Foster looked at him.
“On a passenger jet?”
“We don’t have another steering system.”
Marcus increased power slightly on the right engine and reduced the left.
The nose moved.
Slowly.
Too slowly.
“Four hundred.”
Marcus adjusted again.
The jet corrected left.
“Three hundred.”
They were nearly aligned.
Then a crosswind pushed the nose.
Foster’s voice rose.
“We’re drifting.”
“I see it.”
Marcus increased asymmetric thrust.
The aircraft turned.
“Two hundred.”
The centerline moved beneath them.
“Hundred.”
Marcus reduced power.
The aircraft dropped.
“Fifty.”
Marcus whispered something Zoe had heard him say before difficult things without ever knowing where he learned it.
“Bring me home.”
The main landing gear struck the runway.
The impact shook the aircraft from nose to tail.
Several overhead compartments burst open in the cabin.
People screamed.
Marcus kept his eyes forward.
The nose gear slammed down.
They were on the ground.
But the airplane was still moving at more than one hundred sixty knots.
Foster tried the brakes.
Nothing.
“Brake pressure gone.”
Marcus had already guessed.
“Reverse thrust?”
“Limited response.”
The end of the runway was rushing toward them.
Marcus keyed the radio.
“Shannon, we have no effective braking.”
The controller answered instantly.
“Flight 602, engineered arresting area available beyond the runway. Maintain centerline. Emergency crews are repositioning.”
Marcus looked ahead.
The runway seemed impossibly short.
“Can we steer with thrust all the way into it?” Foster asked.
“We’re about to find out.”
Marcus worked the throttles separately.
A little more power left.
A little less right.
The aircraft wandered toward the edge of the runway.