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.
Marcus corrected.
It drifted back.
The speed was dropping, but not fast enough.
The cabin crew shouted brace commands repeatedly.
Passengers bent forward with their heads against the seats in front of them.
Colonel Whitmore closed his eyes.
Sarah gripped the jump seat straps.
Dr. Shaw held the captain firmly in position.
Marcus saw the arresting surface ahead.
“Here we go.”
The aircraft left the pavement.
The first wheels struck the engineered material, and the jet decelerated violently.
Marcus slammed against his restraint.
Foster’s shoulder struck the side of his seat.
Behind them came a roar of screams and crashing luggage.
For one terrible second, the nose began yawing left.
Marcus applied right engine power.
The aircraft straightened.
Speed dropped through eighty knots.
Sixty.
Forty.
Twenty.
Then nothing moved.
Marcus remained gripping the throttles.
The cockpit became so quiet he could hear Foster breathing.
Neither man spoke.
Finally Foster looked through the windscreen.
“We stopped.”
Marcus closed his eyes.
“Yeah.”
Foster laughed once, then covered his face with both hands.
“We actually stopped.”
Behind them, Dr. Shaw checked the captain.
“He’s still with us.”
Marcus finally released the throttles.
His hands began shaking immediately.
The emergency disappeared from his body all at once, leaving behind exhaustion so deep he felt almost hollow.
Sarah opened the cockpit door.
Noise poured inside.
People were crying.
Some were cheering.
Others were calling family members.
Sarah looked at Marcus, and for the first time that night she no longer looked like a flight attendant managing a crisis.
She looked like someone who had just survived one.
“Evacuation?”
Marcus nodded.
“Get everybody out.”
The emergency slides deployed.
Fire crews surrounded the aircraft while passengers moved toward the exits. Marcus stayed near the cockpit while paramedics boarded for Captain Harris, who was conscious again but unable to stand.
Foster turned toward Marcus.
“You realize what you just did?”
Marcus shook his head.
“What we did.”
“I had eight hundred hours before tonight,” Foster said. “I thought that was a lot.”