Prologue

The first sign of trouble wasn’t the thud.
It was the way Captain Jack Williams snapped upright in his seat—eyes still half-shut, neck stiff from napping at cruise altitude—blinking into the middle distance like he’d just remembered an overdue bill.
“Did we hit something?” he asked, voice gravelly.
From the right seat, First Officer Lando Harris didn’t look up from the tablet on his lap. “Pretty sure we did.”
Jack leaned forward to peer at the engine gauges. The left N1,
the engine fan speed expressed as a percentage that told him how hard the engine was really working, was hiccupping like it had a caffeine addiction.
“Tell me that’s turbulence.”
“Nope,” Lando said, finally glancing up. “And turbulence doesn’t usually smell like charred goose.”
Then the cockpit lit up in flashing amber and red.
LEFT ENGINE FIRE
Lando’s voice went flat. “Left engine fire.”
Jack exhaled. “Of course it is.”
“Checklist?”
“Checklist. Wait. Memory items first.”
Jack worked the controls with clinical calm. “Autothrottle off. Left thrust lever—idle.”
“Confirmed.”
“Start lever—cutoff.”
“Confirmed.”
The alarm kept ringing. Jack narrowed his eyes.
“Kill that alarm, would you? It’s not helping my headache…. That’s better. Fire switch—pull.”
“Done.”
“Discharge bottle one.”
“Discharged. Timing for thirty seconds.”
They waited. The cockpit remained hot and tense. A few seconds later, the fire warning disappeared.

Jack leaned back slightly. “Fire’s out. Second fire extinguishing bottle not needed”
Lando let out a long breath. “Well, that was a wake-up call.”
Jack gestured toward the radio panel. “Call it in and squawk seventy-seven hundred.”
Lando’s left hand reached for the transponder, dialing 7700,
while his right thumb keyed the mic on the yoke. “Jetville Center, FunkyAir 302. We’re declaring an emergency. Left engine fire. Fire extinguished. Request vectors back to Jetville.”
As Lando spoke, the plane suddenly yawed left. Hard.
Both men reached instinctively for the yoke.
“Did you touch anything?” Jack asked.
“Nope.”
They looked at the engine instruments. The left side was completely dead—no oil pressure, no fuel flow, no vibration. Not even standby readings.
“That’s… unusual,” Lando said. “It’s like it’s not just shut down—it’s not there.”
They exchanged a look.
“You don’t think—” Lando began.
“Let’s not guess out loud,” Jack replied.
Then came the second hit—heavier, closer.
WHUMP.
The whole aircraft shuddered.
“That,” Lando said, now scrolling through the emergency checklist, “was not turbulence either. That was a second goose.”
Jack’s gaze drifted to the windshield, where a fat, feathered shape was now gently sliding across the glass like a slowly melting snowball. Its eyes met Jack’s for a fleeting, strangely human moment of dread.
They both watched in silence as the goose skidded to the edge of the windscreen… and vanished.
A half-second later:
WHOOOMPH.

The right engine belched violently, then lit up with warning indicators.
RIGHT ENGINE FIRE.
Lando didn’t even speak—he just closed his eyes for a moment and muttered something inaudible.
Jack looked at the engine gauge. The firelight was on, but it was still spinning. Still producing thrust.
“Checklist?” Lando asked cautiously.
Jack hesitated. “No.”
“No?”
“We’re not shutting that one down. It’s still working.”
“It’s also on fire,” Lando pointed out.
“It’s our only engine,” Jack replied flatly. “Let it burn.”
Lando blinked. “You want to let it burn?”
Jack gestured at the overhead. “We’ve got instruments, pressurization, power… and one engine.”
“And fire,” Lando added.
Jack shrugged. “It’s a minor detail.”
A beat passed.
“Good point.”
The engine gave a mechanical cough, like it had heard them, and—out of spite—blew itself out.
Everything went still. The engine indications vanished from the screens in an instant. A low, hollow silence followed—unnatural and wrong—before the aircraft yawed violently to the right, jolting Jack and Lando against their harnesses.
Then came a sharp chime—the cabin call.
Lando reached for the switch. “Flight deck.”
Missy’s voice came through, strained and shaking. “It’s Missy. I need to come in. Now.”
Jack nodded. Lando unlatched the cockpit door, and a moment later, Missy pushed it open and stepped inside.
Her face was pale, her hair clung to her forehead, and her voice trembled with the weight of what she’d just seen.
“There’s screaming,” she said, breathless. “People are crying. One woman’s praying out loud, and a man in row eight won’t stop shouting at the window. He keeps asking where the engines went.”
Jack turned to look at her, his expression grave.
“They’re gone,” she whispered. “Not damaged—gone. Both engines. There’s just… nothing there.”
She swallowed hard, gripping the doorframe. “Some people are frozen in their seats. Others are panicking. I think one guy’s juggling pretzel bags, but I don’t think he knows he’s doing it. He looks… lost.”
Jack exhaled slowly, then turned to Lando. His voice was steady, but barely.
“Okay,” he said. “This isn’t a jet anymore. We’re flying a glider.”
Lando nodded once, already reaching for the Quick Reference Handbook (QRH).

Missy lingered a second longer. “Whatever you’re going to do… please do it fast.”
Then she closed the door.
Lando stared at Jack. Jack stared back.
Jack tapped the yoke and sighed. “Guess I better show you how we used to do it in sailplanes.”
Lando gave him a tired smirk. “Remember when you said you missed the thrill?”
Jack: “Remind me to shut up next time.”
Lando: “If there is a next time.”
Jack: “There will be—if we get this right.” The aircraft coasted forward in eerie silence.
Outside, the wind howled. Inside, a very long story was just beginning.