Flight 219
Bradley broke out into a cocky smirk. “Time’s up.” He put his phone into his back pocket. “Let’s see what else I have to do to get my point across.”
Meredith steeled herself, ready to protect the young boy beside her and his mother if the gunman came anywhere near them. Instead, he made his way toward the back of the plane.
Was that a good sign? Did that mean Meredith was safe? Was she supposed to feel relieved?
Was she supposed to feel anything?
Meredith assessed her own mental state. It was a technique she’d taught Christian women for years. God, right now I’m feeling … Then let your mind fill in the blanks.
God, right now I’m feeling …She tried.
I’m feeling …
I’m feeling …
God, help.
It was all she could manage to pray, the nonverbal equivalent of a squeak or a gasp
