The sharp metal was just millimetres from Max’s eyeball, when Jo joined the fray, grabbing Gwen’s arm and trying to wrestle the weapon free. Gwen turned on Jo now, biting down on Jo’s hand and growling like a feral animal, forcing her to let go. Jo cried out as she retrieved her hand and Gwen returned her murderous attention to Max, who was still pinioned beneath her.
Max grabbed Gwen’s axe arm as tightly as he could, twisting her flesh painfully. She retaliated like a woman possessed, regaining her hold on the axe, and thrust down on it so hard that her knees almost lifted from the floor. The pick blade plunged toward Max’s neck, a hair’s breadth away from his jugular — and stopped.
Max looked up in disbelief.
Jo had Gwen in a headlock, arm wrapped around her neck from behind. She was squeezing with all her might.
“Get-off-him!” Jo hissed through gritted teeth.
Gwen doubled her efforts, her face turning red as Jo cut off her airway. She shoved as hard as she could with the axe, the blade cutting into Max’s flesh.
He gasped as a rivulet of blood trickled down his neck.
Jo tightened her grip, starving Gwen of oxygen. Gwen was struggling to breathe now, her once-sweet face turning from red to beetroot. Jo summoned all of her remaining strength to increase her grip on Gwen’s neck, her nasal passages flooded with the sickly sweet stench of Gwen’s sandalwood and fear.
Max was unable to move, trapped beneath Gwen’s body, neck at the mercy of the axe’s pick blade.
Roaring with exertion, Jo pushed her entire body backwards, thrusting with her legs. She fell back, dragging Gwen with her. As they fell, Jo twisted Gwen’s neck in her vice-like grip.
There was a loud crack, and Gwen fell limp to the floor between Jo’s legs.
The crash axe clattered to the floor.
Shock and adrenalin pumping through her system, Jo spider-legged backwards across the cabin floor until her back hit the dividing wall. She sat there, hand clamped to her mouth, and looked at Gwen’s body, mortified.
She was dead.
Gasping, Max rubbed at the blood on his neck and clambered to his feet. He sidestepped Gwen’s twisted form and rushed over to embrace Jo; a gesture of thanks — and of comfort.
“Oh dear, Gwen failed her assignment too.” Alligator’s voice cut through the tense silence, icy cool. “If you’d just died like a good boy then I wouldn’t have to kill her sister.”
An ominous electronic crackle rattled through the speakers.
“But you’re still here,” Alligator continued.
The touch screens flickered to life again, displaying a camera-eye view of Gwen’s sister, Emily, in her concrete prison. She was still tethered to the chair, her hair, skin and clothing drenched with petrol.
Jo and Max looked on, Alligator’s captive audience, as the cameraman fumbled to light a match. Emily writhed in sheer terror, almost knocking the chair backwards as she watched him try to strike the match a second time. A lens flare blistered across the screen as the match flickered alight. The killer tilted the match carefully, allowing the flame to take hold. Then, he flicked it Emily.
Whoosh. She was engulfed in flames, writhing and screaming in agony as the fire erupted and blistered the flesh from her bones.
Jo looked away, feeling sick.
Max staggered backwards, almost collapsing against one of the seats.
Their eyes had seen too much — too much cruelty, too much suffering and death — both on, and off, the plane through Alligator’s omnipotent camera eyes.
“Come now Jo, you’re missing the firework show!” Alligator taunted. “I thought you loved this stuff? Perhaps you’d prefer it if she was a little younger?”
Jo span around to face the screen.
“What the fuck is wrong with you?”
“Oh, I’m just holding up a mirror,” Alligator chuckled. “You may want to take a good look at yourself. We’ve both got blood on our hands.”
Looking down at her trembling hands, Jo glanced across the cabin at Gwen’s body. Only a few feet away, Gwen’s head lay at a horrible angle, her neck broken. Jo choked at the sight.
Max’s expression turned from one of horror to rage. He stooped, picking up the axe from the floor and smashed it into his touch screen. The monitor clattered to the floor, sparks flying. He then took a step toward Jo’s screen.
She held her hands up to him, blocking him.
“Don’t do it, please! It’s the only way I can see my daughter…”
Squinting fixated at the monitor for a moment, Max appeared to lose his focus. His eyes darkened, then he turned to Jo and took a deep breath.
“You want to see your daughter again?” he asked.
Jo nodded.
“Then we have got to get into that luggage compartment.”
He marched back to the bathroom door, crash axe in hand.
Jo took Max’s jacket from the armrest of his seat and, crouching, laid it gently over Gwen’s face.
“I’m sorry Gwen, I didn’t mean for this to happen,” Jo whispered.
Her words would never be enough, but they were all she had to give. Her head throbbed with remorse. In essence, she felt responsible for two deaths. If she had simply allowed Gwen’s fight with Max to take its natural course, then maybe Gwen and her sister would both still be alive. Maybe Gwen would have turned her murderous rage on Jo next; there was no way of knowing if she could have defeated her single-handed. Whatever the case, Max could be her only chance of saving Sophie — she just prayed he had enough time to do what he could.
She got back on her feet and followed Max to the bathroom.
The wall panel reverberated with the impact of the crash axe.
Max was hacking at it, putting all his might into each blow. He imagined the Alligator’s grinning green face on the other side of the wall, pouring all his rage into it. Anger for all the manipulation, mind games and murder, for all those innocent people who had died. He’d be dead too unless he could do something about it.
Breaking the wall represented that opportunity. Somewhere on the other side was his laptop. He felt sure he could use it to hack into the jet’s network. If he succeeded, cracking the door control for the cockpit wouldn’t be beyond the bounds of possibility. He just had to get the damn thing first. It had to be there — he remembered seeing the stocky luggage guy loading their luggage onto the plane when they handed their phones over to the limousine driver.
Nice moves, Max thought bitterly, making sure we couldn’t contact the outside world once your damn games started up. Well, I’ll prove you wrong you bastards.
He visualised his beloved old laptop, standby light winking at him conspiratorially from the confines of his travel bag. Be with you soon, Old Girl, he thought.
He heaved the axe at the wall panel again. This time it buckled and cracked. Max wrenched the axe free and stared at the wall, not quite believing his eyes.
The crack in the wall was bleeding.
Fifteen
Blood oozed from the crack in the wall inches from Max’s face.
From the doorway, Jo stared at it too — horror beginning to register on her face. The dark red trickle formed an exclamation mark as it slid down the wall panel, communicating its dreadful warning of something too horrible to imagine.