There was murky, grey coloured water slooshing about in the bottom of the plane amongst seat-stuffing and torn-up bagage. A few rows away there was the body of her french teacher, draped over a seat and with crusted blood down one side of her face. Helen was violently sick. Her head was spinning and all she could see was the carnage of the inside of the plane, and the massive hole in the front of it where the plane had been ripped in two.

"Helen! Get out, come on" came an urgent voice through the wreckage, from up ahead. Helen picked her way through the twisted metal and up turned seats, stepping over corpses that stared at her with hollow eyes and bits of their bodies missing. She pulled herself over a row of seats that provided a sort of un-official barrier to the outside world, and fell out of the great rip in the side of the plane.

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