Tuesday, September 11th, 2001

06

𝕽

The mirrored reflection stared back at me with vengeance clear in her eyes. Dark circles beneath them. Dried tears on her cheeks, water on her hands. I take a washcloth and soak it in cold water. I swipe it gently just under my eyes.

I know that I have to pull myself together, nothing is confirmed yet, and I am on duty as presidential security. I rather not lose my job, no matter what else happens. I wouldn't be able to take it.

I slowly step out of the airplane bathroom, sporting a newly-done low-bun, and refreshed makeup, my heart shattered to pieces. Blood would've been dripping from my chest cavity if my emotions made up an organ in my body.

I slowly and softly walk over to the refreshments. They are self-serving for most of us, so I have free reign, though they are complimentary no matter what, so it evens itself out.

I grab a bottle of clear liquor, with the label of Jose Cuervo on the front. I grab another bottle, labeld Bullet. I grab a shot glass and fill it with the clear liquid. I shoot it back, reveling in the burn it gives my throat. This repeats once more. I then place the clear liquor back in its storage space.

I walk to the coffee machine, pouring a cup of the already brewed coffee. I fill the shot glass twice wit the bourbon, emptying its contents into the cup of coffee. I add sugar and a splash of half and half.

I then feel a drop fall down my cheek. I quickly grab a napkin and wipe it away in an almost panicked manner.

I walk into the main cabin, holding my cup of coffee close to me, hoping no one will smell the liquor in it or on my breath. The pain in my chest begins to slowly numb, and I adore the feeling.

My eyes are drawn to the TV, which is what everyone else was focused on. The news anchor states the current states of the streets, as camera crews on the outskirts of the chaos, and helicopters hover like flies on the walls of a house, watching as the mother and father fight, and the kids are in tears watching.

They then cover the fact that it has been confirmed the four planes were hijacked, one went down in a field in Pennsylvania, one hit the Pentagon, and the other's hit the towers. The North tower still has not gone down, which is a good thing. People are stuck in buildings and other various structures, trying to escape the dust cloud. People are running out of the dust in a steady stream.

They report that the FAA has also grounded all flights, so we are the only plane in the sky unless there is another hijacked plane. I glance at my watch, it is 10:14. It then hits me that we have to stay in the air until we're given an all clear, there is no destination. The thought scares me, the unknown has always terrified me.

My thoughts stir, descending me into a rapid spiral of stress and anxiety. I take a sip of my coffee, and it seems to calm it. I continue to sip on the coffee to keep the anxiety at bay.

I glance to the president, and he seems very stressed, rightfully so. Someone has just come in and attacked his country, he's worried for his people, the people he is meant to protect and keep safe at all costs. I look back at the TV seeing that it is now, 10:25. They continue to cover the investigation details, things we all need to know, and what landmarks have been evacuated. And that's when we hear another loud boom. They cut to the footage of the towers and we all stare in despair as the North Tower falls, crumbling to the ground and hurting even more people.

Killing others, people choking on smoke and dust, debris crushing and trapping some. It is then that we get a call. One of the agents answer it, and after a moment hands it over to the president. He talks to them for a moment before his eyes go wide and he bids them farewell. He turns to us all. "Are all of the agents here?" He looks to the two SAIC's. They both nod.

The president sighs heavily. "Our radios in DC have just received a threat stating that, "Angel is next," " he says. We all go wide-eyed. That is a classified code-word, so... some part of this had to have been an inside job.

"But wait... that's the code word, which would mean that this had to have been..." Jen states what's on all of our minds, stumbling over her words in shock. She shifts her weight from one foot to the other, stress clear on her face as she raises a hand to her mouth in realization. The rest of us gape and cross our arms, the thought sinking in. The president nods, knowing what we're thinking. "Exactly," he mutters.

Two agents walk to the cockpit to report to the radio operators and the pilots. We then start a quick ascension into the clouds and beyond. The view would've been beautiful on any other day.

It's not before long that we see a black jet fly in near us, giving most of us metaphorical heart attacks. It appears to be a fighter jet. And it's not long before we discover that our communications have stopped working at such a high altitude. So we cannot radio in for help to be sent. However, within around an hour, we manage the slightest of connections with the plane and discover that it is an Air Force jet sent to protect us.

We grow more and more anxious by the minute, no updates on any events. Even the president is pacing the floor. I have gone through three cups of spiked coffee, and four shots of tequila. We all feel useless not being able to do anything but sit around and wait for some sign of an all-clear.

Eventually, the pilots fly lower, to send in any communications update on the situation, and we are informed then that the skies are completely safe and we have the all-clear to land. By then, the closest place to land was Barkdale Air Base, in Louisiana. So that's what we set our sights on. And before long we land in the Air Base.