Elliot's eyes snapped open, and for a brief moment, everything was just chaos. His body was pressed into something hard, and his ears were ringing from the deafening sound of the crash. His head was pounding, and a sharp pain ran down his spine, making it almost impossible to breathe. For a moment, he couldn't even remember what had happened—where he was, what had just occurred.
Max's frantic barking broke through the fog in his mind, pulling him back to reality. The dog was still alive. That was the first thought that cut through the haze. The second was a more urgent one: Get up. Move.
Elliot groaned, pushing himself up from the floor, feeling the weight of his body against the twisted wreckage. His head swam, and the taste of metal filled his mouth. He looked around, his eyes trying to adjust to the disorienting mess. The plane was no longer flying. The seats had been torn from their frames, and pieces of the fuselage were scattered everywhere. Smoke filled the air, a bitter, choking haze that made it hard to breathe.
Max was still barking, frantic now, his claws clicking against the metal. Elliot tried to stand but stumbled, his legs shaking as though they were made of jelly. He gripped the nearest seatback to steady himself, wincing at the sharp pain in his ribs. Slowly, he turned, his heart racing.
"Max!" he called again, his voice weak but desperate.
The dog was somewhere behind him, a blur of motion. Elliot stumbled forward, barely able to keep his balance as he moved toward the sound of Max's barks. He was about to call out again when he saw the dog's familiar shape. Max was tangled in the remains of a seatbelt, yelping as he struggled to break free.
"Hang on, buddy," Elliot muttered, forcing his legs to move faster despite the burning pain in his side. He reached down, quickly unbuckling the seatbelt, and within seconds, Max was free, jumping into Elliot's arms with a relieved whine.
The dog's warm, familiar weight in his arms was a small comfort in the midst of the destruction. But the reality of the crash hit him all at once, and his chest tightened with panic. Where was Ben? He turned, looking toward the cockpit, but all he could see was smoke and twisted metal.
"Ben?" he called out, his voice shaking. No answer.
His pulse quickened. He couldn't think about it. He couldn't fall apart. He had to find out if Ben was alive. He had to make sure he wasn't the only one left.
"Ben!" he shouted, his voice cracking as he stumbled toward the cockpit, pushing through the debris. He half-walked, half-crawled, desperate to reach the front of the plane.
The scene that greeted him when he reached the cockpit made his stomach drop. The door was partially wedged open, the frame twisted, and inside, Ben was slumped against the controls, blood staining his shirt. His eyes were closed, and his face was pale, but he was breathing—barely.
Elliot's heart pounded in his chest as he rushed forward, his hands trembling as he checked Ben's pulse. It was faint, weak, but there. He's alive.
But for how long?
"Ben," Elliot whispered, shaking him gently, trying to rouse him. Ben stirred, groaning, his eyelids flickering open.
"Elliot?" Ben's voice was hoarse, barely above a whisper. He blinked, trying to focus on the boy in front of him. "You're... you're okay?"
"I'm fine," Elliot said, his voice shaking. "We have to get out of here. The plane's going to catch fire—it's not safe."
Ben's eyes fluttered again, and he winced as he tried to sit up. "I'm not... going anywhere fast. But you are. You need to get out, Elliot."
"No." Elliot shook his head, his voice desperate. "I'm not leaving you. We'll get out of here together. We'll find help."
Ben's lips twitched into a weak, pained smile. "You're a good kid, Elliot. But there's no time. You've got to keep going. You've got Max. You've got a chance."
Elliot felt his throat tighten. The reality of what Ben was saying hit him hard. Ben was dying. There was no way around it. The blood loss, the injuries—he wasn't going to make it. Not like this.
"I'm not leaving you," Elliot said again, his voice breaking.
Ben's hand shot out, weak but firm, and grabbed Elliot's arm. "You have to," he whispered, his voice filled with quiet desperation. "You've already lost so much. Don't lose yourself too."
Elliot's eyes filled with tears, but he wiped them away angrily. No. Not now. He couldn't break down again. Not now. Not with Ben looking at him like this, asking him to survive.
Ben's grip weakened, and he gave one last sigh, as if resigning to the inevitable. "Go," he rasped. "Find a way. Don't stop."
Max, sensing the shift in the air, padded over to Elliot, nudging his leg with his nose. Elliot looked down at the dog, his heart heavy.
He had no choice. Ben was right. He had to survive. He had to find a way.
"Goodbye, Ben," Elliot whispered, tears threatening to spill as he turned away, taking one last look at the man who had protected him through so much. And then, with Max by his side, he forced himself to move.
The wreckage of the plane loomed behind him, but ahead was the unknown. He didn't know what waited for him in the world beyond the wreckage, but he had no choice but to keep moving.
For Ben. For his father. For everyone he had lost.
And most of all, for himself.