Claire slammed through the divider curtains between Business Class and Main Cabin, her face set in a look of absolute focus. She took in the scene in half a second.
"Maya!" Claire shouted back over her shoulder as the junior attendant arrived right behind her. "Get the Emergency Medical Kit from the forward overhead bin! Grab the Automated External Defibrillator and the high-flow oxygen bottle! Now!"
Maya didn't hesitate. She turned and ran back toward the forward galley.
Claire dropped to her knees in the narrow aisle beside Row 38. She placed two fingers firmly against the man's neck, feeling for a carotid pulse. It was rapid, weak, and thready. His breathing was wet and labored—signs of acute respiratory distress, possibly brought on by a cardiac event.
"Sir, can you hear me? My name is Claire. I'm here to help you," she said, her voice firm, clear, and reassuring. She turned to the sobbing wife. "Ma'am, what is his name?"
"Harold... Harold Jenkins," the woman sobbed. "He took his nitroglycerin an hour ago, but it isn't working!"
"Is there a medical doctor on board?" Claire bellowed down the dark aisle, her voice carrying authority that echoed to the very back of the aircraft. "Paging any licensed physician or medical professional, please press your call button immediately!"
A light clicked on three rows back. A middle-aged man in a wrinkled suit unbuckled his seatbelt and hurried forward. "I'm Dr. Aris. Internal medicine at Mount Sinai."
"Thank God," Claire said, instantly clearing space in the aisle. "He's seventy, cardiac history, took nitroglycerin an hour ago. Pulse is thready, breathing is severely compromised."
Dr. Aris dropped beside her, placing his stethoscope against the man's chest. "We need to lay him flat. Get him out of the seat into the aisle."
Just as Claire and the doctor grabbed Harold Jenkins's shoulders to lift his limp frame into the aisle, the Boeing 777 lurched violently downward.
It was not normal turbulence. It was severe clear-air turbulence—a massive, unseen wall of descending air currents hitting the aircraft at 500 miles per hour.
The entire plane dropped two hundred feet in a fraction of a second.
Passengers shrieked as unsecured items—plastic cups, magazines, stray pillows—flew into the air. The overhead luggage bins creaked violently under the immense G-forces. The structural frame of the aircraft groaned as the autopilot fought to maintain altitude.
FASTEN SEATBELT signs illuminated with a sharp, loud chime.
Claire was tossed sideways by the violent drop. Her shoulder slammed hard into the metal armrest of Row 37, sending a sharp, blinding bolt of pain down her left arm. But she didn't let go of Harold Jenkins. She threw her own body over the elderly man, pinning him against the seat base to prevent him from being thrown into the ceiling.
"Hold on!" Dr. Aris shouted, grabbing the seat frame as the plane lurched again, rolling violently five degrees to the left.
In the forward aisle, Marcus Vance had just stepped out of Suite 1A when the turbulence struck. He grabbed the handrail of the bulkhead, his powerful frame absorbing the violent shift of the cabin floor. He looked down the long line of sight toward the rear of the aircraft.
Through the chaos of flying objects and panicked passengers, Marcus saw Claire Sterling.
She was on the floor. Her uniform sleeve was torn at the shoulder where she had slammed into the metal seat frame. Blood was trickling down her left wrist from a scrape against an aluminum track. But she wasn't crying. She wasn't trembling. She wasn't thinking about her job, her title, or her career.
She was completely focused on keeping the dying man alive.
Maya returned, crawling down the violently shuddering aisle on her knees, dragging the green medical kit and the heavy green oxygen tank. Claire reached out with her uninjured arm, grabbed the oxygen mask, and pressed it firmly over Harold Jenkins's face, opening the valve to full flow.
"Dr. Aris! The kit is here!" Claire shouted over the roar of the airframe under stress. "I have the AED prepped!"
"Get him flat on his back!" the doctor commanded.
Claire ignored the intense pain in her left shoulder. She braced her feet against the base of the seats, using her body as a human shield against the turbulence, and helped the doctor slide the heavy man onto the carpeted floor. She quickly ripped open his shirt, tearing the buttons away, and slapped the self-adhesive AED pads onto his chest.
"Analyzing heart rhythm," the electronic voice of the AED announced over the cabin noise. "Stand clear."
"Clear the patient!" Claire commanded, throwing her arms wide to ensure neither the doctor nor the terrified wife was touching him.