Warped Remains: Warped Realities, #1

By Kara Leigh Miller

Surviving the crash is easy. 
Surviving the island won't be.

Brooke Sheffield and Cory McCormack are on a flight to Alaska. And everything seems to be going well—until a confusion on the runaway prevents the plane from landing. Circling the runway should have been simple, but when the plane hits a bad patch of turbulence, throwing it off-course, the pilots lose control. The plane crashes, leaving Brooke, Cory, and two dozen other passengers stranded on a creepy island.

 

Surviving and hoping for rescue are their primary goals, but the least of their troubles. They aren't the only ones on the island, and it's now a race against time for someone to find them before the island's inhabitants do. But there are people willing to do anything to keep the island's true purpose a secret—even if it means sacrificing the lives of the survivors.

• Language: English
• Publisher: FireChicken Press, LLC
• Release date: Jun 14, 2024
• ISBN: 9798224079506

Book preview

Chapter One

Cory McCormack

Iblink slowly. My head throbs, and my entire body aches. Groaning, I manage to get my eyes open, but a blinding light makes me squint and drape my arm over my face. Where am I? Why am I so sore? I roll onto my side and sit up.

What the hell?

My eyes widen despite the harsh light, and my heart sinks as reality floods me.

The screaming. Shouting. Panic. The crash…

The front half of the plane is lodged between two massive trees and is on fire, the flames extending high into the sky, the heat stifling. Pieces of the middle section and the wings are scattered across the ground. And the back end of the plane is in the ocean, half submerged and half sticking in the sand.

People remain in their seats, several of them frantically trying to get out while others are passed out or… dead. Moans and groans of pain seep into my foggy brain. People are shouting for help, but the ringing in my ears deafens me to their cries. I get to my knees and double over in pain, clutching my stomach. The stench of burning flesh and aluminum fills the air and makes me gag.

Ow… someone, please, help… A faint, female voice to my left draws my attention. The woman who’d been sitting next to me during the flight is an arm’s length away, her right leg twisted at a ninety-degree angle.

I cringe at the sight and struggle to my feet. All my limbs appear to be in working order. I take a cautious step and wince. My knee is sore, and my legs are stiff, but I’m alive. I could be one of those poor souls burning to death in the front of the plane. I close my eyes, take a deep breath, and say a quick prayer for the dead and dying before making my way over to the woman with the broken leg.

I kneel beside her. You okay?

She groans. My leg.

Yeah, I know. Is anything else hurt?

I don’t think so.

I nod. I’m going to have to move you out of the way of—I gesture around me—everything. I have no idea how I’m going to do this, or even if I can, but I have to try. It’s going to be painful for her, and I’m already cringing thinking about how loud she’ll scream.

My wife! Someone help my wife!

I look up and see an older gentleman pointing at me.

Hey, kid. Yeah, you. Come help me. My wife is trapped under this row of chairs, and I can’t lift it by myself.

But… I… I glance down at the woman in front of me.

She smiles weakly. Go on. I’ll be okay here another minute or two.

I swallow hard and get to my feet. I keep my gaze trained on the old man so I don’t have to see all the death around me. The stench is unbearable, filling my nostrils with its atrocious odor.

Hurry up, he screams, waving frantically.

Breaking into a run, which is more like a hobble with my knee aching like it is, I reach him and try to assess the situation. His wife is deathly pale, and I fear the worst, but this guy thinks she’s alive and will stay that way. I don’t say anything to the contrary, but she really doesn’t look good.

You lift this side, and I’ll do that side. Okay? he says.

I nod.

Good. On the count of three, we lift and move it over there. He motions toward what used to be the window seat section of the plane. Ready? One… two… three… lift!

Using all my strength, I lift my side, and together, we manage to lift away the debris and flip it over so his wife can get to safety. My muscles burn with the effort, and I bite my tongue to stop from crying out in pain. The man kneels before his wife, wrapping his frail arms around her. His wife forces a smile. Her left arm is smashed to the point where it’ll never heal.

I slowly back away and step on something that crunches beneath my foot. I look down and see I’m standing on a severed hand. Oh, God!

I cup my hand over my mouth and jump back, horrified. There are dead bodies all around me. Twisting in unnatural ways, a pile of limbs taunts me with my horrific reality. My stomach heaves and rolls, threatening to bring up the chicken sandwich and mozzarella sticks I’d eaten hours ago. I shiver. This can’t be happening. Maybe this is all some nightmare, and when I wake up, I’ll be home.

But this is real. The plane did crash. People are dying by the second. And somehow, I’m alive. I don’t know if I should be grateful for that or not.

I turn around to assess more of the damage. People are crying and hugging their loved ones who perished in the crash, while others are giving condolences to those who lost their loved ones. Others appear to be trying to organize the survivors and give orders. A few people are running in and out of the tail end of the plane, pulling out remaining survivors.

I stand there, watching everything, unable to move despite the fact people are shouting at me to help. I don’t know where to begin.

My gaze settles on the woman with the broken leg. I rush back over to her and drop to my knees, wincing at the sharp jolt of pain that shoots up my thigh. I gently touch her shoulder.

Hey. I lick my lips. Do you want me to move you now?

She doesn’t respond, and at first, I think she doesn’t hear me.

I lean closer. I’m back. How about we get you out of the way now? There’s still no response. Hesitantly, I put my shaky hand in front of her nose and mouth.

Nothing.

I press my fingers to her neck. No pulse.

I gag and crawl away from her. Then I throw up. I can’t believe she’s dead. If I hadn’t left her, would she be alive now? Is her death on my hands? I wretch again, so violently my shoulders heave with the effort, tears prickling the corners of my eyes. I inhale deeply, trying to get as much air into my lungs as possible, which only causes me to gag more.

Forcing myself to move, I get to my feet and turn around. Twenty yards ahead of me is Brooke. My heart sinks at the possibility she might be dead. I make my way over to her.

She’s face down, inches from the plane. Dried blood is matted in her hair and covers one side of her shirt. I suck in a deep breath through my mouth and gently flip her over onto her back. I brush the hair away from her face, and I’m struck by how beautiful she is.

Her skin is creamy and soft, a stark contrast to her bloodied hair and torn flesh. That gash on her forehead makes me wince in pain; I can’t imagine how badly it hurts her. Her eyes are closed, and she’s unmoving.

My heart’s racing as I lean down. Please let her be alive. Please let her be alive.

I place my ear to her chest and pray for a heartbeat.

Chapter Two

Cory McCormack

Ihear a faint thump thump , but I don’t know if that’s her heart or mine. I hope it’s hers, but as loud as my heart is pounding and with the chaos around me, I can’t be sure. I put my trembling hand in front of her mouth and nose, and I feel something, but it could be the breeze.

Brooke? I gently nudge her shoulder.

No response.

I try again. Brooke? Can you hear me?

Still no answer.

I suck at this. What am I supposed to say? It’s not like I took a course in how to wake up an unconscious person. And even if I did get her to wake up, what if she’s injured? I won’t be able to help her.

Brooke, it’s me, Cory. We met at the airport. Can you hear me? I roll my eyes at how stupid I sound. Please wake up.

I sit back and stare at her, watching for the slightest movement, and that’s when I see her chest rise slightly. I freeze, afraid if I move, she’ll somehow stop breathing.

Her arm twitches, and hope swells in my chest. I kneel closer to her. Brooke?

After a long couple of seconds, her eyes pop open, and she gasps for breath. I fall back onto my butt and hang my head, expelling a pent up breath. Relief washes over me in waves.

What happened? Where am I? She props herself up on her elbows and looks around. Her eyes widen, and I can see the horror on her face.

Our plane crashed. The steadiness of my voice surprises me.

She sits up abruptly and winces. We crashed? She twists around, taking in more of her surroundings, and her jaw drops. We crashed, she repeats, bringing her knees to her chest and hugging them. This isn’t real. This isn’t real.

Hey, it’s going to be okay. I put my hand on her shoulder, which is stiff and cold.

Brooke rocks back and forth, muttering we crashed over and over until I start repeating those same words in my mind, too. And then she begins to shiver uncontrollably. I move closer and wrap my arms around her. She’s trembling so violently it causes my body to shake.

Hey, it’s okay. We survived. It’s going to be okay. If only I believed what I’m saying.

She buries her face against my shoulder and clings to me. Her tears soak through my shirt, but all I can do is hold her and stroke her back. Is she in shock?

Theodore, she gasps and jerks away from me.

Who’s Theodore? I ask.

The old man who was sitting next to me. Where is he?

I stare at her for a moment, unsure if she’s genuinely concerned or if she has some sort of head injury. Or if she’s trying to focus on something other than the carnage around us.

Finally, I shrug. I don’t know. I’m sorry.

She narrows her eyes and wipes away her tears. I have to find him.

My stomach drops. Even if she does find him in this chaos, chances are he didn’t make it. But I don’t say that because I don’t want to upset her anymore.

Okay, I say slowly. I’ll help you find him, but let’s make sure you’re okay first. I get to my feet and wipe the dirt off my pants. Is anything hurt?

She stares up at me like I’m crazy. How are you so calm right now? Her voice cracks, and a fresh round of tears trickle down her cheeks.

I’m not. I rub my shaking hands on my jeans and blow out a breath. I’m just good at faking it.

That earns me a faint smile. Brooke slowly gets to her knees and cries out, her face contorting with pain. Ouch! Oh, that hurts! She flops back down and clutches her left leg.

I crouch beside her. What hurts?

My leg. She bites down on her lower lip.

I nod. Okay, lay down.

Why?

Because you’re hurt, probably hit your head, and I don’t see anyone else running over here to your rescue.

She glares at me, and her bottom lip trembles slightly. You don’t have to be mean about it.

I sigh and rub my forehead. Sorry. I didn’t mean to snap at you.

No. She shakes her head. I’m sorry. Thank you for helping me. She lays down, wincing in pain with each movement she makes.

I put my hands on her knee and work my way down her leg. I have no idea what I’m looking for, but I don’t feel any bones sticking out, and there isn’t any blood. When I get to her ankle, she shouts at me to stop and jerks her leg away.

That hurts, she says.

Can you walk on it? I stand and offer her my hand.

She takes it, and I help her up. At first, she puts all her weight on her right foot, and then slowly puts some on her left foot, her hands on my shoulders for support.

Ow. She furrows her brow. I think maybe it’s just twisted. It hurts, but I can walk on it.

Good. I force a smile.

She doesn’t make any move to let go of me, and I don’t mind. Concentrating on her hands on me is better than acknowledging what’s happening around us. I’ve seen enough, and I don’t want to see anymore. Although, at some point, I’ll have to face the situation.

How’s your head? I ask.

Huh? She looks at me like I’ve lost my mind.

Your head. I point to her forehead. You’re bleeding. Does it hurt? I roll my eyes; of course, it hurts.

She reaches up and gingerly touches her head. When she pulls her hand away, her fingertips are coated in blood. I honestly can’t feel anything up there. It doesn’t hurt… She glances around. I don’t think it’s my blood. Her face pales.

We’ll get it cleaned off, okay? I nod as I speak, hoping my words and actions help calm her because focusing on her keeps my mind off everything else right now.

Where are we? Brooke looks up into my eyes. The severity of things is finally settling over her, and I wish I could take it away.

I don’t know. To my right is an open area, pitch black. To my left, water. The Air Marshall said we were landing somewhere in the Aleutian Islands, but I don’t know which one.

Nodding, she asks, Do you know what time it is?

I have no idea. It’s almost dark, though. Nothing like stating the obvious. As horrible as it is, at least the flames consuming the front of plane gives off enough light to see.

What’re we supposed to do now? She shivers and wraps her arms around herself.

It’s only then I notice how chilly it is, despite the fire. A strong wind whips around us, blowing Brooke’s hair into her face. She pushes it back, smearing the blood further into her hairline, and shivers again. I suppress a shudder and glance over my shoulder.

A group of survivors converge a few hundred feet away from the wreckage. I guess we go join them, I say.

Yeah, okay. I want to find Theodore first, she says.

I have a gut feeling he probably didn’t survive. Not a lot of people did, but knowing he was sitting right beside Brooke, there is some hope.

He might be over there with the group. We should check there first. I offer the suggestion selfishly, not wanting to walk through the wreckage and step on human remains again.

That’s a good idea. She gives me a grateful smile.

I put my arm around her waist and turn her toward the group of survivors, keeping most of her weight on me and off her bad foot. I keep my gaze straight ahead, refusing to look at the dead bodies littering the ground.

Chapter Three

Brooke Sheffield

The pain in my ankle shoots up my leg, slicing at my nerve endings. Tears burn my eyes, and my heart pounds erratically. I put more of my weight on Cory and struggle to stay on my feet as we make our way toward the group of survivors. As hard as I try not to, I can’t stop from looking around.

Fire, blood, death, screaming.

My ears ring, and bile fills the back of my throat. I stumble.

Cory catches me. You okay? Want to sit?

No. I swallow back the urge to throw up. I’m okay. But I’m not. All I want to do is get away from all this death and suffering. With each step I take, another memory of the crash sweeps through my mind. This is really happening, isn’t it? I mumble, not expecting an answer.

He nods. Unfortunately, yes.

I momentarily close my eyes, trying to block out everything around me, but its short lived.

Hey, here’s two more.

I force my eyes open to see a black-haired guy pointing at us.

Come on. We’re doing a head count, and we need everyone present. Is there anyone else with you?

No. I scan the group for any sign of Theodore.

I’m not sure why I care so much about a strange