James Blackwell had no problem manning the plane. Being a pilot was something he had dreamed of since he was a kid. He had graduated from pilot training at age 18. After that, things went uphill
from there. He became an travel airline pilot and made lots of money. His co-pilot, Nathan Rodriguez, didn't talk much. He only talked when he needed to.
Below them was the Alaskan wilderness. Miles and miles of trees, lonely, desolate roads, and small communities made of trailers, or RVs. James couldn't understand why people talk about living there
as if it's so amazing. It looked like a land away from civilization.
James stomach rumbled. It had been doing so since he had eaten lunch. Stop, James thought, focus on piloting. Piloting. James was different that way. Unlike most pilots, he had ADHD. This was a
risky move to his airline company. Any person with his disorder could easily crash a plane. Hey, he had passed, hadn't he? Hadn't he gotten here? The main reason he was so succssful was because
only Nathan knew about his ADHD. No one else.
His stomach continued to ache. Well, that's weird. He concentrated on flying. A sharp pain jabbed his stomach. He took a hand off the wheel and clutched his stomach. The pain got worse. His
eyesight turned watery. He faintly heard Nathan calling him; he felt Nathan shaking him. Everything went black.
It had been months since he had crashed the plane. The only survivors had been James and Nathan. They survived off of the rations as best as they could, but eventually they ran out. They had eaten
nothing after they ran out. Then Nathan had an idea. A genius idea. As creepy and horrile as it was, they both knew there was no other choice.
The dead bodies of the passengers had given them enough fuel to keep going. As disgusting as eating the raw human meat had been, it kept them alive. They both sat in the plane wreckage, awaiting
rescue and running out of the plane when they heard a helicopter. It was like this forever.
They went to bed early the night before they were rescued. Nathan fell asleep with no problem, but for James it wasn't that easy. He tossed and turned, clutching his stomach with hunger. They
hadn't eaten in days. Alll they did was drink from a small creek. James needed food.
He looked at his partner. These months had been horrible for him. He was miserable. He had often wondered aloud if dying would've been better for this. James felt a tinge of sympathy for the young
pilot. He wanted to die, and James was starving. There's only one solution, Nathan thought. He slowly pulled out his knife. He crept over to Nathan, gently leaned over him, and slit his throat.
After a few hours, James feasted on his partner.
When rescue arrived, they found him hunched over the body of Nathan. They gently lifted him up by his armpits and slowly trudged to the helicopter. The rescuers got into their seats and left him in
the back seat. In a few hours they were still flying. While he was stranded, James had kind of grown accustomed to eating the bodies. The flesh was the best part. He had sometimes wondered how he
would adjust back when, and if, he was rescued. He turned the knife in his hand. One of the pilots was asleep. It was perfect.
James switched seats with the sleeping pilot through a rotating seat system. In a few minutes, he was in the passenger seat. The pilot wouldn't take his eyes off the sky. A burst of adrenline
surged through him. He raised the knife, and sliced the man's throat.
Jacob Brooks investigated the crime scene. This was the 34th victim that had been killed by The Cannibal, as the media was calling him. It seemed that somehow he managed to never leave any clues at
all. e ate then he ran. Jacob felt a sense of dread whil looking at the body. Last night, a man had scratched out a message on his window. It said, After tomorrow night, you're next. This was
tomorrow night. He assured himself that he'd be able to drive off the invader. He had to.
The next night, he laid in bed, clutching his gun under the blanket. He was terribly scared. He layed there. He faintly heard the front door open. He froze. He's here, Jacob thought. He silently
got up and glanced through the door way. There was the front, wide ajar. He suddenly heard the window fly open. It dawned on him what had happened the split second his throat was slit by The
Cannibal. He was now victim 35. Exactly how old he had turned that day, as it was his birthday.
© Copyright 2016 Zachary Wentzell. All rights reserved.