[Undercover]

Heath Merchan | Age 25 | Co-Pilot

Heath Merchan groaned from his place in the crushed cockpit. Everything was in chaos. The memories came rushing through his head like a tidal wave against a sandcastle. He remembered James Peters, the pilot, telling everyone to be calm. He was steady and sure through the end. As Heath closed his bright blue eyes to stop the flood of emotions, he knew he couldn't escape the dreaded feeling of horror. This wasn't supposed to happen?! How many people had survived? He knew for a fact that James hadn't survived, and that hit him hardest. The 25 year old saw his crush body against the side of cockpit, the image still vivid in his mind. He and the pilot were close, as he had learned so much from the experienced airman. I've gotta get out of here. The thought slid through his mind like puddy, the reality of the damaged situation still new to the co-pilot.

Looking around him, Heath climbed slowly to his feet, stooping so that his tall frame didn't brush against the roof. Grabbing his food pack that his mother had so insistingly forced upon him as well as his five knives that the man brought wherever he went, Heath stood up. Crossing quickly to where his pilot lay, he crouched down and took a deep breath. "I will never forget you." He murmured, blinking away the tears that threatened to spill. Reaching a hand into the dead man's breast pocket, he withdrew the compass that the co-pilot was never without. He pocketed the precious brass instrument before walking out. Heath tried not to look a thing the destruction that wrecked his airplane as he reached the door. It hung off its hinges, and the man ran his hands over the side of the plane. As the young co-pilot walked around the broken machine, he assessed the damage. Did anyone survive?

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