Soul Survivor

By Robert J. Morrow

What happens when you forget everything? What would you do if you suddenly had no memory, no knowledge of who you are and the realization that no one is coming to find you?
Eleanor Collins has been in a plane crash and is suffering amnesia. Only five passengers survived and two have since died. One of the remaining survivors is alone too and he becomes Eleanor's lifeline to a new kind of future.
Resigned to a life where her past doesn't exist, Eleanor forms a bond with the surviving passengers and they begin to live normal lives.
But when Eleanor begins to experience blackouts, and mysterious people try to harm her, memories start to slowly return. And what she recalls shocks her core and questions her very existence. Everything she thought was normal was actually an elaborate scheme to get her to remember the past: a past that would likely get her killed.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Sunao International Publishing
• Release date: Dec 16, 2021
• ISBN: 9798201276676

Robert J. Morrow

Robert was a member of the of the early four-person marketing team behind the Tim Horton's chain in Canada, and was instrumental in launching the "Roll up the Rim to Win" campaign in the early 1980s. He has also been a Taekwondo and Pilates instructor and has hosted the Canadian National TKD team. He is now a full-time author and his #1 bestselling real estate books have helped thousands of people profit from the largest investment they'll ever make. Robert's true passion is fiction, however, and his debut thriller, "New York Fried", introducing former CIA trainer turned chef, Artichoke Hart, was an instant hit. He created Sunao International Publishing in 2018 in order to assist other authors self-publish and, in that capacity, has collaborated in the creation of two romance series, as well as launching a handful of other independent authors, all of whom have reached #1 or #2 on bestseller lists, due to his unique marketing techniques. Robert currently lives in Southern Ontario where he continues to write fiction, assist other authors, and aid investors to realize their dreams in real estate. To join the mailing list and receive FREE titles, write [e-mail] with "I love FREE books!" as the subject.

Book preview

a novel by

Robert J. Morrow

Sunao International Publishing

Dundas Ontario Canada

This is a work of fiction. The events described are imaginary; the settings are based

on real and imaginary places. The characters are fictitious and not intended to represent

specific living persons.

Soul Survivor, Copyright © 2021 by Robert J. Morrow

a Sunao International publication

PRINTED IN THE UNITED States of America. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, scanning, or otherwise, except as permitted under Section 107 or 108 of the United States Copyright Act, without the prior written permission of the Publisher, or authorization through payment of the appropriate per-copy fee to the Copyright Clearance Center, MA 01923.

ISBN:  9798756604474

Morrow, R.J.  1957-

First Edition: November 2021 

(trade paperback and e-book)

Sunao International Publishing

Dundas, Ontario, Canada

www.SunaoPublishing.com

PROLOGUE

PAST

Though struggling to maintain control of the airplane, Captain Jason Samuels focused on looking for the swerving line of concrete wall some two thousand feet below him. Meandering across the open fields like a miniature version of the Great Wall of China, this out-of-place, single masonry structure would lead him toward his crash sight. He had been here before, as had many Americans. It was an open patch of Pennsylvania farmland, cleared of any sign of civilization, except for the odd structure below the wings.

When the Boeing 737 passenger liner had first been hit—Samuels assumed it was some kind of bomb that had disabled engines one and four—he knew he only had seconds to decide where he was going to crash, for crashing was his only option. With no power going to the rear stabilons and—for all he knew—part of the rear fuselage missing, the plane was descending very quickly. They had gone from thirty thousand feet to just under ten thousand in less than a minute. Alarms screeched all over the cockpit and the odour of burning electronics filled his nostrils. After the initial shock had pervaded his every sense, his training and professionalism kicked in. Samuels had managed to get some semblance of control back and had slowed the descent somewhat, but it was definitely still a degrading one. His first thoughts were that he could find a place that was both remote enough to not harm those on the ground, but close enough to civilization for a quick rescue. No doubt, upon impact, the remaining fuel in the wings would ignite and passengers would have only moments to escape before fires erupted everywhere. He couldn't release the fuel because: 1) he didn't have enough time, and 2) he was travelling over semi-populated areas. 

Samuels had crashed a plane before; an F-117A Nighthawk fighter in Afghanistan during the second Desert Storm. He only had one passenger that time, his co-pilot, Lieutenant Franklin Dandovich. They had been hit by a SAM and went down quickly. Samuels had managed to keep the nose up just before impact but when the rear empennage slammed into the sandy ground, the plane had lurched and centrifugal force had immediately powered the nose into the ground at over a hundred and fifty miles and hour. They had slid a couple of hundred feet or so but essentially came to a dead stop very quickly. Dandovich's head had been bounced around the cockpit hitting something hard. Samuels knew from the amount of blood coming from the wound and his mouth that his co-pilot was dead. He had managed to brace himself enough that although he had also bounced around substantially, he hadn't hit anything solid. The harnesses had kept him tight to his seat.

Images of that last bounce played in Samuel's mind as he fought to keep Flight N106 nose high while it continued to descend. In the seconds after the explosions—and the realization that he was going down much too quickly—he pondered trying to reach a nearby airport but he only knew the major airports and none were nearby. If there was regional or private strip within twenty miles, he didn't know of them, and therefore didn't have time to prepare. Even if he did, any strip would be too short for a jet this size. This part of Pennsylvania was mostly farmland, dotted with small towns and villages.

He then thought of a highway but knew that in this region just south of the Allegheny Mountains, there were only two major highways and they were farther to the West; he wouldn't make it. Other roads, he knew, were framed by heavy forest. Any attempted landing would result in the dense trees shearing off the wings prior to touching ground, spewing fuel over the forest and distorting the final seconds of descent.

No, that option was out.

That's when he remembered his geography and recalled the long, cleared, relatively flat land he was aiming for now. Though slightly rolling hills continued as far as the eye could see, he knew one infamous pilot had ended a flight here. That experience had not been a good one, and to the best of his knowledge, no one had been at the controls during the final seconds of flight. All aboard had died instantly. Samuels was determined to have a different outcome this time. His co-pilot was watching instruments and reading out numbers steadily. Samuels focused on the scene directly in front of him and felt the knot tighten in his stomach as the windshield filled with more green than blue. He was intent on steering the huge airliner toward the one long field he recalled. It was at the end of this slowly approaching wall. Like a line in the ground, it meandered, he knew, for just under 300 feet, ending in a flattened field that should accommodate the huge airplane. He would have to try to keep the nose up for as long as he could. He feared that tragic first bounce more than anything, slamming the nose into the ground and bringing the huge machine to a dead stop within a few hundred yards. If he could manage to keep the nose raised up, or the fuselage level at best, then the plane would glide roughly along the ground for a while, slowing it down so that when the nose did finally dip and drive itself into the ground, they would be going much slower and the final halt wouldn't be as drastic. The passengers would only have minutes to escape at that point but Samuels knew there would be help within minutes also. He had radioed his distress and although the controller at Frederick Municipal Airport had been devastated to hear Samuel's plan, he quickly assured the Captain that there would be people there to physically assist in deplaning survivors. He would be sending appropriate fire and rescue teams from nearby towns to the site immediately.

At less than five hundred feet now, the plane was relatively level but losing about ten feet per second.

Captain Samuels assumed some of his one hundred and eighty-four passengers would die; it all depended upon how level the plane was, and the airspeed at impact. He knew that this time, he would likely not survive himself though. This wasn't a Nighthawk with combat-strength outer shell and multiple safety and impact harnesses. It was a passenger liner. No matter how much he tried to brace for impact, he would be shot out of his seat as soon as the nose hit the ground. In fact, the seat itself would likely break loose on impact and send him slamming into the instrument panel at whatever airspeed they were doing. He hadn't really thought about it, just resigned himself to the conclusion as being inevitable. His main thoughts were that he needed to stay in control of ailerons and other controls for as long as he could in order to keep the plane level when it hit the ground. Only then would his passengers have a chance. 

The instruments told him he was now only a hundred feet above the ground. He couldn't see forward but knew there was nothing but open field for about a mile. The wall had ended several hundred yards back. He turned his head to peer out of the co-pilot window and saw the familiar odd-shaped and massive concrete building pass the window, the structure so out of place in this environment of rolling hills and farmland.

As Captain Samuels turned back to the instruments for the last time, he grinned. He had seen people—a hundred, maybe more—running down the side of the hill, away from the structure, following the path of the jet. Just before returning his focus to his final task, he had caught a glimpse of the large lettering on the side of the building: Flight 93 National Memorial.

CHAPTER ONE

PAST

All I could see was white light; blinding white light. So bright it hurt. I tried to move my head but it seemed too heavy or was restrained somehow. Either way, it took too much effort to move, so I stopped trying.

I felt a prick in my arm and flinched. All of a sudden, an incredibly brighter pink flash invaded my brain, but just as quickly it subsided to a milky white again. Fear took a brief hold but then, just as suddenly, it subsided and the bright light diminished, replaced by a calm, grey hue. I slowly opened my eyes, feeling a gooey substance fighting the release of my eyelids. I willed them to separate and tried to raise my eyebrows to help.

Ahhh! The bright light flashed again and the intense needle-like pain returned. I felt a hand on my shoulder and as if heat radiated from it, the colour eventually changed to the calming grey again, and the pain seemed to vacate my mind.

Eleanor?

The voice was quiet, male, and seemed to be connected to the hand on my shoulder since it shook me gently as he spoke.

This time when I tried opening my eyes, the goo released my lids and I began to see something other than grey. After a moment, I could make out a creamy ceiling. Suddenly a head came into my vision, leaning over and filling my view.

Eleanor, I'm Doctor Zhang, the man said, his gaze engaging me. I felt dozy. But I wanted to know what was happening, and this man seemed to be in a good position to answer. His voice was soft and gentle.

Wh..who are you? I said, surprised my voice was groggy and seemed to come from deep inside my stomach.

The man smiled again, looking over at someone out of my immediate view, but then he quickly peered down again.

Doctor Anthony Zhang, Eleanor, he said. You're at Temple University Hospital and you've been asleep for a while. He tapped my shoulder. Don't try to speak too much. Your body is still recuperating from... well, from surgery, and you haven't been using your voice lately. It will take a few minutes. Creases formed on his face as he squinted a bit and leaned in closer. Be sure to tell me if you feel any pain. I've given you medication so you won't feel much, which is what's making you feel drowsy, I'm sure. His smile returned though it didn't seem quite as genuine as before. We'll have to monitor it so we can keep you comfortable.

Where am I? I stammered, still not recognizing the voice coming out of me.

As I said, Eleanor, you're at Temple in Philadelphia, the Crisis Response Centre. You were in an accident and you were severely hurt...

I tried to shift my body to see who else was in the room but a flash of pink light sent my head crashing back into the pillow.

Please, the doctor said. Don't make any quick movements, at least not for a few moments. Your brain is still adjusting to the environment...

My brain? I asked. What's wrong with my brain? I thought you said I was hurt. I winced. Did I hurt my head?

Eleanor, we'll talk about everything shortly, the doctor said, his smile fading. But for now, you just need to be patient and wait for your brain and body to catch up with each other.

Ho...how long have I been here?

The doctor glanced over at the person Eleanor couldn't see. Then he nodded his head, sighed, and looked back down.

You were in an airplane crash six days ago Eleanor, he said quietly. We induced you into a coma to ensure the damage to your head didn't become permanent. Do you remember anything about the accident, Eleanor?

I pushed my head into the pillow and closed my eyes. Then, realizing I didn't want the lids to stick, quickly opened them again, which resulted in a quick white pulsation in the corner of one eye. Oooh, I said and looked up at the doctor. He rubbed my shoulder which relaxed me slightly.

I don't remember being on a plane doctor, I said. Then with sudden realization, I added, And I don't know why you keep calling me Eleanor.

The doctor frowned and looked over at the other person again. Then he looked back at me quizzically.

I don't remember anything, doctor, I said. I could see he didn't like that answer. I felt tired but wanted to get the thought out. It seemed important. But I'm pretty sure my name isn't Eleanor.

I closed my eyes and the calming grey subsided as it quickly became darker and darker. Blackness shrouded my vision and as my thoughts drifted into incoherence, I felt a physical, comforting warmth envelope me.

CHAPTER TWO

PRESENT

I ’m old enough to do this Jake, Rachel said, hands on hips, her teenage pout more effective than anything I could come up with.

You're thirteen Rachel, Jacob replied, his pleading father-like tone clearly not working.

I'm going and you can't stop me, Rachel declared, her eyes glazed and intense, as if she could bore a hole through poor Jacob's torso with her eyes.

It was a tough situation for Jacob. He wasn't her father; well, he was her legal guardian, but not her flesh and blood. I wasn't either, and playing the role of Mom had never, ever suited me, so the best I could do was watch and feel sorry for my poor fiancé.

Jacob looked at me in exasperation and, as if reading my mind, realized I could offer little assistance. His eyes were so dopey though, I had to try.

You know we're just worried for your safety, Rachel, I said, staying safely behind the kitchen counter, so as not to be too close should Rachel decide to get physical. She'd done it before: slammed the counter in a tantrum, or clenched her fist, holding it up in the universal gesture of defiant youth. But she always calmed down just as quickly, and then apologized profusely for her verbal abuse.

Usually.

Elle, you know I can do this, Rachel turned to me. You guys can't stop me. You know that. Not this time, it's too important.

First of all, I wasn't stopping her, Jacob was. And secondly, she was right. This time it was important.

Honey, maybe we could get Amanda to go with her, I said to Jacob. Amanda was Rachel's best friend and our neighbour's daughter. At least then, she wouldn't be alone.

Great! Jacob spurted, spinning around and dropping into the couch in defeat. Now you're ganging up on me. I am trying to keep this family safe, and together, he said. And two teenage girls travelling isn't safer, it's just more fun for the perverts.

Jacob! I said, louder than I wanted to, but sure he'd stepped over some line. We don't need to put scary thoughts into her head.

Rachel smirked at that one.

Yeah, I mean, what did I know? Teenagers thought about perverted things all the time probably. And although I couldn't remember my own youth, I felt confident I hadn't always played by the rules.

Elle, tell him I will be fine. I'm in high school, I have a cell phone, I even took self-defence class in gym this year, Rachel implored.

I snickered at that. Her self-defence class consisted of kicking a man-shaped bag hanging from the ceiling of the gym. Not only did it not fight back, but most of the techniques Rachel had shown me wouldn't subdue a ninety-year old woman, never mind a raving lunatic, bent on having his way with a nubile virgin. That last part caused a brief pang of fear. Was Rachel a virgin? God, I hoped so. Thirteen was too young to experience what should be the most exciting, fulfilling act of any woman's life. Of course, I had no real idea about that; I couldn't remember my first time either. But if what Jacob and I shared was any example of what a relationship should be, then Rachel needed to wait until she found a man like her, ah... guardian.

Rachel, we don't know anything about these people, Jacob said, calmer now, his legs crossed. Rachel relaxed only slightly. He continued. They call out of the blue, tell us they're your long-lost uncle and aunt from across the country, and want you to come and live with them for a while. I mean, doesn't it seem just a little far-fetched, even to you?

No, it doesn't, Jake, she said. She sat on the edge of the table, her hands still gesturing as she spoke but at least the attack version of the teenage monster had subsided momentarily. And they're not long lost. We knew about them.

Yeah, but they never showed up when you needed them, I thought.

I don't know anything about my old life, she continued. Just what I've read in reports, and from those old neighbors who came to visit last year.

Indeed, the next-door neighbors of Rachel's parents had asked to visit last year to see Rachel and bring her some things they had been given by her parents; small gifts from travels, a couple of letters, newspaper clippings of her real father's business achievements, and the like. Jacob had appreciated their input and support and we had become fast friends, communicating with one another over Facebook® now and again.

They had been happy that Jacob and I had adopted Rachel—Jacob legally, me in body and spirit only—and given her a new home, a new life, a new beginning. Jacob really loved Rachel, as I think I did too, I suppose. I thought she was a great kid, a good companion, a little sister really. But Jacob was a father-figure. He did all the disciplining, all the making up after exhaustive, raging fights, all the worrying. I just went along for the ride.

That gave me an idea.

Why don't I go with her, hon? I asked.

Rachel jumped from the table and raised her arms in victory. Yes, yes, that's a great idea Elle, she yelled. Then you wouldn't have to worry, Jake, really.

Jacob stared at me as if I'd just hit him in the stomach. He stood and slowly walked into the kitchen, around the counter, and took my hands in his.

Why would you want to travel on a wild goose chase Eleanor? he asked. We could lose her, he added in a near whisper.

I could see lots of disparate thoughts were raging through his mind. But I also knew what he was really asking. I hadn't been more than twenty miles from home since the accident five years ago. And it was very unusual for me to want to do anything alone with Rachel. Usually, we did things as a family, or Jacob just went out with Rachel himself, to teeny-bopper concerts and the like.

It's not like I'm going on a plane, Jacob.

I felt his intake of breath in my hands.

It was a low blow and I regretted saying it immediately. But its desired effect took hold and Jacob visibly sagged. He let go of my hands, turned, and walked over to the fridge.

Rachel, recognizing that some kind of line had been crossed, smartly stayed silent and just stared at Jacob as he opened the fridge silently, pulled out the milk carton and poured himself a glass. After a couple of gulps, he slowly placed the glass on the counter and turned to address Rachel.

You're not moving in with them, no matter what happens, he said.

Sensing a victory in the making, Rachel's cunning, teenage mind knew that playing it humble would be the right thing to do. I don't want to Jacob, she said, stepping closer to the kitchen counter. This is my family: you, me, Elle. She extended her arms outward to take us all in. But they are blood relatives. I have to know more about my... my real family.

I could see that hurt Jacob and it should have hurt me, I guess. But it didn't. It seemed quite reasonable actually. And if I was there with Rachel, I could be a protector of our not-so-legal family group.

Jacob stared at her for a few seconds, then his lips widened, though tight, and his eyes lightened up. He opened his arms and Rachel ran into them, her arms reaching around him in a full embrace. I stepped over and put my arms loosely around both of them. I wasn't