Airplane- - Apertem Os Cintos O Piloto Sumiu -n... -

Airplane- - Apertem os Cintos O Piloto Sumiu -N...

Co-pilot Araújo is strapped into his seat, but his hands are shaking too hard to work the radio. He keeps muttering the same phrase under his breath: “Apertem os cintos. O piloto sumiu.”

The autopilot is still on. The heading shows we’re flying in a perfect 180-mile loop over dense jungle. I’ve checked every door, every closet, every crawlspace in this fuselage. There are 48 passengers, all calm because they don’t know yet. All I told them was to keep their belts fastened due to “mild turbulence.”

Captain Mendes had gone to the lavatory twelve minutes ago. He never came back. Airplane- - Apertem os Cintos O Piloto Sumiu -N...

I asked Araújo what the “-N...” at the end of the subject line means. He looked at me like I’d spoken a dead language. Then he typed it into the navigation computer.

Araújo just pointed at the primary flight display.

But there is no pilot to verify. Only an empty lavatory, a ticking watch, and a message that keeps reappearing on every screen in the cockpit: Airplane- - Apertem os Cintos O Piloto Sumiu -N

The autopilot disengaged.

Because whatever took him is still on this plane. And it’s learning how to fly.

If you receive this log, do not look for us. Do not follow the coordinates. And for the love of God, do not unfasten your seatbelt. O piloto sumiu

But turbulence doesn’t leave a captain’s wristwatch on the floor of a locked lavatory, still ticking. Turbulence doesn’t fold a uniform jacket neatly over the toilet lid, as if the body inside it simply evaporated.

Now the cabin lights are flickering. Portuguese, English, and a third language I don’t recognize are cycling through the PA system. The third one sounds like consonants folding in on themselves. The passengers are screaming.

Nobody.