Runway to Survival: 6 Hours at the Airport

When I arrived at the departure hall, I could not walk, as my legs had turned to jelly. Someone had to hold my arm.

My family thought that the car accident had traumatized me.

I was trapped alone in my head with the immense terror over my imminent death and my suspicion toward my husband.

He had booked the exact same flight as us. Why would he survive while my family and I would die?

The suspicion deepened as we checked in.

“Sir, your passport has expired. You can’t board the flight.”

I never once took my eyes off my husband’s face. When he heard that he could not check in, a hint of glee flickered in his eyes.

We were going overseas for this trip. I had already reminded him to check his passport a month ago. How could his passport just coincidentally expire?

My husband stared at me apologetically.

“I’m sorry, my passport has expired. I can’t go on this trip with you. Don’t worry, even though I’m not going, I’ll cover all of your travel expenses.”

Everyone would be pleased to hear his words. My parents did. They kept praising me for marrying a good man.

However, when I heard that, my suspicion skyrocketed.

My husband was usually very frugal. One might even call him stingy. He would call a cup of coffee a waste of money.

Would such a person volunteer to cover my family’s expenses?

It was impossible!

Unless, of course, he already knew that he would not have to spend that money!

When I thought of that, I snatched my father’s passport before he could pass it to the airport ground staff. I smiled apologetically to the staff. “Sorry, we won’t be checking in.”

Just when I thought I had escaped death, I realized the numbers on top of our heads did not change. We would still die in six hours!

The fear of death overwhelmed me again.

My face was pale as I stood stiffly in front of the counter. The people queuing behind me were grumbling impatiently.

When I met my parents’ concerned gazes, I forced myself to calm down and continued observing.

The people checking in after us all had different numbers on their heads. It also meant that this flight would not be the death of us. Something else was going to kill us.

When I thought of that, I tried to leave the airport. However, when I was just about to head out, the number on my head immediately turned to two hours. This meant that if I left the airport, I would only have two hours left to live.

I helplessly went back to the departure hall to look for a chance to survive.

I was tense as a rod as I sat on the chair. I wrapped my arms around myself as cold sweat drenched my hair.

My parents realized something was wrong. They tacitly agreed not to bother me.

Even my husband had caught on to my odd behavior. He stared at me silently.

I quickly flipped through all the clues in my head.

Firstly, was it a coincidence that my husband’s passport had expired? If it was a coincidence, then what would have caused his sudden generosity?

Next, I would die quicker if I left the airport. What did that mean?

Would there be an accident outside the airport? Was the murderer hiding in some corner?

What was the difference between the departure hall and the outside?

When I was deep in thought, I suddenly spotted the security checkpoint from my peripheral vision.