He wiped at his mouth with the back of his arm, and looked at Nora when she asked about the radio. “No radio,” he confirmed. He saw her pulling on her coat. Smart. His foot hit a bag. He realized numbly that it was his bag. He ripped the zipper open, pulled out the compressed jacket within, and pulled it on. Then he slid brown leather gloves on afterwards, before closing the pack and threading his arms through the loops.<br/><br/>He saw her do the first thing that made sense since the crash. She tried to open up the door. It was stuck, but their only other recourse was to go through the tear, and it was sparking with torn wires and insulation. He was more afraid of what might be waiting for them through that ripped cockpit than here.<br/><br/>“Let me try,” he offered, putting his hands towards the door. He had to do something to avoid thinking about the sounds of suffering in the dark. He didn’t know anything about medicine. The closest thing he had was a one-season run as a hospital resident for a long-running daytime soap opera. That role had led to his next, and after that it seemed like his career was going to skyrocket.<br/><br/>Now it had crash landed. Literally.<br/><br/>He quickly went over the instructions. Big, red numbers told them what to do first. He turned the door handle again, then had to backtrack it and wrench it back, to force it to unlock. He felt the bar slide. Toeing himself against the wall, he gave the door a fast, short jolt with his shoulder. It only budged an inch.<br/><br/>He looked through the little window, then nodded at Nora. “On three?” he asked. His heart was beating faster, and he was feeling light-headed. The cold, high-altitude air wasn’t helping any, and he was feeling more scared than he had been in his entire life. Thankfully he knew how to act, and even if he only had an audience of one, he could pretend to be brave for Nora.