The sudden drop was, perhaps, one of the most terrifying feelings he had experienced in this current lifetime. He makes sure to get his own mask secured, as per safety protocol, before wrestling with Bahorel, who is still rather drunk it seems, to help him with his.

This is not good. Very not good. Combeferre feels an old, half-formed thought return to him as the plane lurches and drops toward the earth: that some force is drawing them -- Enjolras, Grantaire, and now them -- to Africa, but violently. How else to explain both planes crashing in the same region of western Africa, as soon as their plane comes within sight of the land? How else to explain the odd and unsettling feelings deep within his psyche, that they both belong here and shouldn't be within a million miles of here? He couldn't disapprove of Bahorel's method of dealing with his unease and restlessness: at least Bahorel didn't have to think about the problems as much while drunk.

Combeferre was suddenly very glad he wasn't alone, and he reaches blindly for both Bahorel and Courfeyrac, unwilling to let them go. He was also very, very glad his carryon bag was at his feet.