Jack
dove forward to the controls, yanking back on the throttle to level the plane. The
water was racing towards them, covering their entire plane of view. It fell
away slightly as the plane began to ease up but it wasn’t enough. The wings
groaned in protest. Somewhere, a piece of metal was stripped loose, shrieking
as it was pulled from the craft. Jack continued to pull back, no longer
concerned with the plane. A flash of lightning lit the sky, and Jack glimpsed
the choppy waters below.
Madeline plowed into the water with a
violent lurch, thrashing its contents within. Harold hollered in pain as a
small toolbox crashed into his arm, spilling its contents hazardously into the
air. Bodies tumbled in the air, smacking against one another and the
unforgiving metal of the cramped cabin. There were ragged gasps and screams of
agony.
When
the movement stopped, it took a moment for Jack to find his bearings. Down was
up. The floor and seats were now the ceiling; the controls and throttle were
somewhere above. Cabin lights were sparking sporadically, offering fleeting
glimpses of the mayhem at hand. Outside the windows lay a solid wall of water.
A spider leg crack in the corner of the windshield was letting in a spout of
water as wide as a finger. Time was running out.
Jack
wiped his forehead with the back of his hand, feeling something warm and slick
there. He didn’t have to look to know it was blood. But at least he was
conscious. That was a miracle in itself. He coiled up from his position against
the pilot’s seat and glanced back at the other two.
“Guys?
Are you ok?” It was the strongest voice he could muster. Harold’s eyes were
opened but he seemed to be in shock. Jack glanced him over quickly. There was
blood everywhere. It was difficult to know how bad the injuries were.
“I
can’t feel my arm,” Harold said in an eerily quiet voice. He lifted his right
arm, and Jack could instantly tell it had been broken. It bent at an unnatural,
sickening angle. But he’d live. Hopefully.
“Hyde?”
Jack said, a little louder this time. He crawled towards the rear of the craft
slowly, acutely aware of how quickly the shifting weight could cause new
problems.
Hyde
lay crumpled against the rear bulkhead, obviously unconscious. His face was
smeared with blood. Jack pressed two fingers to his neck and closed his eyes.
“Is
he… dead?” Harold stammered. Jack shook his head.
“No,
but his pulse isn’t strong. We’ve gotta get out of here.”
Harold
squeezed around Jack and tried the rear door handle with his good arm, cradling
the other at his chest.
“It
won’t budge, Jack,” Harold said after a few tries. Jack put his back against it
and braced his legs on the opposite side of the cabin. They pushed together.
But it was hopeless.
“What’s
going on? Why isn’t the door opening? You think it’s broken?” Harold said with
an expression of horror.
“I
don’t know, It could be the water pressure against the outside.”
“Then
what are we supposed to do? What if we can’t open it?”
“We’ll
have to wait till the cabin fills with water. The pressure will start
equalizing, then the door will open.”
Harold
said nothing as he stared at Jack with wild eyes. Jack turned back to Hyde and
began feeling his body for broken bones. A sharp snapping sound turned their
attention back to the cockpit, where the crack was forcing its way across the
windshield. A sheet of frigid water raced through it, spraying the interior.
“Oh
god, oh god,” Harold began mumbling. “I’m going to die. This is it.”
***
Charlie
and Naomi stepped into the guest cabin of Alden and Tomiko Yates at 4:45 AM.
They’d been walking the entire night. The door was unlocked, as usual, and the
bed was made. They took a steaming hot shower and tumbled drowsily into the
sheets. They slept for only five hours, at which point they promptly woke,
dressed, and resumed their trek through the mountains.
Taking
the eastern trail around the Chipwa mountain range, Charlie and Naomi were able
to reach the Gervis airstrip by four thirty that afternoon. Mack wasn’t in the
best of moods when they traipsed into his hangar, but he seemed to understand
that he wasn’t the only one facing loss. They shook hands, stood around a map
and briefly discussed a flight plan, and then piled into his wife’s blue Aerielle. Within thirty minutes of their
arrival at the hangar, they were in the air with the valley falling away slowly
beneath them.
Mack
Gervis asked about their runaways. Charlie explained the story obligingly, but
his wife noted his exhaustion. She knew that more than anything, he wanted this
to be over. Whichever way it went.
“Bad
storm passed through here last night,” Mack finally said when Charlie had
finished.
“Oh?”
Naomi asked after a few moments of silence. Like Charlie, she didn’t feel much
like talking, but if Mack wanted to make conversation they at least owed him
that.
“Yeah,
strong winds. I’d say thirty, maybe thirty-five mile an hour winds. Not good
for a little plane like this.”
“They
were flying a plane like this?” Naomi asked.
“Actually
a bit smaller than this.”
Naomi
tried to ignore the gnawing sensation in her gut. A plane crash in paradise?
Could it even be possible? Would Jehovah let it happen? Then again, things had
gone this far…
“Any
ideas where they might be headed?”
Mack
shrugged. “Who knows. If they were smart they would’ve landed at the first sign
of trouble. That’s what any good pilot flying a small craft would do, Old World
or New. It just isn’t sensible to take risks.”
“Where
could they land?”
“There’re
a few airstrips northeast from ours. The nearest is the McGaughlim strip. But I
don’t think they landed there. I radioed them last night and they hadn’t seen
or heard anything. After that it’s the Levlee strip. I couldn’t get a hold of
them last night or today, so I say we head there first.”
Naomi
gazed out the window as blue-green hills covered in evergreens rolled beneath
her. The sun sat low on the horizon, casting a milky afternoon haze into the
atmosphere. Even at seven thousand feet, the smell of autumn pines was strong
and unmistakable. Eyelids heavy, Naomi slipped into a fog and dozed off.
It
was another hour before she was stirred awake. Her husband’s hand was on her
knee, shaking her to life. His face was grim. The plane banked, carving a wide
arc into the sky. To the plane’s right and far below, lay a massive crystal
blue lake. And there, in the center and far from shore, was the scattered
wreckage of a solar plane.
***
The
room was a blur. Blotches of color and light swayed and fused as a dull
headache hammered away behind some dark fog. He moved his head, sending
tendrils of hot pain lashing against his neck and shoulder. He grunted and gave
up, resting his head back against the pillow. The fingers of his left hand bent
and twitched, tapping against one another. That was good; things were at least
working there. The same was not the case with his right hand, which was cold,
stiff, and useless.
What
had happened? Where was he? Harold’s mind scrambled to piece the fragments
together. There’d been so much water. Cold, cold, rushing water. They were
trapped in something. A car accident? No, it wasn’t that. There were controls,
a cockpit. A small plane. Why had they been in a plane? And who were the
others? Harold winced. It hurt to remember.
Harold
attempted his vision again, opening his eyes a fraction and forcing himself to
focus. He was lying in a large bed and covered in a dark blue sheet. Pictures
on the wall, but too far to see clearly. Not yet. There was a smell in the air.
Something familiar. Herbal. Fragrant. Pleasant.
Harold
rotated his head slightly to the left, bracing for the pain. It came, but with
less ferocity than at first. He let out a breath and opened his eyes, wider
this time, and caught a dark figure. Someone sitting in a chair? Harold opened
his mouth and tried to speak, but a quiet gasping noise was all that escaped
his lips. The figure leaned forward, placing a hand on his shoulder.
“Easy,
Harry, you don’t have the strength yet.” That voice. It struck a memory
somewhere deep down, like a string plucked in a dark, empty corridor.
Who? Harold mouthed silently.
“In
due time. For now, rest. You’ve been asleep for a whole day. Gather your
strength.”
Harold
tried to nod, but was unable. Instead he closed his eyes and was stolen away
into sleep.
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