Michael inched the throttles forward. As the hills grew closer, the helicopter and house seemed to fill the windscreen. Lauren held her breath, terrified that Michael had somehow misjudged. Every muscle in her body was wire taut. She wanted to cry out for Michael to climb. She held on to the seat back as hard as she could. She bit her lip as she saw the machine-gun bullets make a wide arc headed toward Donovan. Geysers of water flashed into the air from each heavy slug. They were close enough now that Lauren could spot the pilot turn and see the Gulfstream. In an instant, she saw two bodies in the water, and she caught a glimpse of another figure surfacing yards away from the dock. Donovan was pointing his rifle up at the helicopter.
In a blur of motion, Michael slammed the throttles forward and cranked the Gulfstream up and away from the scene. Lauren was forced painfully into the side of Craig’s seat as Michael banked the jet into a punishing turn and pointed the nose nearly straight up. The Gulfstream’s wings bit heavily into the air and they rocketed upward, just clearing the trees and rocky hills. An instant later they were enveloped in the low clouds. Lauren couldn’t move, pinned into place by the G-force from their massive climb. Behind them, she had no idea what was happening.
Donovan surfaced. The moment he’d seen Michael racing across the lake, he’d ducked below the waves and swum away from the dock until his lungs felt as if they’d burst. As the Gulfstream thundered past only scant feet above the helicopter, the jet blast and disturbed air made it impossible for the gunner to get off an accurate burst. As the unexpected turbulence rocked the helicopter, Donovan saw all heads aboard the helicopter turn toward the house as Buck’s bullets tore into the helicopter. Donovan squeezed the trigger and saw the pilot slump as he concentrated the burst directly on the man flying. The nose of the helicopter came up and the tail began to rotate to the right. The helicopter climbed into an even steeper angle and began to rotate wildly as it banked past the point of return and slid sideways into the ground below. Donovan turned his head as it slammed to earth between the dock and the house, exploding into a red-and-orange fireball. The shock wave punished his ears, and debris from the shattered sections of the wildly spinning rotors peppered the water around him.
Donovan heard Eva call his name as she ran toward him. Moments later, Buck, with Marie in one arm, his weapon in the other, pounded down the hill. Stephanie was close behind. Donovan waded ashore and surveyed what was left of the helicopter. The tail boom had ripped away and the fuselage was lying on its side. Buck handed Marie to Stephanie, and then ran toward the helicopter and inspected the burning wreckage.
“They’re all dead,” Buck called out. “We need to get out of here. Donovan, did the Cessna take any hits from the helicopter?”
“No, I don’t think so.” Donovan thought back to the firefight. All the gunfire had been directed away from the floatplane.
“Can you fly us out of here?” Buck asked.
“Sure,” Donovan nodded. “But I don’t know how far we’re going to get. When we came in, the weather between here and Guatemala City was terrible. I’m not going to try to thread our way through those hills, it’s too dangerous. What about Janie? Is there a chance she could still come get us?”
“I don’t think we can afford to wait. We need to get out of here before anyone else arrives, and the farther away from that volcano we can get wouldn’t be a bad thing, either.”
Donovan looked out across the dark water of the lake. Buck was right, they didn’t want to be here if another helicopter arrived, or a boat full of armed men. Studying the sky, he could see the ash and debris as it rained down from above, almost like snow. Bigger chunks glowed and fluttered, streaming smoke. The entire horizon to the south was pitch black from Atitlán’s eruption.
“The money?” Eva asked, as she looked up toward the house.
Donovan quickly did the math, four adults and a child in the thin air nearly a mile above sea level. They could already be overloaded. “Leave it.”
Eva lowered her head, then took one more wistful look up at the house and the three million dollars.
Donovan pulled the radio from his pocket. He keyed the transmit button as he followed Eva down to the plane. “Good job, Michael. We’ve had a change in plans. We’re going to get airborne in the Cessna, but I’m going to need your help to get out of here.”
“What do you want us to do?” Michael replied.
“Once I get this thing in the air, I’m going to need someplace to go. The weather east isn’t any good. Is there another way out of here?”
“Straight west is really all you have. You’ll have to climb above the hills, but we can use the Scimitar to guide you through the mountains. Once you clear them, the terrain falls off quickly, and you’ll be well away from the fallout from the eruption. It’ll be a nice downhill trip all the way to the ocean.”
The two men Eva had killed had washed near the shore, their blood a crimson-stained halo in the clear water. Donovan swung under the Cessna’s wing strut and yanked the door open. The keys were still dangling from the ignition. Donovan knelt and untied the first of the two lines that held the plane to the dock.
“You do know how to fly this, right?” Eva asked.
“Of course,” Donovan said without looking at her.
“Buck, you’re up front with me,” Donovan said, as he slid the pilot’s seat forward and motioned for Stephanie to get in first, followed by Marie, then Eva.
As Eva waited her turn to board, Buck sliced the tie-wrap from her wrists. “Behave.”
Eva nodded and climbed into the cramped back seat of the Cessna. Donovan made sure everyone found a seat belt, then slid the pilot’s seat aft so Buck could swing himself onboard and get situated into the front seat on the right side of the plane. Donovan untied the last rope and pushed off. The light breeze floated them out from the dock. He switched on the red master switch, confident that everything about flying a Cessna would come back to him. It was the other part that worried him—he’d never actually flown a floatplane.
Donovan slid the seat up and slammed the door. He found his seat belt and jammed it into place. He pushed on the rudder pedals and felt the sharp pain arc up his spine. Donovan pushed in the mixture, put his hand on the throttle, and turned the key. The propeller lurched into motion. Moments later the engine caught and started. The entire airframe vibrated as Donovan studied the engine gauges, relieved to see that they had oil pressure. He set the flaps and stepped hard on the right rudder, then the left, to get a feel for how the amphibian handled.
“Galileo, you ready?” Donovan keyed the radio.
“I’m here,” John responded. “The Scimitar is circling overhead, I’m going to keep it above and behind you, just do what I say.”
“Is there a VHF backup?” Donovan suddenly didn’t trust the little battery-operated radio in his hand very much.
“131.85,” John replied.
Donovan switched the Cessna’s primary radio to the new frequency. He looked at Buck, then back at the women, all strapped in tightly. Eva had her eyes closed, and he saw her cross herself. Without another word, Donovan pulled the controls as far back as they would go as he simultaneously pushed in the throttle. The engine and propeller made a tremendous noise and the entire airframe shook and shuddered. Slowly, the Cessna’s nose rose up and blotted out the view forward. Donovan worked the rudders and watched out the side window. As their speed built, the Cessna bounced and skittered over the waves. Donovan watched with concern as their speed crept up ever so slowly. The green shoreline that looked so far away when he’d started now loomed much closer.
Donovan kept his right hand on the throttle, and eased up on the back pressure, trying to will the Cessna up on the step. A floatplane, just like a boat, has a speed where the hull accelerates up onto the surface of the lake instead of plowing through it. They needed to reach that velocity before the plane would fly. The roar from the straining engine, mixed with the water pounding on the aluminum floats, was deafening. Donovan could feel
the Cessna picking up precious speed, but it seemed too slow. The rocky face of the rapidly rising terrain began to fill the windshield. He jockeyed the yoke in his hands and then rocked the wings, hoping that he could pop the floats free of the suction created by the water. Donovan could almost feel the tension from the others, as they, too, saw the hill dead ahead. Through the seat of his pants, he felt a different vibration, more staccato, as almost begrudgingly, the Cessna climbed up on top of the waves. They were picking up speed, and Donovan’s eyes darted back and forth between the airspeed indicator and the shore.
Donovan eased back on the yoke, and the sound of the water banging against the floats vanished for two seconds as they lifted free, then just as quickly they settled and kissed the water once again. Trying desperately to get a feel for the airplane, Donovan gently pulled back once more and the floats pulled free from the water. They were airborne, but just barely, staggering through the air just inches above the lake.
Donovan felt the controls jerk in his hands, a horrendous noise filled the cabin, and the airplane shuddered, the left wingtip nearly touching the waves. Reflexes honed by thousands of hours flying allowed Donovan to level the wings before they cartwheeled to their deaths. The Cessna vibrated and shook, and it took almost full-right rudder for Donovan to keep the plane flying straight. He fought to keep the Cessna from dipping back into the water and began to turn the airplane away from the shoreline. Gingerly, he guided them into a careful turn to the left, away from the shore, but as they turned, the Cessna wouldn’t climb—they were still skimming just feet above the dark water.
A shrill horn began sounding in the cramped cabin, telling him he was on the verge of stalling the airplane. Donovan leveled the wings, urging the airplane to keep flying, amazed that somehow it did as he asked. He took a deep breath. Never taking his eyes off the lake, he reached down and put his hand on the flap handle. Carefully, he milked them up, each small change helped increase their speed. With the flaps all the way up, the stall horn silenced, and the Cessna slowly climbed away from the water.
“What in the hell happened?” Buck yelled above the noise.
“We hit something.” Donovan didn’t dare let go of the controls. “The airplane’s really messed up. We’re at maximum power, but we’re not climbing.”
They were struggling through the sky; Donovan had to keep the Cessna between the clouds overhead and the water below. Ahead of them, the mountains jutted up well into the overcast. The sharp odor of sulfur was starting to fill the cabin. In a few minutes he’d have to start a turn back the way they came. They were trapped.
Donovan turned around until he could see Stephanie; she held Marie tightly, the young girl’s face buried in Stephanie’s shoulder. Stephanie’s grim expression told him her relief at being rescued was short lived. Donovan inched further around and could see Eva looking out the window, her face shock-white.
He turned his attention back to flying the Cessna. To the south, clouds of ash blotted out the horizon. All around the lake, the hilltops were obscured by either clouds or ash. At this altitude there was nowhere to go. He looked out the window at the left float. As he studied the damage, he could see shards of torn aluminum peeking out from underneath. The entire float was canted outward at an odd angle, no doubt creating a tremendous amount of drag. He keyed the microphone. “Guys, we have a problem. Can you get the Scimitar down here to take a look at my left float?”
“Yeah, sure, hang on,” John said. “What am I looking for?”
“Tell me if there’s enough of it left to set the airplane back down on the lake.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
Lauren was helpless to do anything but watch as John maneuvered the Scimitar below and behind the Cessna. She could easily see that the float was bent to the left, but it wasn’t until John zoomed in that she saw the full extent of the damage. Whatever they’d hit had ripped the entire bottom off the forward section. Where there should have been smooth metal, similar to the curved hull of a canoe, there was a jagged rip at least six feet long.
Michael burst from the cockpit and hurried down the aisle to get a look at the damage. He studied the image, shook his head, and then picked up a microphone. “Donovan, we’re looking at the damage to your plane, and it’s not good. Whatever you hit took out the bottom six or seven feet of the left float. It’s also canted about ten degrees outboard.”
“Is there any chance I can safely set this thing back down on the water?”
“No way. The second the left float touches the surface you’ll cartwheel the thing. We just got a message from Malcolm and Lillian. They’re monitoring the eruption on the Scimitar’s synthetic aperture radar. They say they can see a lava dome beginning to build on the south side; it coincides with the earthquake swarms they’re seeing.”
“Michael, this airplane is barely climbing.”
Lauren could hear Donovan’s stress and fatigue; it matched her own. She leaned over William to get a better look outside the Galileo. She could see Atitlán, and far to the south, through the ash and clouds and beyond the mountains, she could also see the blue Pacific Ocean.
“What’s your altitude now?” Michael asked.
“Five thousand four hundred.”
“Keep climbing, buddy, we’ll find you a way out of here,” Michael said.
“Michael,” Donovan said. “When I look south, I can see a sliver of clear air between the mountains. There’s actually blue sky to be seen. If I can clear the ridge, what’s on the other side?”
“There is a saddle between Atitlán and San Pedro that’s lower than anyplace around the lake,” Michael replied. “It also puts you at the foot of the erupting volcano. If you could get over the ridge, there’d be a sloping valley all the way to the ocean. The terrain goes from six thousand feet down to sea level in about thirty miles. It’s also where Janie is right now. She didn’t have any luck negotiating the terrain to the west.”
“What about poison gas?” Donovan asked. “If we have another encounter like before, I won’t be able to fly the plane.”
“Malcolm told us that most of gas is being released and sent far up into the atmosphere with the steam and ash.”
“South it is, then,” Donovan replied. “Use the Scimitar and find the absolute lowest altitude we can fly and still get over that ridge.”
“I’m hesitant to fly the Scimitar that close to the volcano,” John said as he glanced up at Michael. “We’re flying without the main coolant system. We could lose the entire ship.”
“So be it,” Michael shrugged. “If the conditions are that bad through there, I’d rather find out with the Scimitar than the Cessna.”
“Of course, you’re right.” John snapped his head back to the screen.
“Don’t worry about it,” Michael replied. “If we break it, we’ll buy another one.”
Lauren had listened to what Donovan was thinking about doing. She looked into Michael’s eyes as he processed the task at hand. William nudged her and gestured out the window. To the south, from out of the thick gray ash spewing from Atitlán, chunks of orange-and-red lava were being hurtled hundreds of feet in the air.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
Donovan held the Cessna steady as they flew in wide circles over the water. The visibility through the valley on the southern horizon kept shifting and changing. Donovan worried that their window might close permanently and they’d be trapped over the lake until they ran out of fuel.
“I found the first-aid kit,” Stephanie called out from the backseat. She held up the plastic case.
Donovan turned toward Buck. “Hurry! Help her find the gauze. Everyone needs to cover their mouth and nose before we start. We also need to close all the vents and openings in the airplane.”
Buck nodded and turned in his seat to help Stephanie. Donovan searched the instrument panel and shut down all the outside air coming into the cabin. There was nothing he could do about the ash being sucked up into the engine through the air intake. Though a piston e
ngine wasn’t quite as temperamental as a jet engine, the ash would eventually start clogging the valves.
The pinging of hot cinders bouncing off the metal skin of the plane sounded like rain. He tried to not think about that as he stretched against the tightness in his back, the dull pain shooting up and down his entire spine. His arms felt heavy on the controls. Donovan’s eyes shot to the outside temperature gauge mounted up where the right wing joined the fuselage. Almost a hundred degrees. Donovan knew the closer they flew toward the volcano, the higher it would climb.
“Here!” Buck had a large gauze pad in his hands. “Hold this over your mouth.”
Donovan did as instructed, and Buck quickly used a length of elastic bandage to hold it in place. Donovan adjusted the improvised surgical mask so that it rested just below his eyes. It would have to do. He took a quick glance at the others and found they all had a similar setup to ward off the ash.
“Donovan. It’s John. The Scimitar just made it through to the other side.”
“How was it through there?” Donovan replied, his voice muffled by the gauze.
“Not great.” John paused. “The lava being hurtled out of the cone is sporadic, unpredictable. The temperature spiked at nearly two hundred degrees, and there was at least thirty or forty seconds of heavy ash and turbulence. After that, you’ll break out into the clear. If you can reach five thousand, nine hundred, fifty feet, you won’t fly into a mountain. I promise.”
Donovan looked down at the altimeter. They were three hundred feet short.
“Your heading looks good,” John said smoothly. “I’m bringing the Scimitar back around to monitor your progress. Then you’re good to go whenever you’re ready.”
“We need to lighten the plane,” Donovan yelled over his shoulder. “Find everything that can be tossed out and hand it up to Buck.”
Aftershock: A Donovan Nash Novel (A Donovan Nash Thriller) Page 23
