by Kevin Tinto
Luke walked into the hangar, picked up a flashlight he kept on a table near the entrance, and checked out the Cessna 172 parked in the middle of the building. He disconnected a battery trickle charger, pulling it well out of the way, and removed the wheel chocks. He opened the left door on the Cessna and worked his way into the pilot’s seat. The keys were in the ignition, right where he always left them. He thought for a moment maybe he ought to leave a note for Paulson, but then whoever was sneaking up on him would find it first.
Plus, he didn’t want to take a chance his trick knee might fail him as he tried to hobble back to the Cessna. He’d be as helpless as a capsized turtle on a hot summer road.
Instead, Luke put his feet on the rudder pedals, engaging the brakes, and turned the key, certain the Cessna would fire before the prop had rotated twice. Sure enough, the engine roared to life immediately. He pushed the throttle forward enough to move the Cessna out of the hangar and onto the tarmac.
That done, he climbed gingerly out of the Cessna, limped back to the hangar, and pulled the doors shut again. There was something inside him that wouldn’t let him leave a hangar door open.
Hell, in days it’d be filled with sand and the next poor slob who ran the airport would have a helluva time getting it cleaned up.
That done, he pulled himself back into the idling Cessna. He didn’t need to glance at the gas gauge to know he only had a few gallons in the wing tanks. The last time he’d flown the Cessna was when he’d been looking for a hiding place for the nuke. Leaving an airplane stored with less than a full tank of fuel would get you a long winded tongue-lashing from old Luke. It allowed water to build up in the tanks, a stone-cold killer if that water caused corrosion or worked its way into the engine.
It was sloppy and stupid but somehow, amid the excitement of finding the hiding spot, and then arguing with Al Paulson about Luke’s desire to stay at the airfield, he’d forget to top off the fuel…even though he’d remembered to hook up the trickle charger.
Damn fool.
There was a reason he hadn’t passed a flight physical in years and had no business flying as pilot-in-command.
He taxied out to the runway, skipping the run-up.
If you’re gonna make flyin’ mistakes, might as well go whole-hog.
He pushed the throttle into the firewall, and the Cessna leaped forward. With no passengers and no gas, the plane was running mighty light. He pulled back on the yoke and had it off the ground in less than two-hundred feet. He flew straight out from the runway before banking, making a heading toward the southeast. He estimated he had about thirty minutes of fuel, give or take.
Luke leveled the aircraft at two-thousand feet above ground level, running the motor as lean as he could. He needed to conserve what little fuel remained.
He’d have to fly restricted airspace over the northern corner of White Sands, due to his bingo fuel situation.
One more error, old man.... Let’s see how long you can keep it up.
He was flying for the Sierra Blanca mountain range, near Ruidoso. He’d always considered it one of the most beautiful regions of New Mexico. Once you got into the Sierra Blanca, the land looked a whole more like the Rocky Mountains than New Mexico. Miles and miles of green forest.
Luke had to climb some as he reached the foothills of the range, and that little bit of climbing did it. The engine gave its first cough, then coughed a couple more times, caught again, and then stopped for good.
Luke had enjoyed an amazing life. He had no complaints, nothing left undone. He felt at peace. This part of his life had been on his mind for some time now. Somehow, the idea that someone would find him lying in bed, half mummified, having died there alone, never had seemed…dignified. He’d never been the kind of man to leave a mess for others.
Luke listened to the sound of the wind whistling through the wing supports and the prop, said a prayer, checked once again that the forest below was uninhabited, then reached down to the trim wheel, dialing in plenty of down trim. The nose of the Cessna immediately dropped. He leaned back and folded his arms against his chest, a smile on his face.
Damn right…this is the way you go out.
Luke started humming a song from his youth. “In the Mood.”
At Las Alamos, during the Manhattan Project, Saturday night at the dorms was something to see. The ‘punch’ made out of ethyl alcohol liberated from laboratory stock would magically appear and Glenn Miller’s music soon followed. They worked like dogs on the ‘Gadget,’ but don’t let it ever be said they didn’t have some fun, too.
A smile crossed the old man’s face as the Cessna picked up speed and disappeared into the tall pine and fir forest of the Sierra Blanca.
Afterword
Thank you for reading ICE GENESIS. Writing, editing, and producing a professional quality INDIE novel is an incredibly challenging and expensive undertaking. We try and give you, the reader, an amazing experience, at just a fraction of the price of legacy publishers. Sometimes, we make mistakes. If you find any mistakes in ICE GENESIS, send me a note at [email protected]. We can fix those mistakes in a heartbeat! I’m always thrilled to get feedback on the ICE series. Please stop by my website www.writingthrillers.com and send me an email or drop in at Kevin Tinto on Facebook. If you enjoyed ICE and ICE GENESIS, please tell a friend or two. And please help out by rating ICE and ICE GENESIS by writing a short review at Amazon. REVIEWS ARE EVERYTHING!
Cliff Hangers?
ICE GENESIS is book two in a three book series. We work hard not to leave readers on the edge of a cliff hanger. But with any story that is simply too rich to tell in one novel, we have to end ICE and ICE GENESIS somewhere!
The last volume in the Leah and Jack Trilogy is ICE REVELATION. That is well underway at the date of IG publication (March, 26th, 2018). ICE REVELATION: Fall, 2018.
Acknowledgments
Producing a (readable) novel without a professional editor is like trying to make an Olympic team without a coach. Ed Stackler is the best. There are plenty of editors who can correct messy English. Ed took ownership of my characters and plot lines, and guided me along throughout the twists and turns of ICE, many times, over a period of nearly TEN years. Without Ed’s guidance and professional help, ICE wouldn’t exist.
For ICE GENESIS, Ed had to dig even deeper. Without his invaluable coaching and assistance, it is safe to say that ICE GENESIS would be just another mediocre novel, lost in a sea of others. Not everyone will love ICE GENESIS. But, for those of you who do—thank Ed Stackler. Oh...better not leave out MY MOM, who waded through endless line-edits, through countless drafts—some good, some bad. She is blisteringly fast—a critical skill when the author is on a deadline.
Dedication
This book is dedicated to you, dear reader. Thank you for taking the journey with Leah and Jackson, and their crew. I sincerely hope ICE GENESIS gave you the thrill ride that I intended. I would also like to thank the following individuals for guiding me along the way: Mic Grandfield for his eagle eye and knowledge of all things mechanical and Susan Grandfield-Engenluyff and Bob Engenluyff for line edits and coaching. Most important, my wife Laurie for the support, and taking care of everything while I was working seven-days-a-week on GENESIS. Could not do this without her.
Also Maggee and Willie. There’s only one eye between two dogs, but that never slows them down. Goldens Rule. And BIG JACK, too.
