by Jeff Altabef
He leans closer. “No more secrets between us, remember? Tell me what’s got you so worried.”
“You mean besides the entire fate of mankind and Mother Earth.”
“You’re not fooling me. Spill the beans.”
He won’t let it go. He knows me too well. I don’t want to tell him about the meeting with the Prime Elector in the maze. I’m supposed to meet him alone. He’ll kill anyone who comes with me, and if Troy finds out, he won’t let me go on my own. He’s too stubborn for that, too loyal.
I’ve got to come up with something to tell him.
Connor shifts in his seat, and I glance over my shoulder to check on him. He’s still sleeping.
Troy offers a cat ate the canary type of grin. “So, is it Connor? I know you two like each other. Everyone knows it.”
Heat flushes my face. As awkward as it feels to talk to him about Connor, at least it’s a safe subject, and I need to talk to someone, so I confess to the lesser sin. “He kissed me the other day.”
“And...?”
“It was certainly different. You’ve always had lots of girlfriends, so you know what you’re supposed to feel. I’ve never felt like this before. My legs went wobbly, and I—”
He lifts his hand. “TMI. I don’t need to know any more than that.”
“What do you think about him?”
Troy steals a look at Connor and sizes him up. “I like him. I just don’t trust him. You know my history with my dad. I can’t trust anyone who has a drinking problem. I know he’s working on it now, but he’s got a problem, and he’s only just started working on it. I’m worried he’ll get drunk when we can least afford it.”
My voice has a piercing edge that’s even more dangerous than a crystal sword. “We all have problems, Troy.”
“He’s not a stray cat you can fix with some milk and a warm place to stay.”
I glare at him because his analogy is stupid and doesn’t even deserve a comment.
He sighs. “I can tell you’ve already made up your mind. Just go slow with him. Make sure he proves himself first.”
“I’ll try,” I say, but it’s too late, and we both know it.
He leans back and closes his eyes.
I stare out the window and feel bad about keeping secrets from him, but some secrets are worth keeping—like those that would get him killed.
Connor
My eyes leap toward my flask as if they have a will of their own. It’s tucked inside my rucksack barely a few feet away. I sigh. Drinking has been part of my life from such an early age—one of the few constants.
I started shortly after my tenth birthday. The pub made it easy—at first, a few swigs of beer when no one was looking. Over the years, I became progressively bolder until I realized that the pub owner didn’t care so long as someone else was paying, and that part was easy. Who didn’t want to buy a drink for the kid who cleaned up the bar? Some probably thought they were doing me a favor; others knew better. Either way, my habit grew.
I’ve tucked a bottle of Jack Daniels in my bag and can almost feel the whiskey burn my throat and warm my gullet. My body actually tremors a little in anticipation, but then I look at Juliet and thoughts of drinking drain from me. She makes me stronger, better somehow.
I groan and clench my jaw. I’m such an idiot. How did I screw this up? I just wanted to see the other Chosen, confirm how totally bonkers this whole situation actually was, and skate off to an island with the gold coins. The easiest plan in the world to follow—any wanker could have pulled it off, but as usual, I made a complete and total cock-up of the situation.
At least this time I wasn’t pissed. Or maybe things would have been different if I had been drunk. None of that matters now, I suppose. Once I met Juliet, everything changed. Even though I was completely wobble on my feet, the world’s about to spin, where’s the toilet drunk, I knew she was special. The lightning bolt blasted me when she smiled. Perhaps things would have been better if she had let me get my bum whooped in that pub, but she saved me. Now I’m hopelessly lost, a complete and total nutter.
We haven’t even known each other for a fortnight, and she’s all I can think about. It’s maddening, and even worse, the other Chosen have grown on me—even Troy. I desperately want to dislike him, but it’s impossible. He’s as solid a guy as I’ve ever met. It’s just that he’s been best friends with Juliet forever, and that’s hard to contend with, so part of me is jealous of him. He’s spent his whole life as her best friend. I’d kill for that.
Now, I’ll kill so we can have a future.
We must be getting close to England by now. It’s dark outside, but little pinpricks appear in the distance. A feeling of dread seeps through me and I sink into the chair. England—not my favorite place in the world.
The plane banks into a sharp turn and throws me to the side. The engines whine and Blake groans from the backseat.
Bloody hell. There’s no reason for the plane to turn.
Juliet must sense something’s wrong also because she has already bolted out of her seat.
I jump after her, and we open the door to the cockpit to find the pilot slumped backward in his chair, hand pressed to his chest.
“Heart attack,” he gasps, and then he points to a blinking control in the center video screen. “Autopilot.” The pilot’s body seizes; he pushes against the yoke, and the plane starts to drop fast.
I’m thrown backwards, but luckily Juliet manages to clamber into the co-pilot’s chair. The rest of the gang crowds in the doorway. Juliet slaps at the control that’s marked Autopilot. The plane levels, turns back the way it was headed before, and slowly climbs.
The pilot is unconscious.
I check his neck and find a faint pulse. “Troy, help me move him.”
Troy grabs him by the shoulders and together we drag him from the cockpit and lay him across the first row of seats.
Blake leans close to his face. “Wake up, Carl. Now’s not a good time for a nap.”
“He’s not sleeping,” says Akari. “He’s unconscious, you idiot.”
Blake’s voice raises in pitch. “No, he’s not. He’s just tired. A good cup of coffee and he’ll be on his feet. And then he’ll land the plane and we’ll off get off in one piece. I’ll get some coffee from the back.”
“He had a bloody heart attack.”
“He looks fine to me,” say Blake. “Maybe he has narcolepsy? Lots of people have that problem. He’ll wake up any second.”
Troy shakes him. “Get a grip, man.”
“I hate airplanes,” says Blake. “Next time I’m taking a boat. Boats are way safer. If the captain falls asleep, you can just let the ship float until he wakes up.”
Akari waves her hand. “He’s not going to wake up. He’s breathing, but we need to get him to a hospital.”
“Okay, we’ll need to do CPR on him.” Blake points at his chest. “Put the heel of your hand against his chest and push down at a rate a little faster than one per second.”
Akari moves in position and scowls at Blake. “If you know what to do, why don’t you do it?”
“I’m not touching him. If he stops breathing, you’ll have to give him mouth to mouth.”
“Great.”
“Any chance someone knows how to fly this thing?” I ask. When no one answers, I head back to the cockpit and collapse into the pilot’s seat next to Juliet.
The cockpit looks like something from a rocket ship. Four large LCD screens make up the dash, a dozen lights and switches flash above us, and dozens more line the console between the pilot and co-pilot seats. A wheel attached to a throttle sits directly in front of each of us; I’m careful not to touch mine.
None of the controls make sense. The LCD screens look like radar. Clearly we’re rapidly approaching England, which might not be as good a thing as it sounds. For the first time ever, I wish I had played flight simulator games as a kid.
I look across at Juliet, and she doesn’t appear nearly as panicked as I feel. “D
o you have any idea what these controls mean?”
She shrugs. “Some of them.” She points to a few and names them. “But what I really need is a manual. There has to be a manual around here someplace.”
I holler at the others, “Check around for a manual.”
“A manual,” mutters Blake. “It’s a Gulfstream G550. What’s a manual going to do?”
“Just find it,” I say.
“Got it.” Troy hands Juliet a phone book-sized manual.
“How are you going to read all that?” I ask.
“I’ve become a really fast reader.” She flips through the book, turning the pages so quickly she barely has time to see what’s on the page, and finishes in less than five minutes.
She smiles at me. “It’s not so hard to operate. The plane basically flies itself. The landing might be a little tricky, but I’ve got this.”
My mouth drops. “You’ve got this?”
“Sure.” She puts on a set of headsets and points out the window. We’ve reached England already. “The coordinates programmed in the autopilot will take us to the airport. We’re going to have to run through the landing checklist in a few minutes and then switch the autopilot off.”
“What happens then?”
“I’ll have to land this puppy.” She grins at me. “Unless you want to try.”
My head feels as if it’s about to explode. “You’ve learned how to land the plane by reading the manual.”
She shrugs. “It’s all laid out in the technical stuff. Add on some simple math and the rest is easy. I’m a little worried about the controls because I’ve never used them before, so they might be tricky to work at first.”
Sweat pours out of my body in rivers. “Oh, yes, I hate when the controls are tricky to work at first. That’s what I’m worried about. Tricky. Do you even have a driver’s license?”
“Nope. I haven’t taken the permit test yet.” Juliet shouts over her shoulder. “Better fasten your seat belts. We’re going to land in a few minutes and it might get bumpy.”
Blake actually yelps. “Land. What about Carl? It looks like he’s feeling better.”
“He’s barely breathing,” says Akari. “Put down the life jacket.”
“En-England’s an island. Better to-to be prepared.”
Juliet points to a switch on my side of the controls. “Flip that control. That’s for the landing gear.”
“Which bloody switch? There’s fifteen of them.”
“The first one on the right in the center console.”
I hover my hand over the control she describes, and when she nods, I flip it and hear the wheels drop into place.
Juliet flips a half dozen controls and then talks into the headset. “Traffic tower, Flight G450 ready for landing.”
I put on my set just in time to hear the traffic control guy say. “Roger. Land on runway 1. It’s all lit up for you.”
“Roger,” Juliet repeats.
“Shouldn’t you tell them about the pilot? I mean they might want to know that you’ve never flown anything before. I’m just saying.”
“Good point.” She flips a switch. “Control Tower we have a sick passenger on board. I think he’s had a heart attack. We’ll need an ambulance upon arrival.”
“Roger that,” says the control tower.
Is she a complete nutter? “Are you sure they can’t do anything? Maybe they can fly the thing remotely?”
She shakes her head. “The autopilot will do almost everything. The end is up to us.” She points outside the windows at a set of lights that forms a line in the near distance. “That’s our runway. You see? The auto-pilot is already lowering the plane.” She points to a series of numbers on the altimeter that’s steadily decreasing.
She grins at me. “Come on, Connor. James Bond would have no problem in a situation like this.”
“Usually he ejects before the plane crashes.”
It’s amazing how quickly we approach the runway lights. I’ve never realized how fast planes actually travel until now.
“Ready, Connor? I’m going to switch the autopilot off.”
I can’t talk. My hands ache as I squeeze the armrests into oblivion.
Juliet taps the autopilot control and grabs the wheel. The plane starts to shake as the wings swing.
Blake screeches from the cabin behind us.
Juliet wrestles with the controls for a few heartbeats until the plane steadies. “It’s way more responsive than I would have thought.”
Something hard hits the windshield and Juliet jerks the plane up and down.
“What was that?”
“Bird. This is the important part. We can’t drop too steeply, but we have to slow our speed without stalling the engines. That control will tell let us know if I’m off.”
“You mean the one that’s blinking red?”
“Yep, that’s the one. We’re a little steep.” She pulls on the controls and the plane levels slightly. The control turns green. The altimeter reads 2000 feet.
“Ready, Connor. Here we go.”
The runway rushes up to meet us. Juliet is sweating now. She’s not nearly as calm as she’s making believe.
I look at the control and cringe. “Red!”
1000 feet.
My life passes before my eyes and it’s not pretty.
Juliet groans slightly as she struggles to keep the nose up.
“Still red!”
500 feet.
The front of the plane passes the edge of the runway.
“Red!”
50 feet.
The front wheels hit the ground and the plane bounces, and we’re jostled in the seats. It sounds like Blake’s crying from the back.
The plane settles back down and Juliet hits a number of other switches. The engines whirl, the brakes lock, and the plane starts to decelerate.
“I hope they have a long runway,” says Juliet. “We’re going to need it.”
The plane speeds toward the terminal.
Juliet stomps on a pedal. The engines scream and the wheels lock, and I brace for a collision. We’re speeding for the terminal. This isn’t going to end well.
“Come on,” mutters Juliet.
The brakes take, the plane slows, and we stop ten feet before the building.
Juliet flashes me a smile. “Never had a doubt.” She points to the altimeter on the center console that reads 0. “It’s green.”
“Me neither.” I unclench my hands and large chunks of the armrests rip from the seat.
“Right.” Juliet glances over her shoulder at the sick pilot. “Strange how he had a heart attack on our flight. Quite the coincidence for someone who seems so healthy.”
Connor
An ambulance drives up to the plane. We disembark and two medics jump on board.
An official-looking guy waits for us by the entrance to the terminal. “Where’s the pilot,” he says. “What was he bloody thinking? Has he gone barking mad?”
I point to Juliet. “You’ll have to ask her.”
“You’re the pilot? How old are you?”
Juliet flashes him a sweet smile and bats her eyes. “I’ll be sixteen in a few days.”
“Where’s Carl Grant? He’s the pilot who filed the flight plans.”
I point to the ambulance. “He’s the one who had the heart attack.”
The official rubs his hands through his thinning hair and stares at Juliet. “You’re a pilot?”
Juliet twists in place and lies. “I’ve had a bunch of lessons. I haven’t taken my final test yet.”
The man’s mouth drops. “That’s a Gulfstream.”
Blake steps forward and sticks out his hand for a handshake. “I’m Blake Richards. We’re in a hurry. I’m sure you understand. Is the car waiting for us?”
The official shakes Blake’s hand, walks us inside, and mutters a constant stream of questions that we mostly ignore.
Finally, Blake touches him on the shoulder. “Please bill my father’s company for any
costs associated with our unusual landing. And add twenty percent on top of that for yourself. I’m sure it will be best for everyone if we keep this entire episode just between us. As far as we’re concerned, Carl had a heart attack after he landed the plane.”
The man hesitates for a second. His eyes have a faraway quality to them as if he’s adding the sum in his head, and then he nods. “Very well. The important thing is that you’re safe and the pilot is getting medical treatment. We’ll keep the rest between us.”
The small, swanky airport for private planes is the type of place that I didn’t even know existed. It’s nothing like Heathrow—no custom lines, baggage carousels, or vast ocean of sweaty annoying tourists to bother us. We simply stroll through the small terminal, grab bottles of water they lay out for free, and file into a limo that waits for us outside. I could get used to living like this.
I clap Blake on the back. “Good work with the uptight airport guy.”
Blake downs his bottle of water in one long gulp, his hands shaky. “Are we dead? Is this the afterlife? Did Juliet really land that plan?”
I chuckle. “It’s hard to say, but I’m pretty sure we’re alive.”
I tell the driver we want to go to Walton-on-Thames and the words catch in my throat and actually stutter by the time I get to Thames. Walton is, or was, as close to home as I’ve ever gotten. That’s where I worked in the pub and lived with my foster parents. I don’t want to go back. Only bad memories wait for me there, but here we are, and I can’t think of anywhere else for us to hide out.
The limo has to travel through London to get to Walton, so I play tour guide to pass the time and keep my mind off Walton. I point out the obvious places like Buckingham Palace, Trafalgar Square, and the Tower of London.
Akari’s the most excited of the group and peppers me with questions.
Some are easy to answer, and others leave me clueless, so I make things up. I spout rubbish like, that’s Shakespeare’s house, the barracks for the Royal Guard, and a museum dedicated to the Beatles.
Juliet catches on, elbows me in the ribs and tells me not to be such an ass, but we all laugh when I come clean about my… embellishments. I’ve never been the most honest guy. They should know that about me.
