7 Wild East

by Melanie Jackson

  Can’t we just get in the air, the Wings nearly screamed. If only they could get in the air then Danny could show this desk jockey how to fly. The Wings was no good with the rules and regulations, but still he was born to fly. And Danny could prove that if he could just make it through the preflight check.

  * * *

  That afternoon my period started. Fortunately I had some time alone and could digest in private the various feelings that filled me one after the other.

  First there was relief. The relief was huge—all-encompassing. It lasted for several minutes and left me weak in the knees.

  Then, once able, I got up and made a cup of tea and waited for the disappointment that must surely follow. Eventually it came, but it was nowhere as strong as my first reaction had been.

  And that was because deep down inside I knew that having children, in my circumstances—an illegal alien and wanted for terrorism in the States—was insane. I would never be safe. Not completely. Look how this pipeline thing had come up. There were no guarantees. And it was irresponsible to think of giving any hostages to fate. Chuck had decided to share my exile and that was his choice. But I had no right to inflict it on an innocent child.

  It was this thought that finally made me cry.

  But not for long. We still had a town that needed saving, and I had cried for these things already. They deserved no more tears. It was time to put away childish things.

  * * *

  The Wings had been flying now for over an hour with his flight examiner in the copilot’s seat. The examiner would call for a simple maneuver or ask him some simple question about radio frequencies or what to do in an emergency and Danny would deftly perform the maneuver or answer the question. He figured that if he kept on with what he was doing he would pass the test, but he wasn’t satisfied with just passing the test. He wanted to impress the desk pilot sitting beside him and to do that he might have to get a little crazy.

  “Perform a fifteen-degree bank to the right and maintain altitude,” Hawthorne instructed.

  The Wings couldn’t help it. To a certain extent, his body moved of its own accord performing the maneuver with a delicate flourish. Dropping a bit of altitude, Danny pulled back on the yoke and rose smoothly into position to add a little flourish to the turn. He noticed the examiner only frowned and made a note in his log.

  The Wings was frustrated and fully prepared for the remainder of the exam to be boring when all hell broke loose. Danny never got a chance to react before they entered a flock of geese that must have been late flying north for the summer. The birds peppered the outside of the craft, making loud impact noises as they hit. Several of the birds were sucked into both of the engines. One of them hit the cockpit windshield, shattering the glass. The plane exited the flock as quickly as it had entered but as it did so both engines sputtered and died. The Wings was busy trying to keep the plane steady as he banked over the forest, presumably searching for a clearing in which to land.

  “Get on the radio and contact Winnipeg tower. Tell them we need runway four cleared for an emergency landing,” the Wings ordered.

  “But you’ll never make it back to Winnipeg without power,” the examiner argued. “It would be better to set down in a clearing and hope for the best.”

  “I am not setting this baby down in a clearing. It would mess her all up. Besides, I think I can make the field, though it’s going to be close.”

  Hawthorne stopped arguing and manned the radio as instructed. While the flight examiner explained the situation to Winnipeg tower, the Wings fought with the stubborn controls and tried to find a clear spot in the windshield, something between the cracks, through which he could see where the heck they were going. Land and trees loomed large but so did large open spots should the need arise. However, the farther they glided the more it appeared that Danny was right, they were going to just carry landing strip number four.

  It wasn’t until they were on their final approach that they received the bad news over the radio.

  “CFACB, be warned that we’ve been unable to contact N987CP who may be taking off from runway four this very moment.”

  And sure enough, they were right. The Wings was about to touch down when he saw the plane straight ahead of him preparing to take off. There was nothing else to do. The Wings threw his plane into a barrel roll that flipped the plane upside down and sent it lofting over the lumbering obstacle. Danny looked down through the clear canopy as they passed over the other plane and saw the other pilot, eyes wide, spouting some obscenity. They were so close to the ground when the Wings performed the maneuver that one of the wing’s tips scraped the tarmac. Then the landing gear crashed down which jarred everything loose in the cockpit and sent the plane into a skid.

  The plane skidded to a halt on the grass verge beside the runway. To his surprise and relief, Danny had sustained no injuries. Mr. Hawthorne appeared to be alright as well, except that he looked like he might have soiled himself during the landing. Unfortunately, the Wings was pretty sure that his plane hadn’t come through the ordeal unscathed.

  “Are you hurt?” the Wings asked.

  “I don’t think so.”

  “I suppose that I failed my test because of this.”

  “Son, you just did something the books say is impossible. Anyone who can perform a landing like that deserves to be in the air. I’d say you passed with flying colors.”

  Well, that was good then, the Wings thought as he climbed out of the cockpit to examine the damage to his plane. Though it had taken all the way to the landing to finally impress the man.

  Chapter 9

  The door to Mark Stripe’s room crashed open, waking Mark from a sound slumber. It was sometime in the late afternoon when Mark liked to take a nap. The silhouette in the doorway looked familiar but didn’t manage to rouse Mark’s attention until it spoke.

  “Get out of bed, you lazy slacker!” the gruff voice of Pete Mitchell insisted. “Get your clothes and pack on and meet me out front, we’re getting out of here.”

  “But boss, my ankle,” Mark blurted though he was only half awake.

  “Yes, please, bring your ankle with you,” Pete growled before slamming the door and stalking downstairs to the common room.

  Pete had bottles of water in all his pockets which gave away the fact that he was leaving to those gathered in the room. Big John led the charge to action by stepping around the bar to intercept Pete before he could exit the inn.

  “Where are you going?” he asked threateningly.

  “Out of my way, Big John, unless you’re looking for trouble,” Pete challenged. “Me and my partner are getting out of this town right now.”

  “But what about the bears?”

  “I doubt there are any bears. You probably just brought someone’s pet bear out for me to see. Do you seriously think that I don’t know what you people have been up to trying to keep us in this town? Well, it’s gone on long enough. We’re heading back to headquarters to report our gear and records stolen, and then I have half a mind to come back and see to it that you and the rest of the people in this town are arrested.”

  Big John stroked his beard while he considered the man’s words.

  “Face it, Big John. You’ve lost. You can’t stop this. There will be a major oil pipeline running down the main street of your town whether you like it or not.”

  Feeling sympathy for the big man’s plight, Pete clapped him on the shoulder as he walked past. This simple action produced a small cloud of dust and dirt. Big John didn’t move to stop Pete from leaving though he did follow him out the door.

  “I wish you’d wait just a little longer,” Big John pleaded. “Just wait until our own survey team returns. Then we’ll show you. We’ve found an alternate route. Whisky Jack has plotted the new course. And he’s stopped drinking so he’s sober.”

  “You mean that you want me to change the route of a multibillion-dollar oil pipeline project based on the work of a drunk?”

  “Yes,” Big Joh
n replied. “I mean no, I mean he’s not the town drunk anymore because he’s out of town. I mean.…”

  Frankly, Big John wasn’t sure what he meant anymore. He stood outside the doorway to the Lonesome Moose and watched as Pete stepped into the middle of the street. The others in the bar stepped out to stand behind Big John. The people on the street stopped what they were doing and came running to stand nearby in case Big John needed help subduing the surveyor. Pete took the opportunity to clear the air between himself and the town folk.

  “You people are guilty of interfering with an official government project. You’ve stolen government property and effectively kidnapped two government officials. You lied about the plane not working. I bet there’s even a working radio in town.”

  No one said a word. It was obvious that their time was up. The surveyors were finally leaving and taking with them the information that would destroy their town. There was nothing else they could do but stand and watch.

  “Mark, are you coming or do I leave you behind!” Pete yelled back to the inn.

  “Coming!” Mark called from inside.

  When Mark left the Lonesome Moose he was limping less than when he’d arrived and carrying a thick slice of apple pie in his hand. The Flowers stepped out behind him to wave goodbye. Fortunately, Whisky Jack and company arrived in town just as the surveyors were about to leave.

  “You might want to take this equipment with you when you go,” Whisky Jack said, coming to a stop in the middle of the street.

  “Our surveying equipment,” Pete said in surprise. “I don’t imagine you have my logbooks and maps with you as well.”

  “You’ll find them all in my pack,” Whisky Jack said, unslinging his pack from his back and laying it on the ground in front of him.

  Pete was quick to fall upon the pack and begin rummaging inside. “Aha,” he gasped when he finally located his missing files.

  “I’ve updated your log to include a new and improved route through the Ruby Valley that misses the Gulch by several kilometers,” Jack pointed out.

  “I don’t care about your alternate route,” Pete insisted. “I tell you, the pipeline is going through McIntyre’s Gulch.”

  “But it can’t,” Thomas said, stepping to the forefront of the gathering crowd.

  “Oh? And why is that, Mountie?” Pete challenged.

  “Because I found this newt,” Thomas replied.

  “Not you and your newt again,” Fiddling Thomas moaned.

  “Yes, it’s me and my newt again. And it just so happens that my newt is an endangered species.”

  “So?” Pete challenged.

  “So, you can’t send your pipeline through McIntyre’s Gulch without impacting the natural habitat of this endangered species. At the very least there will be studies and then court battles and it will be years before you get your pipeline approved.”

  Pete paused to consider the Mountie’s statement. The Mountie looked dead serious.

  “An endangered newt you say?” he queried.

  “That’s right,” Thomas replied, remaining steadfast.

  “And you say you’ve plotted a route around this newt?” Pete asked of Whisky Jack.

  “It’s all there on your map and in your logbook,” Jack explained. “In addition, my team has gathered rock samples from the areas being traversed. Some of them look promising.”

  Pete wasn’t paying much attention while he referenced the new numbers registered in his logbook. Then he looked to his map.

  “I don’t believe it, this is a far superior route,” Pete exclaimed. “It would have taken us weeks to gather this data, if we had found the route at all.”

  “So, take a couple weeks off,” Whisky Jack suggested. “I’m going to.”

  “No, we need to get this new information to our headquarters as soon as possible.”

  “Why not use the radio to report your new findings,” Big John suggested.

  “Because it’s broken,” Pete replied with remarkable patience.

  “Come with me,” Big John replied with a wicked smile. “It seems we’ve got it repaired.”

  Big John led the milling crowd to the grocers where they waited outside while he took Pete to use the working radio. Mark remained behind on the porch of the Lonesome Moose to sit in an Adirondack chair and kick his leg up on the rail while he finished his pie. Meanwhile, Chuck and Butterscotch arrived. They were late but looked happy. That was nice. They had both seemed harassed and distracted the last few days.

  “Welcome back,” Chuck said to Whisky Jack when he saw him. “What’s everyone doing out here in the street?”

  “Waiting for the surveyors to radio in to their headquarters that they’ve found a new route. One that doesn’t include newts.”

  “Newts?”

  Whisky Jack turned to Chuck to more fully address him.

  “Young man, you can’t show up halfway through the performance and expect to know all the players and keep up with the plot,” he scolded.

  “Right,” Chuck agreed, sharing a smile with Butterscotch who stood beside him.

  Like the others around them, Chuck and Butterscotch waited while murmuring pleasantries amongst themselves until Pete returned on the porch of the grocers. Everyone turned to face him as a hush fell over the crowd.

  “They called it off,” Pete announced in a loud voice.

  “What does that mean?” Billy Jones called back.

  “Apparently the legislation required to approve the pipeline is hung up in the American congress. It looks like there will be no pipeline,” he added thoughtfully.

  The crowd was awestruck, and then as if New Year’s Eve bell had tolled they erupted into spontaneous celebration. Butterscotch joined in the cheering. Chuck bundled her into his arms and whisked her off her feet in a spin.

  “Damned bureaucrats,” Whisky Jack said, spitting in the dirt and walking up the steps of the grocers to where Big John stood. “You owe me a whisky. A lot of whiskies,” he announced, sticking his hand out palm up and fingering the air greedily.

  “I’ll have to open the bar for that kind of drinking, Jack,” Big John explained.

  “Come on,” Jack replied, turning toward the saloon. “I need a drink.”

  Anatoli watched sadly as the old surveyor returned to the bar after whatever he was in search of in the bottom of an empty whisky bottle. Then the Russian said a little prayer that someday the old man would find it.

  * * *

  The Wings rode with Cliff Reynolds, an aircraft mechanic and friend of his, to his garage in a nearby hanger. His precious plane was strapped to the flatbed of the truck. As he rode he chewed his nails over just how much the repairs were going to cost him. When they pulled to a stop outside the garage and got out of the cab of the truck, the Wings could stand it no more.

  “Alright, Cliff, give me the bad news. Just how much are repairs going to set me back?”

  “Landing gear shot, windscreen replacement, two engines needing cleaning and checking. I don’t know, Danny, this is probably going to cost a lot.”

  “Say a number.”

  Cliff said a number and the Wings almost fainted dead away.

  “So, what you’re saying is that I’m never going to fly again,” the Wings concluded.

  “Well, if it comes to that, I’ll be willing to buy what’s left of her from you. I can’t pay much, but it will be more than the scrapyard will give you.”

  “Gee thanks, Cliff,” the Wings replied. “Have you got a phone somewhere that I can use?”

  “Yeah, in my office there,” Cliff said, pointing.

  While Cliff worked with his team to unload Danny’s plane, the Wings used the phone in the office to phone in his test results to the Gulch. The Flowers answered the phone on the fourth ring. Obviously they had called off the farce with the surveyors. That probably meant good news. It was nice that someone was having a good day.

  “Oh hi, Danny. How’d your test go?”

  “Well now on that account, I have s
ome good news and some bad news.”

  “What’s the good news?”

  “I passed.”

  “And the bad?”

  “It looks like I won’t be flying the Gulch route anymore,” the Wings explained solemnly.

  “What?”

  Danny explained.

  Chapter 10

  The Lonesome Moose was packed. Aside from the usual suspects, Thomas, Pete, and Mark were in attendance and blinking at the chaos. I guess their usual board meetings didn’t look anything like ours.

  Since word had spread that the pipeline was off, the mood was celebratory and chaotic, and Big John had a terrible time bringing things to order. This time I didn’t get up on a chair and threaten to shoot something to quiet them down. Let them have their moment of happiness before we discussed the Wings.

  Eventually Big John broke his gavel and finally resorted to offering free whisky to everyone if they would just be quiet. That got a cheer, but it was a unified cheer. And since I wasn’t worrying about calendars anymore, this time I also indulged.

  Thomas, Pete, and Mark learned their first Gaelic by toasting slan leat!

  Finally Big John got everyone’s attention and was able to tell them about the Wings. Our mayor is a fabulous raconteur when he has a couple drinks in him and he gave his recitation the full dramatic treatment.

  “It was damned fine flying that saved his life and that of the government man,” he concluded. Everyone was quiet, spellbound by Big John’s yarn. “But the plane is a right dog’s dinner now and no mistake. He will need about six thousand to repair it. And that’s six thousand he doesn’t have.”

  I stood.

  “Since it is of benefit to the entire town that the Wings keep flying, and since we have a little money put by for a rainy day—” I meant the mob money that was left from the plane crash but didn’t spell it out in front of our guests, “I say we put it to good use and get that plane repaired.”