Learning To Fly

by DeMaris, Charles

  “The plane heading north? Where is it headed?”

  “That one’s headed for Chicago.”

  “How many on board?”

  “Only 124. Lot of empty seats on that one.”

  “Let’s see what this system can do.”

  “Rise and shine, kid,” Walter said, standing by Franklin’s bed.

  “What time is it?”

  “Almost 9:00. I got breakfast ready.”

  Franklin yawned and stretched his arms.

  “Thought I smelled something.”

  “Well, you gonna get up and join the real world, or not?”

  “Yeah…give me a minute.” He let out another slightly exaggerated yawn.

  “Must have been a heck of a date.”

  “It was okay.”

  “Just okay?”

  “Maybe more than okay.”

  “Well, get out here before your bacon gets cold.”

  A minute later, Franklin was starting into a heaping pile of bacon.

  “What did you kids do all night? Wait a minute. I’m not sure I want to know.”

  “We behaved ourselves, if you’re so dying to know.”

  “All I know is I never saw you all day. Off to your test, and then off to wherever kids your age go on dates these days.”

  “We went to the gym.”

  “To the gym. That’s a new one on me.”

  “We shot hoops until they closed the place and we had a milkshake at UDF. You weren’t here when she dropped me off. Maybe I should ask what you did all night.”

  “It was rather routine. Broke up some drug deals. Found a couple lost dogs. Stopped two muggings, put out a house fire on the west side, and stopped a sad fellow from jumping off the Roebling Bridge. Did you guys have fun shooting hoops?”

  “Gramps, it was a blast. Didn’t seem like a date or anything…just like hanging out with a friend.”

  “That’s how it always starts, if you’re lucky. There will be plenty of time for the other stuff. Don’t rush that. You’re young. Best if you wait for the other stuff, anyway.”

  “Other stuff?”

  “You know, stuff guys your age are always thinking about? You got time for that. You want my advice, that stuff’s for married folk. Just get to know her real good for now.”

  “Oh…I gotcha. Yeah…those things cross my mind sometimes. I kinda blocked it out when I was…before I met you. Don’t think you got a chance for that when you’re on the streets. Didn’t think I had a chance a couple days ago either. Now…Kendra…I don’t know. She’s something else. Don’t know why she hangs out with me.”

  “She’s able to see beyond the baggage…wait…what was that?”

  “What was what?”

  “I hear something.”

  “You’re always hearing things.”

  “It’s a far off rumbling sound. Ah…it’s your stomach. You’d best get another biscuit.”

  “If you insist, but you’re the one who needs to eat like a pig.”

  “I’ve been munching while I was cooking. Plus, I need to get going soon.”

  “Where you heading now, after you’ve been up half the night?”

  “Chicago, gonna be on some talk show.”

  “What time you gotta be there?”

  “Not for a couple hours, but I’m gonna head up early. Got my nice clothes in a bag, but might need to make sure everything’s presentable.”

  “That’s cool. I gotta watch that.”

  “The DVR is set, in case you have other things to do.”

  Jerry Owens was looking forward to a couple off days in Chicago. Any time he could get some days off was good, but having time off at home was even better. He just had to finish this short trip, take a cab home, and kick back. He leveled off at cruising altitude and addressed his co-pilot.

  “Brett, you care to hold down the fort for a sec? I gotta pee.”

  “Sure, Jerry. Didn’t you go before we boarded?”

  “Yeah…bit too much coffee.”

  “Told you to take it easy. Older you get, that stuff just runs right through you.”

  Jerry returned a couple minutes later and sat back down.

  “Feel better?” Brett Egan asked.

  “Much. You need to get up or anything?”

  “Nah, I’m good. I can probably wait until we land.”

  “Suit yourself. Lucky it’s such a short flight.”

  “You got any plans? You live there, right?”

  “Yeah, Arlington Heights. Not far from O’Hare.”

  “Just gonna kick back for a bit?”

  “Promised to take my kid to the Cubs game, got seats down by the dugout for tomorrow.”

  “Sounds nice. You a big fan?”

  “He’s more of a hockey fan, but he still likes going to games with his old man. Gotta enjoy that while he’s still young enough to be seen in public with me.”

  “I hear you. Mine’s seventeen now. Hanging with your dad’s not cool. I miss when he was younger.”

  “Give it a few years and you’ll be cool again. My oldest is in his twenties and all of a sudden I’m smarter.”

  Walter wasn’t in too much of a hurry. Even though he was used to being able to fly, he still got a huge kick out of it. He liked nothing better than taking it easy just above cloud level. He had never flown on planes much, so the view was still a novelty, but this way was far better than looking out a window. He looked above him and saw a passenger jet passing, heading in the same direction. He flew up to that level and matched the plane’s speed until he saw several passengers staring out the window and taking pictures with their phones. He came closer to the side of the plane and waved. More people were crowding the windows to take photos, so he motioned with his hand and flew to the other side to give people there a chance to take pictures.

  He went back and forth a couple times and then sat down on the wing and stretched his legs out. This brought a predictable response from inside the plane as the people near the wing were taking selfies with him in the background. He waved and smiled again, and then put his hands behind his head and adopted a relaxed pose, like he was sitting on the back porch on a sunny day.

  “What’s all the ruckus in the cabin?” Owens asked.

  “Not sure,” Egan replied, “Should I go take a look?”

  Just then there was a knock on the door.

  “Yes?” Owens said.

  Brett got up and opened the door to the flight attendant who was standing there.

  “You need something, Amanda?”

  “It’s Walter. He’s flying alongside the plane. That’s what has all the people excited.”

  “He’s still out there?”

  “Would you believe he’s sitting on the wing?”

  “Just thought he’d hitch a ride?”

  “Looks like it. The people are taking pictures like crazy.”

  “Thanks for letting us know. I was beginning to wonder.”

  A few seconds later, the pilots saw movement to the front and there was Walter, in front of the plane waving at them. They waved back and then Walter shot ahead of them.

  “Fist time you’ve seen him?” Egan asked.

  “Yeah, other than on TV. Never thought I’d ever see the day there would be a real superhero.”

  “Me too. And to think he doesn’t even have a costume or a secret identity.”

  “Did you catch any of that on video by any chance?”

  “Got a few seconds on my phone.”

  “Good deal. Shoot that to my phone, will you? My boy will love it.”

  Egan was emailing the video clip when all of a sudden the plane banked to the right and started climbing.

  “Ahoah buddy, what’s with the course change?”

  “I didn’t touch anything.”

  “Well, we’re in a climbing turn. Something wonky with the auto-pilot?”

  “Hell if I know.”

  Owens turned off the auto-pilot and grabbed the yoke, attempting to take manual control of the plane
.

  “What the hell? It’s not responding to anything I do. How about you?”

  “No luck here either. I got no control.”

  The plane leveled off, banked left, and then went into a dive. Neither pilot had any control at all. It was like the plane was flying itself and they were just along for the ride.

  “Get on the radio and call this in.”

  “Radio’s dead.”

  “How far are we from Chicago?”

  “Not more than twenty minutes under normal circumstances.”

  “But this isn’t normal.”

  In answer to his recent comment, the plane pulled out of the dive, banked left, then banked right, and then went into another dive.

  “This is amazing,” Cat Mixon said, “You’re doing all that from here?”

  “Got complete control,” Salazar said, “The pilots can’t do a thing.”

  “And the other planes?”

  “Same thing with them,” Salazar said, pointing to the two associates who were controlling them.

  “I’d say this is a good time for our demonstration. You may start the broadcast.”

  14

  Larry Wilkins was in his happy place. He had steaks on the grill and he was sitting in a patio chair with a beer in one hand and a spatula in the other. It had been a rather mundane morning at the station, processing the couple crooks Walter had dropped off and dealing with a domestic dispute. He didn’t much care for getting up at 3:00 am, but the 4:00 am to noon shift he was on this week had its advantages, like being home at the grill by 1:00 in the afternoon.

  One final check confirmed the meat was done to perfection, and he took everything in the house, retiring to his recliner with a steak and his beer to watch the Reds. He liked these day games when he worked this shift, since he could never stay up late enough for the night games. He put his feet up, tossed a small scrap to the dog waiting faithfully by the chair, and turned on the TV. The game was already in the second inning, but there was no score.

  “Good deal, buddy,” he said to the dog, “We haven’t missed anything yet.”

  The batter swung and drove a high fly ball toward deep right field.

  “Come on, get outta here,” he said to the TV, and before he could see if the ball cleared the wall or not, the picture went black, and then switched to a three-way split screen, each part of the screen showing a view of the inside of a passenger jet, looking through the cockpit window. Three seconds later, a distorted voice began speaking.

  “There is nothing wrong with your television. I will get you back to your regularly scheduled program shortly, after my demonstration. I am in complete control of the aircraft you see on your screen. As you can see the pilots are unable to control the planes. I am making no demands at this moment, but merely demonstrating what I am capable of, so that when I am ready to make demands, you will be ready to comply. There is no point in resisting, or even thinking you will not adhere to my demands. For now, let this demonstration stand as a warning.”

  Mixon muted the microphone and said to Salazar, “Take it down. Then you can land the others. Just pick any airport and set them down.”

  Wilkins watched the television in mute horror. He could see the pilots in each plane but couldn’t hear what they were saying, but their gestures made it plain what was happening. One of the planes appeared to be going into a steep dive and the pilots were struggling with the controls, trying in vain to level the plane. He picked up his phone and dialed Walter, but it went straight to voice mail. Then he rang the only other person he thought about at the moment.

  “Yeah, Larry, I’m seeing it,” Stan Gordon said after one ring.

  “You think this is your missing tech?”

  “Most likely.”

  “Anything you can do?”

  “We’re scrambling jets at the moment. We can keep an eye on them and if they try to fly them into a populated area…”

  “I get the idea. Hopefully it won’t come to that. Is there any way to scramble those things?”

  “Not that I’m aware of. How about your buddy, Walter? Is he strong enough to handle this?”

  “I’m not sure, and I can’t reach him. He said he was going up to Chicago today. If he’s flying too high he’ll be out of cell range.”

  “Yeah, and how long does it take him to fly that far, anyway? Isn’t he pretty fast?”

  “Not sure how fast he is, really. He went to New York in a few seconds once.”

  “You know, Larry, I don’t like this one bit. We can’t just shoot them down without knowing what’s going on, but we can’t let those planes be used in another 9/11 either.”

  “Well, I’m going to touch base with the station. Let me know if you make any progress.”

  Walter wasn’t that far ahead of the plane when his hearing picked up something that didn’t sound right. The pitch of the airplane’s engines was different, way different, and he thought he heard people screaming. He turned around and started flying back the way he had come, looking up to where the plane should be, but seeing nothing. Then he looked below and there it was, nose down in a steep dive.

  “Ah hell, that ain’t good,” he said as he angled down and dove toward the plane. He came next to the jet and looked in the windows. The oxygen masks had dropped, and some passengers were more calm than others. Many had the masks on, others were panicking, and others seemed to be resigned to their fate, heads bowed in prayer.

  “Guess I’ll find out how strong I am,” he muttered, before flying toward the front of the plane. Looking inside the cockpit, he could see the pilots struggling with the controls, but having no success. One of them saw him out the window and managed a weak wave and a smile. He smiled back, hoping he could reassure them, but in reality trying to reassure himself. He dropped down just below the nose of the plane, bracing his palms on the underside and pushing up, like he was trying to deadlift the plane.

  He wasn’t sure if he was having any success or not. He was pushing up with every ounce of strength he had and it still felt like the plane was diving, pushing him down with it. He gritted his teeth and tried to summon more strength, reaching down to a level he never knew he had.

  “Come on Lord, I gotta have more,” he prayed.

  He strained more, grunting with the effort, until his biceps ripped the sleeves of his T-shirt. He stole a look down and the ground was closer than it had been earlier, but didn’t seem to be coming up as fast. He was slowing the descent. He increased his efforts until he thought he would pass out from the strain, let out a primal scream, and pushed some more. Another glance down confirmed that they were no longer diving and he appeared to be lifting the nose of the plane. Yes, he was lifting the nose, and a minute later he had the plane level. He could still feel the plane wanting to dive, but he appeared to be strong enough to hold it level. He knew that if he let go for even a second, it would go into the dive again, which gave him an idea.

  Instead of holding the plane level, he eased off and let it descend, but he kept enough pressure to keep it from going into a dive. He could see an interstate highway below, which highway he wasn’t sure, but it ran straight through the Indiana cornfields. That would have to do, he thought, until he realized the plane didn’t have its landing gear down and setting down on the highway would cause untold headaches. The cornfields were flat enough. Yep, that would have to do. The plane kept trying to dive, and he kept supplying enough pressure to keep the dive from becoming too steep or too fast. When they were only a few hundred feet above the ground, he moved back along the belly of the plane until he thought he was somewhat centered, and pushing up with everything he had, held the plane level and gently set it down in a cornfield about a hundred yards off the highway.

  “What in the hell happened there?” Mixon screamed.

  Salazar backed up the video feed until he saw what he was looking for.

  “That’s what happened,” he said, slowing down the video so they could see Walter flying toward the front of the plane and dis
appearing under the nose.

  “Walter…I had to figure he’d be able to stop one of them. Well, he can’t be in two places at once. Take down the southbound one, now.”

  Walter flew up to the side of the plane and knocked on the door. One of the flight attendants was gesturing through the window and saying something.

  “We can’t open the door. No control,” she was saying.

  Walter motioned for her to back up and he ripped the door off the plane and tossed it aside. He stepped inside to raucous applause from the passengers and handshakes and hugs from the flight attendants. The cockpit door opened, and the pilots stood there taking in the scene. Jerry Owens pushed his way through the crowd until he was standing in front of Walter and stuck out his hand.

  “Thank you,” was all he managed to say as Walter shook his hand.

  “It was my pleasure. What was the problem?”

  “We just lost control. The plane was flying itself, doing maneuvers without us controlling a thing. We still can’t do anything.”

  “That’s a bit odd,” Walter said, “You don’t have any idea what caused that?”

  “No. It was like someone else was in control. I know that sounds weird, but that’s what it felt like. I still can’t do anything.”

  “How would someone take control? I know there are hackers out there, but this seems like a tall order.”

  “When we’re at altitude, we’re above cell signals, so there would have to be a way to connect the plane to whatever system the hacker is using.”

  “That’s over my head, pardon the pun. Let me look the plane over and see if I can find anything that doesn’t fit. Can you show we how to get to the cargo area?”

  Brett Egan showed Walter to the cargo area, but he found nothing there. Walter then exited the plane and came back a minute later with the small projectile that had been stuck to the side just behind the wing.

  “Does this look like something that belongs on the outside of the plane?”