“NOW THIS TIME, get close enough so I can get a decent picture of the people in the glider!” snapped Veronica.
“But Miss—”
“I’m not going to win this contest with a picture that doesn’t show anything.” She could imagine Phil’s handsome face in her photograph already.
Veronica held the camera up to the window of the small plane and prepared for her winning shot. She could see the glider approaching them rapidly. It was level and soaring smoothly near the mountain ridge. Phil’s uncle was in the front seat; Phil was in the back. If she tried to take a picture as they passed them going in the opposite direction, she’d only have a split second. It wouldn’t work at all. They would just have to make a big circle and come back and fly parallel to the glider, as they had when they’d passed it the first time. In a few seconds, the planes whizzed past one another too fast for Veronica to take any picture—much less a prizewinning one.
“Turn around and then come along beside them,” Veronica instructed Hubert. “Only this time, get closer than before.”
“I can’t do that, Miss.”
There was something serious in his voice. Veronica could tell Hubert didn’t like her orders. The last thing she needed was to have him start disobeying her.
“Hubert,” she said sternly, “didn’t Daddy tell you to take me where I asked you to?”
“I want to, but I have to be concerned for your safety,” he said meekly.
“Oh, for goodness’ sake, all I’m asking you to do is to reverse direction and catch up to that glider thing again. Planes make turns all the time, Hubert, or are you too new a pilot to know that?”
Hubert opened his mouth to protest, but nothing came out. He began to turn.
Veronica had known he would. She just had to remind him that he had to do what Daddy asked and that he was an inexperienced pilot—perhaps a bit too inexperienced to be working for someone as important as Daddy. Some people just needed to be reminded of things before they would do what they were supposed to do. Hubert would obey her now. She sighed with relief and returned her attention to her camera.
Hubert completed the turn that would bring them parallel to the glider. The mountain was on their left, and soon Phil Marsten would be, too. The plane approached the glider from the rear.
At first all she could see was the delicate silhouette of the glider etched against the white of the clouds in front of them. She snapped a picture. Then, as they neared the glider, Veronica could see the number 13 on the glider’s tail. She took a picture of that, too. She wanted to win the contest with a picture of Phil and his uncle; but if they didn’t come out, she had to have something else.
“Closer!” she called out to Hubert. Obediently, he edged to the left. Veronica could feel her pulse quicken with excitement. She hoped they’d be close enough for Phil to look and to realize just whom he was seeing in the plane. She’d smile and wave. He’d be so impressed!
It was going to be a great picture, too. They weren’t that far from the background of the craggy mountain. The picture would have sky, mountain, glider, and, if she was lucky, a grinning Phil Marsten.
They drew parallel to the glider. The plane was going much faster than the glider, so she didn’t have much time.
Click. Whir. Click. Whir. The tail. The fuselage. Now the angle was right to catch the dramatic stretch of the glider’s long wings. The clear plastic hood was visible. And there was the back of Phil’s head. Click. Whir. Veronica knew she was getting the photographs of a lifetime.
“Closer!” she said.
Hubert didn’t answer. Then, suddenly and without warning, the plane hit a gust and seemed to bounce over to the left, much closer to the glider. They weren’t just passing the glider, they were cutting right in front of it! The glider made a sudden and dramatic turn toward the mountain. Click. Whir. It was elegant and beautiful! She even got a picture of the glider as it slid off to the left.
“Fabulous!” said Veronica, snapping pictures as fast as she could. She hadn’t had time to wave at Phil, but both Phil and his uncle were waving at her. “Rome, here I come!” she declared.
“Hold on!” Hubert cried out.
The plane jerked and rattled. Hubert wrestled with the controls. “We’ll get out of this!” he yelled.
“Out of what?” Veronica asked.
Hubert didn’t answer. He pulled at the stick and made a sharp banking turn upward and to the right. When Veronica looked straight ahead, she saw why. They were headed straight into the mountain!
“Hubert!” she screamed.
The plane’s nose lifted, and the mountain seemed to fall away. Ahead was blue sky and then the level green land of the valley. They were out of danger.
“What do you think you were doing back there, Hubert?” Veronica demanded.
“Just what Daddy wanted,” he answered politely.
THE GLIDER SHOOK violently in the abrupt turn. Phil watched in horror as Uncle Michael skillfully pulled his craft out of the path of the airplane. The glider’s right wing missed the plane’s tail by inches! That disaster was averted, but there was another one just ahead. They were headed right into the mountain!
Suddenly it was as if the glider stopped. They’d lost their forward speed in the emergency turn.
“We’ve stalled!” Uncle Michael said.
Phil could feel the glider losing altitude. It was almost as if it were being sucked downward. The glider shuddered in the turbulent currents that played over the mountaintops.
“It’s a sink!” Uncle Michael called out.
Phil watched Uncle Michael check his instruments. Uncle Michael was an experienced pilot. He knew what to do, and he wasn’t going to be helped by any panic from the backseat. Phil held on grimly. The scene flashed through his mind again. That little plane had been passing them on the outside. When an air current had pushed the plane into their path, Uncle Michael was forced to move closer to the mountain crest. They’d stalled, and then turbulence over the crest had pulled them closer still. Now they were in a downdraft—sink—and they were dropping by the second. If they didn’t find lift, they were going to crash!
The mountain loomed larger at every second. Uncle Michael held the stick firmly, looking for a place to land. All Phil could see were trees and rocky crags.
“Pull your feet up, cover your face!” Uncle Michael yelled.
Phil did it. He felt a violent jerk and heard a sickening sound. A moan and a snap. Their right wing was torn off in an instant.
It seemed like an eternity of thunderous noises and wrenching jerks as the glider propelled itself through the treetops.
And then there was silence.
Phil could feel a motion, ever so slight. At first he thought he was imagining it. He raised his head and looked out through the canopy. All he could see were treetops and sky. The earth was still below them—twenty-five feet below them. The glider had come to rest in a tree.
“Uncle Michael?” Phil asked. There was a long silence. “Are you all right?”
The only response he got was a groan.
“SHE’S BEEN ASLEEP for over an hour now,” Carole whispered to Lisa.
“And she hasn’t been talking anymore.”
Carole looked over at Stevie, who was sleeping restfully.
The door of Stevie’s room opened a crack. Mrs. Lake peeked in and smiled to see her daughter sleeping so well.
“Come on down to the kitchen and have a snack,” she invited Lisa and Carole. The girls got up and followed her. They would be glad to talk without worrying about disturbing Stevie. As soon as they got into the kitchen, they sensed that there was something new to worry about. There was a dark look of concern on Mrs. Lake’s face.
“What is it?” Lisa asked.
“It shows, doesn’t it? I tried to hide it, but the only one in the family who can keep a secret is Stevie.”
“What’s the matter?” Carole asked.
Mrs. Lake sat down at the table. The girls joined her. “I had a
call from Phil’s mother,” she said. “He and his uncle are late getting back to the airport.”
“Oh, I bet they’re just having fun flying around,” said Lisa. “I read some things about gliding, and if you get the right conditions, you can stay up for hours!”
“Well, they’ve been up for hours already,” said Mrs. Lake. “And they’re not answering radio calls.”
Lisa got a hard feeling in the pit of her stomach.
“Maybe they just had the thing turned off?” Carole suggested optimistically.
Lisa shook her head. “No,” she said. “They would always have the radio on so they could get calls when they’re in the air.”
“Maybe it’s just broken?” Carole tried again.
“Maybe,” said Mrs. Lake.
Lisa thought of their friend sleeping soundly upstairs. She shuddered, recalling Stevie’s nightmare. Was it a nightmare? Was it the truth? She looked over at Carole.
“Don’t even say it,” said Carole.
“What?” Mrs. Lake asked.
“Nothing,” said Lisa. She hoped it was nothing. She didn’t want to believe that Stevie could actually have some sort of second sight. The idea that she could know what had happened or was going to happen was too scary. “Really, nothing,” she assured Mrs. Lake.
Mrs. Lake shrugged. “Well, I don’t know what’s happened to Phil, but I do know that Stevie hasn’t been herself lately and I don’t want to worry her with this business. You won’t say anything, will you? Not until we know exactly what’s going on, anyway. Promise?”
Both Lisa and Carole promised. There was no reason to get Stevie upset when nobody knew what there was—or wasn’t—to get upset about. They’d wait.
“UNCLE MICHAEL?” PHIL REPEATED. “Are you okay?”
“Sort of,” Uncle Michael finally answered from the front seat of the glider. “My ankle hurts an awful lot. I’m afraid it’s broken. What about you?”
Phil did a quick inventory of himself. He wiggled his feet and his legs as much as he could in the confines of the cramped rear seat. No problem. His arms were okay, too. His head hurt a little. He reached up and felt a swelling on his forehead where it had bumped into his canopy.
“Just an egg on my head,” he said.
“Good. That’s really good,” said Uncle Michael.
“What do we do next?” Phil asked.
“We get help,” said Uncle Michael. He picked up the radio microphone and flipped a switch. There was no reassuring hiss. He tried again. Nothing. He fiddled with a few of the dials and clicked some buttons. Nothing.
“I’m afraid we lost the radio,” said Uncle Michael. “We’re on our own until somebody comes to find us.”
“Well, surely the dopey pilot of that airplane will report what happened,” said Phil.
“A pilot that dopey might not have the sense to do that. He might not even have the sense to realize what happened. Also, he had his own problems to cope with. The last I saw of that plane, he was in almost as much trouble as we were.”
“And how much trouble are we in now?” Phil asked.
“Depends on how you feel about living in a tree house,” said Uncle Michael.
Phil chuckled. If they could laugh, they could survive. At least he hoped that was true.
Phil assessed the situation for himself. The glider seemed to be securely lodged in the tree branches. Uncle Michael’s broken ankle would make it impossible for him to get out of the glider, much less climb down the tree.
Phil unlatched the plastic canopy over his head. It stuck for a second and then flipped up. At least one thing on the glider still worked. He peered out over the edge of the glider’s fuselage. It was lodged in the V of a split tree trunk. One wing had broken off. The other rested on a broad branch, holding the glider level. That was the good news. The bad news was that they were more than twenty feet off the ground, and there was no way Uncle Michael could make it down.
Phil pulled himself out of his seat and gingerly climbed onto a branch. It was secure. He sighed with relief.
From there he could reach Uncle Michael and all the emergency equipment in the glider. There was a lot of work to be done. Phil looked at his watch. It was six o’clock. There were only a couple of hours of light left. With luck, a rescue plane would find them before nightfall. Without luck, they’d spend this night, and perhaps longer, waiting for help.
Phil took out the first aid kit. There was a bandage that Uncle Michael could use to wrap his ankle.
“I’m afraid it’s not necessary,” said Uncle Michael. “I’m wearing a boot that gives it some support, but the fact is I can’t move it in any direction without excruciating pain, so there’s no need to keep it secure right now. It’s secure without any help.”
Phil tucked the bandage into his pocket. He knew they’d need it when the time came to move Uncle Michael—even though he didn’t have any idea how he would be able to do that.
There was also a small supply of a painkiller.
“Morphine,” Uncle Michael explained. “I don’t need it now. I may need it badly later. Hold on to it because we’ve only got the one dose.”
The realization that they might be stuck on the mountain long enough to need more than one dose of morphine made Phil shiver. He put the medicine in the pocket with the bandage.
“If you can get down to the ground, you should set up a campsite for yourself,” said Uncle Michael. “I’m stuck up here, but if you can light a fire in an open area, that’ll give the rescuers something to spot, especially at night. Here, take my Swiss Army knife. It might come in handy.” Phil put that in his pocket, too.
Phil checked the water and food supply. Was it only a few hours ago that he had laughed at Uncle Michael for bringing water and granola bars? He gave Uncle Michael a drink of water and left the canteen with him. Phil was pretty sure he’d find a source of water in the mountain woods below. He took three of the six granola bars, the small tool kit, and a book of matches.
“Holler if you need anything!” he said as cheerfully as he could manage, and then picked his way down the tree.
When Phil reached the ground and looked up, he felt a pang of despair. The trees were high and thick. The glider had landed in the middle of a tree. It was masked from above by the long shady branches of the tall pine. The glider loomed over his head, making a dark shadow in the fading sunlight.
He knew he could start a fire right near the plane, but the overhead growth was so dense that the blaze might not be seen from the sky. Worse, it might start a forest fire. That would bring rescuers, but they would likely arrive too late. He had to find an open space.
Phil set out. The woods were thick, and the ground was covered with a dense undergrowth of bushes and vines. Tall trees that had fallen over the years crisscrossed the steep forest floor with their trunks. It was slow going.
Phil couldn’t see what lay ahead. Everywhere he looked, all he could see was forest. Instead of knowing where he was going, it would be essential for him to know where he’d been. The last thing he wanted was to forget where the glider and Uncle Michael were. He opened the largest blade of the pocket knife and used it to make blazes on the trees of his trail so he could follow them back to the glider.
After more than an hour of trekking, he came to an open space. It was a large, craggy rock outcropping that clung to the side of the mountain and overlooked the valley. Phil recognized it as Rock Ridge, which he’d seen from the airport and the sky. What he hadn’t known from those distances was how vast the open rocky area was. Night was starting to fall, and Phil could see a few lights in the distance—perhaps five miles across the open valley.
“Well, if I can see their lights, they’ll be able to see mine,” he said. His voice sounded loud in the quiet twilight.
Using the flashlight from the tool kit, Phil found some dry branches, twigs, and leaves. It was enough to start a meager fire. As soon as he had a small flame going, he added more dry branches. It wasn’t much of a fire, but it wo
uld do for now. Quickly he gathered more wood from the forest floor and kept it near the little fire. He sat down next to it and ate his first granola bar. It tasted dry and uninteresting—not nearly as good as it would have been if he had had a glass of water to go with it, or better yet, a soda. Maybe some juice. It would be even nicer if he had a hamburger to go with it—one with a slice of cheese and some bacon. Oh, and some fries, too.
Within a few minutes, Phil had worked himself up an imaginary dinner of huge proportions, delicious, juicy, and totally unavailable. He took the last bite of his granola bar and chewed slowly. The hamburger would have to wait.
Phil had brought his parachute along, wondering if it might come in handy. It became a pillow, insulating him against the ridged rocks. Phil put his head back and looked up at the stars—so many, so far away, so alone, just like Phil.
He closed his eyes. The tension, worry, and exhaustion of the day overtook him. Within a minute, he was asleep. Then he was dreaming. He dreamed of food and a comfortable bed. He dreamed that he was at home, that nothing bad had ever happened to him. Then he dreamed that he was taking a shower, a cold one, noisy and unpleasant. There was a roar and a bright light and the water kept pelting at him. He reached for the spigot and twisted frantically, but the flow didn’t stop.
Phil woke up from his nightmare—only to find it wasn’t a nightmare. It was reality. Although the sky had been clear when he had dozed off, now it was covered with clouds. He was in the middle of a fierce rainstorm, complete with lightning. The little fire was drenched and doused.
A jagged bolt of lightning raced through the sky. Phil knew he was in danger of getting struck, standing alone on the rocky outcrop. He had to get away from there. Then he remembered Uncle Michael. How was he doing in the tree in the rain?
Phil grabbed the remains of his food and his matches and headed back into the woods. He left the parachute because it was heavy with water from the rain. He searched his memory, hoping he would be able to find the blazes he’d made on the trees so he could return to the crash site in the dark. In the cold. In the rain.
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