by Georgia Byng
“I once read about pilots who had to fly war planes in terrible weather,” Micky shouted, trying to make his voice heard over the noisy engines, “and land on tiny aircraft carriers in open seas.”
The plane tilted to the right as it turned.
“Are you okay with flying?” Micky asked Molly.
“Yes,” she shouted back. “There’s more chance of me winning a twenty-million-pound lottery than of this plane crashing. If ever I get nervous when I’m in a plane, I just imagine filling in a lottery ticket. I always get that I-couldn’t-possibly-win feeling, and in the same way that I know I’m not going to win the lottery, I know I’m not going to crash, either.” Petula hopped over into Molly’s lap, and Molly hugged her. “Don’t worry, Petula, it’ll be fine.”
This part was fine, Molly thought. She just hoped the weather didn’t turn bad on the journey. Because this plane had to make it. If it didn’t, the world’s weather would be turned upside down and inside out. Millions would probably die. As the plane walloped its way up through the clouds, Molly hung on to this thought. And the idea that she, Micky, Petula, and Malcolm were on a mission to save millions gave her strength and courage.
Finally the plane leveled out, and Malcolm came over the intercom again. His voice was crackling and hard to hear.
“Folks, we’re now cruising at forty-eight thousand feet. The storm is below us and so won’t bother us at all. Relax, get some sleep. I’ll wake you an hour before we arrive at Quito.”
Molly looked at her watch. It was two A.M. She was exhausted. If she fell asleep now, Malcolm would wake them in about nine hours, an hour before they landed. This would be eleven in the morning the next day London time, but of course, because Quito was five hours behind London, it would be six in the morning there.
Molly and Micky undid their belts, and finding their balance as the plane moved, went to the back to sort out their beds. Petula shook herself awake and began to sniff the air. Oddly, as they approached the back of the aircraft, she began to smell popcorn. Before she could give a warning bark, Molly gasped. For there, crouching behind the duvets and pillows, looking pale as a glass of milk, was Lily Black.
“Lily!” Molly exclaimed. “What are you doing here?” Lily got up and nervously glanced toward Malcolm in the cockpit, who hadn’t seen her yet.
“I want to come!” she said determinedly. “I know I can help. And I want to show my dad that I’m not just a useless baby. I am seven and a quarter, you know. And I am brave.”
“Jeepers!” said Micky.
“Please,” Lily went on. “Please let me come.”
“How did you get on board?” Molly asked, amazed.
“Sneaked on when you were checking your equipment, just before the plane stairs were taken away.”
Molly tilted her head. “Pretty good, Lily,” she said.
Lily bit her lip and nodded. “So can I stay?” she asked.
“Your dad will be out of his mind with worry, looking for you,” Micky said.
“Are you going to tell Malcolm to take me back?”
Molly shook her head. “We can’t go back now, because we may not be able to land or take off again if we do.” She gave Micky a look of resignation. “So, Lily, it looks like you’re part of the team.”
“Welcome on board,” Micky said.
Malcolm radioed to ground control to inform Theobald Black that his missing daughter was on the plane to Quito.
Molly, Micky, and Lily laid out their beds on the aircraft’s humming floor. And with Petula snuggled close to them all, they fell asleep.
Miss Hunroe settled down to sleep in her wooden forest hut. Special incense to ward off mosquitos burned in a small hearth so that the air was heavy and perfumed. The door was open to the jungle so that she could see out into the night. The afternoon cloud had lifted, and the sky was a magical canopy above, an inky blackness studded with stars. Owls hooted and nocturnal animals called to one another. Insects sawed the pure mountain air with their song.
Miss Hunroe leaned back on a pile of pillows and patted her silk-enrobed knees. She liked the sound of nature. How wonderful it would be when the world was rid of people, when many more places would resound with only the sound of nature. Sometime soon she would completely master weather control, and she alone would be able to cause chaos just where it was needed. People were ruining the planet with their noise and their filth. Cities were spreading like cancers. The governments of the world were useless at sorting it out. They were lucky that she and her organization were taking matters into their own hands. A handful of typhoons and tidal waves, a score of hurricanes and tsunamis, some droughts and floods, and it would be done.
Miss Hunroe sneered at how many horrid little people lived on the Earth. Six and a half billion people were crowded onto the Earth, she knew. If, by using the weather stones, a few billion could be wiped off, then that was a result! Miss Hunroe could have trillions of acres of it all to herself! Swathes of magnificent countryside! Of course, she’d have to make sure that certain places weren’t disturbed. It wouldn’t do to wipe out all the airports, for instance. For Miss Hunroe wanted to be able to continue traveling to her favorite places, and her jets would need somewhere to land. And she wanted certain cities to be left unscathed. Beautiful, cultured cities like Venice, Rome, Florence, Prague, St. Petersburg, London, Madrid, and Paris.
It crossed her mind that she’d given Paris to one of her minions. Well, she had a right to change her mind. She’d give away a grotty town in northern France instead. Paris would be hers. She would keep her favorite cities in tip-top condition, with wonderful hotels for her to stay in, fabulous restaurants for her to eat at…and every one of her chosen cities would have lots of expensive stores for her to shop in. And she did so adore her trips to museums and galleries!
Just then the satellite telephone rang, shattering her reverie. She lifted the receiver. On the other end, someone garbled down the line. It was Miss Suzette.
“Why didn’t you call before?” Miss Hunroe inquired angrily, her voice low and furious. She listened for a reply. It seemed Miss Suzette was equally cross with Miss Hunroe.
“How dare you be so impertinent?” Miss Hunroe spat. “I was up the mountain, out of touch. No, the satellite phone only works at base camp. But what I want to know, Miss Suzette, is how did they get in? You were supposed to be on guard.” Miss Suzette garbled her defense. “But,” Miss Hunroe said, “the night watchman was hypnotized not to let anyone past. And the command was locked in with a password.” Miss Hunroe frowned as Miss Suzette replied. “And you can’t hypnotize him at all?” There was another gap as Miss Suzette spoke. “Well, the obvious thing to do is get rid of him. You should have already done it. A little accident on the stairs will do.” There was a pause. “Well, if he’s calling the police, you had better get out of there right now.”
Miss Hunroe picked up her coin from her bedside table and began flipping it through her fingers. “Yes, Miss Suzette, I’m still here. I’m just thinking. It’s extraordinary to me that those Moon brats found the picture. Do you think they know where the Logan Stones are?” Miss Suzette answered, and Miss Hunroe pursed her lips. “We will have to assume a worst-case scenario. There are only two ways here—by sea or by air. If they are already halfway here, I shall just put up a small storm. High winds and a small cyclone are all that we need. Highly irritating! The skies were so beautifully clear, and I was enjoying the view. Besides, I was about to go to sleep. Now I will have to make my way back up the mountain to the Stones, and it is all your fault. I am more than a little disappointed in you, Miss Suzette, for letting this happen. You will, I am afraid, be punished. Good-bye.”
Miss Hunroe put down the phone and swung her legs out of bed. She walked onto her balcony and surveyed the dense jungle surrounding the camp. When she turned, Miss Speal, gray and spooky as a ghost, was standing at her side.
“Urrgh,” Miss Hunroe gasped.
“Miss Hunroe, Miss Hunroe,” Miss Speal whispered
. “I had a feeling. It woke me. I can feel the Moon children. They are approaching. They are far away, but approaching.”
Miss Hunroe nodded and shrugged.
“A bit late, Miss Speal. I know.” Then she scowled up at the moon. “Interfering Moons. Let’s arrange some surprises for you.”
Twenty-one
Molly was having a wonderful dream—that she was riding a big white albatross as it dipped and dived through curling flowers of cloud. In her dream, Micky was sitting behind her. He tapped her shoulder.
“Molly, wake up!”
Molly opened her eyes and squinted at her brother as she gathered her senses. The plane lurched as it bumped into a heavy gust of air.
“Where are we? What time is it?” she asked. She turned to see Lily sitting on one of the plane’s side chairs, wide-eyed and terrified, with her seatbelt on. The plane bumped again. This time Molly was knocked backward and Petula skidded across the aircraft floor. Malcolm’s voice came over the loudspeaker.
“We are passing through some turbulence,” he said. “Everyone put your seatbe—” His announcement was cut short as the plane went into another heavy column of cumulus cloud. “Put your belts on,” he repeated. “And don’t worry, this is routine stuff. We just need to navigate around and over these thermals.”
Molly smiled at Micky. Turbulence never worried her. The plane was so far above the ground that there was plenty of space to go up and down. The winds would never flip the plane. It was far too heavy.
Outside, there was a white flash. Lily screamed. “What was that?” she shouted.
“Just a bit of lightning,” Micky reassured her. He and Molly sat down and did their belts up, too. Molly held Petula tight. Then, in the next moment, there was an enormous bang. The whole plane jolted. It was as though the aircraft was a tiny insect that some space giant had flicked with a giant finger. Petula let out a howl.
“Aaaaaaah! We’re going to die!” Lily wailed.
“It’s all right, Lily,” Molly said. “These planes are built to fly in storms.” But as she spoke, she saw Micky’s face and the alarm there. She shot a look over at Malcolm. His hands were now firmly on the plane’s controls.
“That was just some lightning hitting us, folks,” he informed everyone, his voice crackling on the loudspeaker. “This plane has a lightning conductor on the front and back. So that was lightning zapping through the plane. Regular stuff.”
As he spoke, the plane took a sharp turn upward. The engine let out a kick of jet power and the aircraft thrust itself up, but as it did there was another terrifying bang. Petula head-butted Molly and tried to hide under her sweatshirt.
Molly smiled nervously at Micky; then there was another bang. This time, the engine in the back of the plane began to make a strange grinding noise. Still the plane went higher, and after a few minutes of noisy ascent, to everyone’s relief, it leveled out. The back of the plane was still rattling, but otherwise everything seemed calm.
“Phew!” Molly exclaimed.
Malcolm came over the speaker again. “Micky, I need you up here.”
Micky immediately unclipped his belt buckle and went to the cockpit. Molly, slightly annoyed that Malcolm was making this a boys’ thing, unclipped her belt, too, and joined them. She caught the end of Malcolm’s sentence.
“…bail out.”
“What’s going on?” Molly asked, shouting over the whining noise of the engine. Malcolm stared out through the windshield at the dark night. The wipers fought against the rain. “What’s wrong?”
Beyond his right hand, Molly noticed some flashing words on the control panel. ENGINE DAMAGE, the scary red letters declared.
“What—?” Molly asked. As if in reply, the very engine responded. From the back of the plane a loud kerchunk reverberated through the aircraft.
“Can you fly her?” Micky asked, looking at the dials and the warnings on the control panel.
“I’m not sure,” Malcolm replied uncertainly. “I’ve never come across this type of damage before. The plane is losing fuel. It seems the tanks were damaged. The fuel’s seeping out and air is getting in. That rattling noise you can hear is air in the engine.”
“That doesn’t sound good,” Micky said, grimacing. “Where are we? How far is Quito?”
Malcolm pointed to a screen that showed coordinates and the land layout below. “We’re close. We are flying over the Andes. In fact, the area we intended to get a helicopter to is probably almost directly below us now. But there’s a storm down there and, anyway, no sizeable airfield to land. But…”
“What?” Molly and Micky asked together. Malcolm shook his head.
“I’m not sure the engine will take the strain of flying much farther. The fuel tanks might…” Malcolm hardly dared tell his passengers the truth of the situation, but he had to. “The fuel tanks might blow,” he finished.
“What, like blow up?” Molly blurted.
“We’ll have to risk it and fly somewhere else,” said Micky, “where the skies are calmer and where it is possible to land.” Malcolm paused and scanned his weather monitor.
“The weather conditions are bad almost everywhere,” he replied. “That’s the problem. Although that place there to the east seems clear.” He pointed at his electronic map. But as he did, the rattling noise in the engine became louder, turning into a grinding whine, and then the plane tilted sideways. Malcolm grabbed the steering controls. Gritting his teeth, he pulled the aircraft to a stable position again.
A red buzzer began bleeping, and an alarm bell sounded.
“I correct myself!” Malcolm said, switching to emergency mode. “We will now definitely have to eject.” He put on his headphones and spoke into the mouthpiece attached to them. His voice filled the plane. “It is now imperative that everyone listens to me carefully. I haven’t got long to explain this.” Molly glanced to the rear part of the plane, to the parachutes that had looked so innocent before. Now the parachutes were lifesavers. Molly looked at Micky, and nodding, they both rushed to the back of the plane for their equipment. They picked up their helmets and shoved one toward Lily.
“This is your chance to prove yourself,” Molly said to her. “Put this on.” As Lily undid her seatbelt, Malcolm’s words crackled through the cabin.
“Harness yourselves to parachutes. Equip yourself now and become familiar with the oxygen masks. They will have to be used at this height.” The plane lurched again, this time to the left. Malcolm paused while he corrected the plane’s level and then went on. “Each parachute’s strap holds an altimeter that has a light on it. This is very important; it tells you how high you are in the air. The parachute’s rip cord—the cord that opens your parachute—is on the top right-hand side of the packed parachute. Locate it now. And this is very important. This cord must not be pulled until you are at twenty thousand feet above ground. The parachute should open automatically anyway. But I repeat, do not open your chute manually until you are at twenty thousand feet or below. When your parachute opens, find your coordinate compass. This should be attached to the left strap of your parachute. The coordinates for the spring of the Coca River are South, 0 degrees, 08 minutes, 0 seconds; West, 78 degrees, 10 minutes, and 49 seconds. I repeat, South, 0 degrees, 08 minutes, 0 seconds; West, 78 degrees, 10 minutes, and 49 seconds. Steer the parachute using the toggles that you will find hanging down from the nylon parachute rigging above you.”
Everyone stood still for a moment as they absorbed the terrifying instructions that Malcolm had just given. The plane gave another lurch.
“What are you waiting for?” Malcolm shouted. “Go! Go! Go!” Now Molly, Micky, and Lily rushed. They helped each other to put on their parkas, their parachutes, and their helmets. The plane dipped sideways again.
Molly fumbled with her harness, her fingers uncoordinated from fear. She couldn’t believe this was actually happening. Her stomach, full of upset nerves, leaped about more than the plane, and then the aircraft tilted suddenly so that she fell over. Micky
kept his balance. He already had his parachute on and was now studying his helmet with its oxygen-mask paraphernalia.
“This is the oxygen,” he shouted to Lily and Molly, pointing to a silver canister that was attached to his mask. “And this is the switch to turn it on. The mask covers your eyes and nose, like a snorkling mask. You’ll be able to breathe normally when it’s on.”
The plane whined and Lily shrieked. Micky helped fasten her helmet and then put his hands firmly on her shoulders.
“Lily, you have to be brave,” he said sternly. “You are your own worst enemy if you panic. Calm down. These parachutes work. But do not pull the cord until twenty thousand feet. They will open on their own, but in case they don’t, you will have to pull the cord.”
“Then what?” Lily screeched. “We’re going to die!”
“Lily, listen to me. You’re tough enough to do this. We’ll jump out together. We’ll breathe with the help of the masks. I’m going to help you put on your mask now and turn your oxygen on in a minute. I will stay close to you, okay? But when the time comes to open our parachutes, we will all move apart or our parachutes will tangle. When your parachute opens, you’ll see two nice little toggles above your ears. One on each side. You can steer the parachute with these. Left toggle to go left. Right to go right.”
“You’re crazy. You’re crazy!” Lily screamed at him. “I AM NOT GOING TO JUMP OUT OF THIS PLANE!”
“You are, Lily. If you jump, you will live. Take a deep breath. Everything is going to be all right.”
As Micky helped Lily, Molly unclipped some equipment for Malcolm and took it to him. Then she grappled with the problem of Petula. How should she carry her? Molly found a strong nylon shoulder bag and strapped it onto herself. With her hands shaking, she put the trembling Petula inside. She detached a spare oxygen canister and mask from one of the other helmets that hung on the aircraft rack. Molly put on her own mask. Then she pushed the small silver canister into the bag with Petula and switched it on. The mask was big for Petula, but if she pushed her face into the front of it, she got the oxygen that was gushing from the canister. Molly strapped and tightened the mask about her pet’s face.