by Georgia Byng
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 flash
ing 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.
“Breathe, Petula,” Molly said, and Petula, her eyes shining from confusion and fear, panted. Molly felt like crying. But there was no time for tears now. Molly put a scarf and a sweater around Petula to keep her warm. Then, double-checking that the whole bag was strapped properly onto her, she tightened its drawstring and held it close. Then she put on the gloves that came with her kit. Now Molly stood ready. She could feel Petula’s heart beating through the bag, and Petula could feel Molly’s heartbeat, too.
Molly leaned forward. “I love you, Petula,” she said. “Whatever happens, remember that.” Then Molly took a deep breath and tried to find some sort of calm in herself. She tried to think logically. She’d often watched sky dives on TV, and it occurred to her that people all over the world jumped out of planes every day of the year for fun. Bolstered by this thought, Molly steeled her nerves.
I can do this. I can do this. I can do this, she said to herself. She watched Malcolm putting on his parachute while flying the ailing plane at the same time.
I can do this. I can do this. I can do this. Molly let her mantra wash through her.
Micky walked toward her, steadying himself on the walls of the plane. Lily clung on to him like a limpet. They were ready to jump.
“I can’t believe this!” Micky shouted over the moaning of the engines. He sounded confident, but his eyes betrayed how terrified he was.
Then Malcolm’s voice came
over the speaker again.
“I am going to open the parachute door at the tail of the plane. When I say go, you go. I will be following right behind you.”
Molly nodded. She couldn’t believe this was happening. Her fear came back again in thick, fast breaths. She, Micky, and Lily linked arms and moved to the tail of the aircraft. And then, with a rumble and a screech, the bottom of the plane began to open. The noise of the engines and the wind outside was now deafening. What was more, the children felt themselves being pulled toward the ever-widening opening.
Molly’s hands were sweating profusely as apprehension tore through her body. Petula curled up into a ball in her bag, pressing her nose into her mask. She felt Molly’s terror and was full of dread herself. She shut her eyes tight and tried to think of meadows and long grass, of streams and flowers. How she longed to be at home in her safe basket.
“Oh, no,” Molly whispered, her heart pounding. “This is bad.”
“Get a grip, Molly,” Micky shouted over the raging noise. “Remember people do this for fun!”
“Not in storms!” Molly yelled back as the tug of the cold air outside became so strong that she could hardly stop herself from being pulled into it. But then she smiled. For she was touched that Micky had had the same thought as her. “You’re right, though, Micky.”
“Look!” Micky shouted. “There are compasses on your straps. See—the numbers on it change as you move. Just kind of steer your parachute toward 0, 08.00 South, and 78, 10.49 West.” He linked his arms through Molly’s and Lily’s again, and together they resisted the pull of the wind outside. Molly nodded and bit her teeth together hard as she forced bravery to overtake her natural instinct, which was to cry. She looked at Lily, who had gone all quiet and limp, and wondered whether she stood any chance at all of reading her compass. Molly held Lily’s arm firmly, and Micky’s, too. The threesome made a ring.
“Ready?” Malcolm’s voice grated loudly over the plane’s intercom. “Holding hands. All together. But let go of each other before your parachutes open at twenty thousand feet. Keep your legs together when you land. Now…GO! GO! GO!”