The Great Flying Adventure

by Brian Bakos

  I turned back toward my house.

  “There’s plenty of moonlight,” Quentin said.

  “Count me out,” I said.

  I started walking, Quentin trotted after me.

  “I can handle it, trust me, Amanda.”

  I turned back toward him.

  “No way, Quentin!”

  “But – ”

  “Stealing, I mean ‘borrowing’ that airplane is a serious matter,” I said. “Can you imagine what would happen to us if we got caught – if we didn’t kill ourselves first?”

  Quentin lowered his eyes. “Yes, I know.”

  “Go get Tommy if you want a flying adventure.”

  “I wish I could, but there’s room for only one passenger,” Quentin said, “and you’re the brains of our outfit.”

  “Don’t try to flatter me.”

  Quentin’s voice turned very sad. Under the dim light, he appeared to be much older than he was.

  “I know it’s risky,” he said, “but Eddie needs us. If it wasn’t for him, we’d be frozen blobs drifting in outer space.”

  “Yeah ...”

  I thought of brave, tough little Eddie. How he’d backed off Quentin and Tommy with his railroad spike dagger. How he single-handed took down the alien guard and saved us all.

  I could almost see his pugnacious, though oddly vulnerable, face bobbing around in the moonlight before me. The way he’d looked when he thought nobody was watching him.

  “Please, Amanda, I can’t do it alone,” Quentin said. “Something really bad is happening to Eddie, I’m sure of it.”

  I looked across the night to my upstairs window. Behind it lay my wonderful room with its comfortable furnishings, my books, and my lava lamp.

  All I wanted was to do was go back and crawl under the covers.

  9: Night Ride

  We bounced across the dirt road behind my house, then turned down the Sidewalk to Nowhere. Dense trees blocked the moon, and reality narrowed to the little circle of Quentin’s handlebar light. A warm breeze blew off the mosquitoes.

  “What the heck am I doing here?” a voice inside my head kept asking.

  One moment I was sending Quentin on his way, the next I was climbing onto his bike. The whole thing seemed to be happening to somebody else.

  The sidewalk ended, and we slammed back onto the dirt road. The carrier jarred against me with every bump.

  “How far to the airport?” I asked.

  “About six miles.”

  “I don’t know if my rear end will last that long.”

  Quentin peddled us out of town, which wasn’t far since my neighborhood is on the border with a state park just across the road from our back yard.

  Open fields spread off to our left now. The road here was paved, but still fairly rough, and the world had become very spooky. Blazing moonlight turned everything an eerie silver – except for the dark bulk of the forest off to our right.

  “We have to go around the state park,” Quentin said. “The airport’s half a mile off the south side.”

  I’d been out to the little airport once with Dad. But that was in cheery daylight riding in our car, not bouncing around on the back of an English racer at night. The road got steeper, and Quentin shifted to low gear. Then he stood up on the pedals, pumping hard.

  He was so strong, I liked that.

  I didn’t like this trip through Zombie Land, though. Some weird bird was screeching off in the trees, and bats fluttered around like in the Shock Theater TV show. A car appeared up ahead, but it turned down a side road before it could see us.

  Was that a police car? I could just imagine the cops pulling us over.

  “Hello, officers,” we’d say. “We’re just going out to steal an airplane, but it’s to help somebody in another universe, so that’s okay, right?”

  “No problem,” the cops would say. “It’s always good to meet fine young people like yourselves, especially after curfew.”

  They might even give us a ride to the airport – or off to juvenile hall.

  We passed the entrance to the state park where we’d gone in a couple of summers ago for our disastrous picnic that got attacked by giant red ants. Wasn’t that a good time? Almost as much fun as this.

  The gate was locked down, and the little booth where they took your money was closed for the night. Behind it, the dark recesses of the forest invited you to come in – and never come back out.

  Finally, we arrived at the airport. We rode past the little office building, down the taxiway, and stopped by a small high-wing airplane. I climbed off my torture rack.

  “Oh, man.” I stretched myself out. “Next time I’m riding first class.”

  “Stay here a minute,” Quentin said.

  He began riding back toward the office.

  “Wait ...” I said, but he was already gone.

  Suddenly, I felt completely abandoned, worse than at the railroad tracks. Panic jabbed at me, but I shoved it away. I was just being paranoid, but this was a good night for it.

  The plane was tied down on the edge of a paved area. Other airplanes hulked nearby. Their propellers gleamed like sword blades in the moonlight. The wind had died away, and the mosquitoes were starting to discover me.

  “Isn’t this nice?”

  I swatted at the pests. None of this made any sense – not that anything that happened in the Tire Giant three weeks ago made sense, either.

  But what were we supposed to do once we arrived at wherever it was we were flying? Quentin said to trust him, and I did, but ... He’d better come through, that’s all.

  Quentin came walking back with some keys.

  “Where’d you get those?” I said.

  “Don’t ask, Amanda. The less you know, the better.”

  “Okay.”

  He unlocked the airplane doors, and I slid into the right hand seat. While I waited, he undid the tie downs and checked things outside the plane. Then he slid into the pilot’s seat.

  “Wow, those mosquitoes are getting bad!” he said.

  He handed me a piece of paper and a little flashlight. “Read me the checklist, okay?”

  The flashlight threw a dim red beam. As I recited the list, Quentin worked the plane’s controls.

  “ ... circuit breakers IN ... fuel mixture RICH ... carburetor heat ON ... ”

  Then, too soon, it was time to start the engine.

  “Clear Prop!” Quentin yelled out the window.

  “There’s nobody out there,” I said.

  “Oh yeah, just standard procedure,” Quentin said.

  He turned the ignition key, and the plane roared into life. I could scarcely hear myself think any longer.

  We taxied out past some other airplanes and a small hangar, Quentin dancing on the rudder pedals to steer the plane. Then we were at the end of the landing strip facing a long, dark ribbon of pavement. Quentin keyed the radio microphone and a double line of white lights flicked on alongside the runway.

  “Ready?” he said.

  I gulped. “Well ...”

  I twisted around to look out the back window. The night sky sparkled with wonderful and dangerous beauty – not a place for a sensible person to be flying around. My hand gripped the door handle. If I waited a moment longer, I’d lose my nerve all together.

  “Yeah,” I shouted over the engine racket, “let’s go!”

  10: A Flight to Remember

  We hurtled down the runway faster and faster, the lights zipping past. Terror and excitement struggled inside me. I was tense as a coiled up spring. Red, glittering lights stared from the end of the runway ahead – like the eyes of some horrible creature waiting to devour us.

  Any time, I thought, get us up there, Quentin – come on!

  Then we were airborne at last, climbing steeply. Quentin kept his eyes riveted to the flight instruments. Outside was nothing but dizzy blackness. The plane made a sickening tilt.

  “Ohhh!” I couldn’t help saying.

  Quentin brought
the wings back where they belonged. Then we tilted again.

  “Ohhh!” I said again.

  I’d heard Dad talk about situations like this – a “stall-spin crash on take-off.” I shut my eyes tight, not that it would keep us in the air.

  But Quentin recovered yet again. Finally, we got out of the terror climb and were flying straight and level. The tension leveled off, too.

  “Yee Haa!” Quentin cried. “I’m Pilot in Command at last.”

  “I’m glad you’re enjoying this,” I said.

  I would have enjoyed being someplace else about then. Below, I could make out the town lights twinkling in the distance. The knot in my stomach loosened a bit.

  “We fly north to the freeway and pick up the railroad tracks alongside,” Quentin said. “Then we just follow the tracks west until we’re there. Simple.”

  Behind us, the runway lights grew farther away. Then they abruptly switched off.

  “So, where are we going to land?” I asked.

  “I haven’t figured that out yet.”

  “What!”

  “Relax, Amanda, we’ll get down one way or another.”

  What tiny bit confidence I felt instantly vanished.

  “I’d like to be in one piece when we do get down,” I said. “If you don’t mind.”

  “There’s bound to be a road or an open field,” Quentin said. “Don’t worry.”

  Don’t worry? That was like telling me to give up breathing.

  Before long, we found the freeway with the ghostly ribbon of railroad tracks running beside it. We made a left turn. Then the road veered off, and the tracks continued alone through the night.

  “We’re flying IFR now,” Quentin said.

  I’d heard Dad use that expression before.

  “You mean Instrument Flight Rules?” I said.

  “No – I Follow Railroads.” Quentin said.

  I did not find this so-called joke to be amusing. The throbbing racket of the airplane jangled my nerves, and thoughts of the coming crash tortured my brain. And what would happen next – if we survived the landing by some miracle?

  Quentin looked relaxed and confident, though. He was even wearing that stupid SMILE button. I admired his ability to live in the moment and not worry about coming disasters.

  I wished I was living in another moment, like back home in bed.

  ***

  The flight droned on “very routine” in Quentin’s words, as if anything today could be considered routine. Maybe in Psycho World. We caught up with a train and followed it for a while. Then it veered off on another track while we continued on straight.

  Shortly afterwards, Quentin shined the red light on his chart.

  “I think we’re here,” he said. “We can use that empty field off to the right.”

  I looked out at a small field surrounded by trees. “We’re gonna land on that?”

  “It’s the best we can do,” Quentin said, “everything else looks too rough.”

  He pulled back the throttle, and the plane became much quieter. I gulped my heart back down. Then we were circling the field, dropping lower and lower.

  “Maybe we should reconsider,” I said.

  Quentin turned a grim face my direction. His confidence seemed to be deflating.

  “We could turn back,” he said, “but Eddie’s counting on us.”

  “Are you sure you can get us down okay?” I said.

  “Yeah, I’m ... pretty sure.”

  “Oh, go ahead, then.” I squeezed my eyes shut.

  Quentin lowered the flaps, and the grinding electric motor noise jolted my eyes open. We were coming down at a steep angle, just over some trees. I closed my eyes again and placed a hand over them. My other hand gripped the dashboard.

  I felt the plane rock back. Then the main wheels hit the ground hard. I opened my eyes to see a line of trees coming right at us. The nose wheel dug into the dirt, and I pitched forward against my shoulder harness.

  “Hang on!” Quentin yelled.

  The plane lurched hard left. Finally we stopped, bare inches from a tree trunk. Quentin shut down the engine. Gasoline smell filled the cabin.

  “Piece of cake,” he said.

  11: The Gateway

  I got out of the plane on rubbery legs. Quentin wasn’t too steady either, judging by the way he clung to the wing strut for support. The airplane was tilted forward with its wheels dug into the soft ground – another foot or so and the prop would have been digging for gold. Nearby, a stony bank led up to the railroad tracks.

  Quentin pushed off from the strut and made a quick walk around inspection of the plane.

  “Nothing looks damaged,” he said.

  “Except for my ears, maybe,” I said.

  After listening to so much airplane roar, I wasn’t sure if my hearing would ever be the same.

  “Eddie, we’re here!” Quentin yelled.

  No reply.

  “It’s Amanda and Quentin!” I called.

  Cricket chirps only, and the whirring of some other strange bug. Quentin switched his flashlight to standard beam and trained it on his chart.

  “I’m sure this is the place.” He turned and pointed toward a huge electrical tower lurking nearby. “We were supposed to stop before that line of towers – right in this field.”

  I swatted a mosquito. “Maybe we got the wrong towers.”

  “These are the only ones,” Quentin said. “That junction a few miles back was the last checkpoint. This has to be it.”

  “Well, let’s see if we can find him,” I said.

  We ran around the field for several minutes calling out, but no Eddie. No nobody. Quentin waved his flashlight around frantically. Nothing, not even a curious farmer, or a cow, even. We’d landed in the precise middle of nowhere.

  I climbed up onto the tracks. Ghost rails shot off in both directions, and tiny red lights shined at the horizon. Human beings did not belong in this eerie world.

  Finally, we admitted defeat and got back into the plane.

  “Oh man,” Quentin said, “I can kiss my flying lessons goodbye. There’s no way I can take off from here. I’ll have to phone the airport to come get the plane.”

  “Maybe we could hitchhike back to town,” I said, “then call in a tip – anonymous like.”

  Quentin shook his head. “We couldn’t get back before day light. No, this is my responsibility. I’ll just have to take my lumps.”

  “What about me?” I said. “If I’m extremely lucky, I’ll only be grounded until high school graduation.”

  “I’m sorry I got you into this, Amanda.” Quentin rubbed his temples like he had the mother of all headaches. “I’ve done some stupid things in my life, but this is the dumbest by far.”

  The world fell silent except for the insect noises. Until now, I’d been grateful just to be still alive, but the full awfulness of our situation was beginning to sink in hard.

  “I’ve got it,” Quentin said. “I’ll tell them I kidnapped you. How long do you think I’ll have to spend in jail for that?”

  “Oh hush, Quentin, I didn’t have to come and you know it.”

  Despite my misery, I couldn’t help feeling proud of Quentin’s great and unselfish achievement – even if it was all for nothing.

  “Poor Eddie ...” Quentin said.

  Poor us!

  Further minutes of depressing silence dragged past. I was about to suggest that we start walking toward home along the tracks when – TA-ZAP!

  Sparks sizzled on the power lines.

  “Oh man,” Quentin said, “we’re gonna get flash fried!”

  The sparks danced along the lines until they formed a solid mass of power. Then they shot down to the railroad tracks.

  “Something very weird is happening!” I said.

  The electrical charge grew and formed itself into the shape of a very large person standing on the tracks.

  Quentin flung open his door. “Eddie, is that you?”

  The glowing, crac
kling figure looked down toward us.

  “Quentin?” it said in a staticy voice that made my hair stand on end.

  “Yes,” Quentin yelled back. “Amanda’s here, too!”

  The figure jerked, as if it were surprised.

  “An airplane?” it said.

  “Yeah!” Quentin yelled back. “I borrowed it for the occasion.”

  “Start engine,” the figure said.

  “Okay, Eddie.” Quentin shut his door.

  “Hold on a minute!” I said.

  Quentin looked over at me. “I have to go, Amanda. You can stay here if you want.”

  “I’m not staying here!”

  “Then fasten your seat belt,” Quentin said.

  He fired up the engine. I fastened my seat belt.

  The figure on the track dissolved into a growing blob of power. It reached right for us! The plane leaped off the ground into a terrifying new reality.

  Part Two: Whack-O Land

  12: Violent Passage

  We turned and twisted on a nightmare carnival ride. One moment we were going up, the next we were sliding backwards, then we were spinning down. It was like the tumbling exit from the Tire Giant, only much more violent. The compass by the windscreen spun crazily.

  “I think I left my stomach behind,” Quentin moaned.

  The air outside was bright and thick. The propeller threw back streams of rainbow vapor. Then everything went black.

  Quentin flicked on the nose light. The beam twisted through the darkness in a crazy pretzel pattern, making me feel even more disoriented. A high, whiny sound grew louder until it seemed about to shatter my eardrums. Beneath it, a deep roar shook the plane. I clamped my hands over my ears.

  Finally, when I thought I couldn’t stand another second of this agony, the twisty turning stopped and we were flying calm through a gorgeous blue-yellow orangey sky. Spikes of color shot through the air, like glints off of some fantastic jewel.

  “Wow!” Quentin said. “Did we die and go to Heaven?”

  “Certainly not, we don’t have time for that,” I said.

  Below us lay open space, flat as a pool table. A large golden circle stood out brightly on the ground, and the shadow from our plane passed right over it.

  I could make out a built up area ahead, but much of it was covered with haze. Towers and spires poked out. One golden tower was so high that it reached right into the clouds. It was hard-edged and pointy, like a railroad spike dagger, and it scared me to look at it.

  To the right was a bluish, misty ribbon that might be a river, and beyond that lay a darker area hidden in a gray-purplish haze. I didn’t like the feel of it, and I yanked my eyes away – but not before I glimpsed the top of a weird double arch poking upwards through the gloom.