Greg Weisman - Rain of the Ghosts

Back in the radio room, the two skeletons Pete had left behind came to life as Lance and Ducky. “Radio operator, checking in.” “Ball turret, checking in.”

Behind them, Big Harry and Little Harry were also ready. “Left waist gunner.” “Right waist gunner.”

Rain was dedicating a lot of energy to remembering to breathe. ’Bastian began flipping switches on his control panel. His glow infected everything he touched, and that glow was spreading like wildfire throughout the Belle , inside and out. Soon the entire wreck was surrounded by an electric golden aura.

’Bastian paused. “Top turret?”

“Right behind you, Cap,” Pete said cheerfully.

“Tail gunner?”

“Still goldbricking.” Tommy laughed. “Hit that son in the head once, and he’ll milk it for weeks.”

“That’s right. Poor kid.” And for half a second, Rain felt bad for Old Joe, missing the mission one more time.

’Bastian set back to work. “Let’s run the checklist, Lieutenant. Generators?”

Tommy stopped him. “Captain Bohique, I can pretty much guarantee that nothing is working on this bird.”

And Pete: “He’s right, Cap. You think too much about it, we ain’t never gettin’ home.”

The Dark Man nodded. “All right, then, just start the engines for me.”

“Roger that.”

One engine no longer had a propeller, but the golden aura flashed around the other three and the bent and rusted props began to turn, churning up the water and muck.

Rain glanced at Charlie, wondering what he saw. Wondering whether he’d believe her when she told him what she saw.

Charlie’s eyes were wide. He was glad for Rain’s grip on his arm, because the pain gave him something to focus on and kept him from screaming. He saw no glow. No gold aura around the B-17. And the pilot seat seemed empty. But his flashlight was locked on the copilot’s bones, which were actively flipping switches on the busted control panel. And worse yet—out of the corner of his eye, because he would NOT turn around—Charlie could just see the skeleton from the radio room, grinning over his shoulder. It followed us to the cockpit! It got up and followed us! That can’t be good!

’Bastian remained in the moment. If he was aware of Rain and Charlie at all, he didn’t let on. Rain watched him turn to Tommy, give his lieutenant a wink, and say, “Let’s go home.” Then he pushed on the throttle, and the bomber abruptly lurched forward. Rain and Charlie exchanged yet another glance before grabbing hold of the seats in front of them. And just in time. Because the Island Belle was ready for takeoff.

Rain and Charlie felt the Belle lurch forward again.

“Our girl’s a little sluggish tonight,”’Bastian said lovingly. He eased the throttle once more, and the bomber began to move in earnest. Which was interesting, because her landing gear wasn’t down. The glowing rusted hulk was just taxiing on its belly through the sand. But it was picking up speed.

A current of water surged in through the shattered windshield and out of the cockpit past Rain, Charlie and Pete. The kids dug their hands into the torn fabric and rotted padding of ’Bastian and Tommy’s seats, until they found the metal framework beneath and something real to hold onto against the flow. Charlie finally got brave enough to sneak a peek behind and saw Pete’s bony hands brace his skeleton in the hatch. Charlie had a not-so-sudden desperate impulse to flee. But I’m not going out that way!

The B-17 was really starting to move now. ’Bastian pulled back on the wheel. “That’s my girl,” he said. And Belle responded. She began to lift up off the ocean floor. Bouncing once, twice, gaining altitude—even if she was still below sea level.

Looking terrified and amazed at the same time, Charlie and Rain held on tighter still, bracing themselves against the bumpy “takeoff.”

Finally, the Belle left her silty runway and was legitimately up and “flying” through the ocean. ’Bastian pulled back some more, and she continued to rise at a steeper angle. Rain and Charlie quickly adjusted their stances to keep from sliding back as the bomber climbed for the surface.

From the nose, Bear spoke to ’Bastian, via some kind of spook-wave radio system: “Need me to set a course, Cap?”

“No thanks, Lieutenant. We’re mighty close to home. I know where we’re goin’.”

Above the water line, the rain continued to softly replenish the calm and peaceful sea. Then—WHOOSH—the glowing B-17 broke the surface and continued its ascent into the sky. This gold-glowing, blushing Belle was like a new-made bride, with a train of seaweed and salt water trailing behind her. And this particular bride had a bridesmaid too: a storm head was building in her wake.

Inside the cockpit, the water rapidly began to drain away. ’Bastian, Tommy and Pete took no notice. But Rain and Charlie did. They were still holding on for dear life, but when the water fell below neck level, both kids spit out their regulators to shout over the wind that was now blasting through the nonexistent windshield.

Dripping and shivering, an excited Rain was wearing a big old grin: “Now, do you believe?!”

Charlie looked around, stunned. He saw no ghosts. But there was a fully animated skeleton sitting right in front of him and another standing right behind him. And the thing does seem to be flying…. He turned back to Rain and shouted, “Let’s just say I’m keeping an open mind!”

The Belle rattled and shook. And shook again. And shook more violently. Tommy turned to ’Bastian: “She’s building, Captain. She’s on our tail.”

“Who?” Bastian asked.

“Julia.”

“Who?”

“Hurricane Julia. She’s back. To finish what she started. To make sure we never complete the mission. Never get home. She took us out once, and she doesn’t want her works thwarted now. She doesn’t want us to get away. And she’s back to get the last of us. She’s back for you, Cap.”

More drums. Rain and ’Bastian both looked outside with new eyes. The clouds were already black, yet somehow getting blacker. Lightning flashed all around with less than a “one-one-thousand” before the thunder followed. The B-17 was rocked. Thrown down then up. The wind sheared across her. And it didn’t take ghost senses for Charlie to hear the pieces of its fuselage grinding and tearing apart. The aura was holding the bird together, but every magick has its limit.

More lightning and thunder struck—even closer and now in perfect synch. And in that half a second between the blinding flash and the darkness that followed, Rain and ’Bastian both saw her: a figure of cloud and wind and rain and flashing eyes: Hurricane Julia herself.

The Dark Man’s expression hardened into a dangerous grin. “So we have an enemy,” he said, holding a hand up to his neck to speak into the approximate location of where his radio microphone should have been. “That’s something this crew knows how to handle. Battle stations, boys.”

Rain looked back over her shoulder. Pete was gone from the hatchway, but she heard his voice saying: “Roger that, Captain. Top turret ready.”

This was instantly followed by four other voices, announcing that bombardier, left waist gunner, right waist gunner, and ball turret were in position and prepared for a fight.

But ’Bastian groused: “No tail gunner. Flank’s exposed.”

And that’s when the second snake on Rain’s armband made its presence felt. The first was still glowing gold, maintaining the healing aura that had resurrected the Belle. But Rain felt a charge and looked down. The other snake was glowing now, too: a bright electric blue. It was powerful, mesmerizing, and it seemed to speak to her deep beneath the conscious level of her brain. Suddenly, she knew what she had to do. “C’mon,” she said to Charlie.