Terry Neale - Jo-el

“Keep hold of your backpack in front of you, I’ll put my arms around your waist and under your arms.” Our eyes met and I felt the fear in her, so I smiled again. She was dripping wet, her anorak streaked with water running in rivulets down to the ground. Her waterproof leggings were pasted hard against her legs, wet through. Her gloved fists were clenched tight. I felt terrible for her and I was going to get her down off this mountain.

As I pulled her close to me I could smell the odor of the long distant hiker, unwashed and dirty. I lifted off into the mess of the weather and with Sally’s instructions headed east to the town of Palm Springs. I couldn’t see anything for quite a while, but as we descended below three thousand feet the weather improved and the town came into view. Sally directed me to a Best Western, I landed gracefully by the patio cover at the front entrance. There was no one around. The weather was windy and cold, a mighty improvement from the mountain. It had been raining, but at that moment it had sopped. When her feet touched the ground the girl turned towards me still very close and kissed my cheek. Oh, my God that little peck was a reward beyond my imagination, it said it all, I’m such a softy.

“What’s your name?” I asked.

“Gabby,” she said.

“I’ll get the others,” I said and lifted into the night.

They were still standing by the trees at the edge of the clearing, the man and the quiet one. But as I landed they both walked out to meet me.

“Can you carry us both?” he asked, he had a bushy beard and a European accent, maybe Dutch.

“Sure.” I indicated how they should stand then pulled them to me, wrapping my arms around them.

Coming into land I saw Gabby still in the parking lot looking up, waiting for her friends. She had pulled her hood back on her anorak, her face was white with cold but her eyes were happy. In her hand was a smart-phone. Clever kid, I thought. More confusion in Twitter-land.

I left them after discovering the names of the other two and once out of sight, bounced back to my home in San Fran where Sally was waiting.

“That felt good,” I said, “really good.” I’d been gone less than thirty minutes.

“She kissed you!”

“Nice huh!”

“I guess.”

“I’m going to bed.”

The storm in the south of California had petered out by the morning, moving on to Arizona. The region returned to its usual glorious sunny weather. In San Francisco, the day started out misty and cold, with rain threatened for later. I was in the kitchen drinking coffee, reviewing events on my heads-up display. Before going to bed Gabby had posted the video on Facebook she’d snapped of me and her friends landing at the Best Western, but she was still asleep. She hadn’t yet seen the firestorm that she had brought down on herself. Twelve news vans were headed for Palm Springs, discovering her location from re-postings of her video by friends from her home in Indiana. The FBI were also on their way to interview the three hikers. It was going to be an interesting day for Gabby and her friends. But what could they say in truth? A man with wings, called Jo-el had rescued them from freezing to death on Mt. San Jacinto. That was about it. And would the media and public believe them? Who knew?

The independent reporter in Providenciales had sold his story to USA Today. It basically said that every single person he’d interviewed had sworn that the birdman was not a hoax. The beach where the rescue had been recorded was rated as one of the most beautiful in the world and the cost of staying on the Island was not inexpensive. Many of those interviewed were from wealthier backgrounds which added potency to their claim.

I had a small TV in the kitchen that I’d tuned to one of the morning news shows and they had mentioned both the sea rescue in Turks and Caicos and the recent nighttime rescue in Southern California. But they had nothing else, so they didn’t elaborate much. One comment had been, assuming just one birdman, he’d flown from the Caribbean to California in what was less than twelve hours. Obviously possible by commercial jet but unlikely by what they were calling ‘bird-speed’. They had pointed out that the fastest bird, a Swift, could reach over one hundred miles an hour, but only for short bursts. Most commentators were still highly suspicious of the existence of this flying man and many were saying that if he did exist why didn’t he come forward and speak to the media. It was a fun news item that amused the talking-heads but was not being given much certitude.

I considered my situation and wrestled with seeking out another rescue so soon. To be honest I didn’t know what I should do. It didn’t seem a bad idea to take my time over breakfast. My housekeeper was due in at eleven that morning, so I planned to be out of the house by at least ten thirty. She preferred it when I wasn’t there, which suited me. I was feeling great; no doubt the effects of the pills Sally had prescribed. My usual nagging lower back ache had completely disappeared. My energy level was as good as I could remember and when I looked in the mirror, as Dave, I reckoned I looked ten years younger. Sweet!

At a little after ten that morning I was enjoying a brief ray of sunshine in Golden Gate Park, when Sally interrupted my peace.

“ There’s a fire in an apartment block in Shanghai. ”

“ Show me!” The image of a high-rise in a busy neighborhood, with flames licking the sides about three stories from the top appeared in front of me. It was nighttime. “ People in danger?”

“About twelve are above the fire line. Three kids,” she added. “ Ladders won’t reach.” I could see three fire-engine ladders ending well below the fire line, fire-men squirting water up as best they were able.

I sat watching the action on the heads-up. This was a major step for me, I couldn’t rescue everyone in danger around the world single handed, just as I couldn’t stop all the rapes. I needed publicity to be taken seriously about the pending catastrophe threatening the planet. That was my goal. If I rescued these poor people, I would have to explain how I was able to get there. The flight time to China was more than the eight hours that had elapsed since Mt. San Jacinto. Then Sally showed me the face of a little Chinese girl, crying in the arms of her mother. They were trapped in the apartment. That did it. Mr. Softy.

There was a bathroom close to my bench. I sought the privacy, changed into Jo-el and bounced to a point about two thousand feet above the apartment. No one could see me appear out of nowhere in the darkness at that height.

Sally directed me to a window away from where most of the stranded people were hiding from the flames. She covered me head to toe in the smart-suit, leaving the face part transparent. Sally smashed the window and I went into the burning building. It was hot and smoke was everywhere but breathing wasn’t a problem. Eight of the twelve people trapped were in the next room. How would they react when they saw me? Had they seen anything about the other two rescues? I didn’t have time to worry about it. I crossed a stairwell and went in.

The faces I saw resembled the kids on the mountain and Marianne. Fear emblazoned in their eyes, their impulse to back away. I stood my ground and said in English “ I will take you to safety.” It came out in Shanghainese. The faces showed more calm, but they pressed back away from me when I took a step in their direction. Then the same thing happened as on the mountain and a young girl, maybe sixteen, stepped forward toward me. She stopped and waited for my reaction, so I beckoned her to come to the window near to where I was standing. I backed up to the window and forced it open. No double pane glass here. It was small but large enough for one person to go through. I stepped onto an outside ledge, holding onto the side with one hand as I beckoned for her to join me. She hesitated for a while then slowly inched closer. Even when she was within reach I didn’t grab at her. I needed her to show the others that it was their decision. This winged man was on their side.