Trent Reedy - Stealing Air

Lots of times, adults saying “fine” felt a lot worse than if they just said “everything is terrible.” Brian spun a huge clump of spaghetti around his fork and crammed it in his mouth, chewing it as fast as he could. That would round out his second full plate.

“Come on,” Mom said. “We were going to have a nice night.”

“We are. Just one quick figure was all—”

“Please, Jack. Can we not do this tonight?”

The only thing they didn’t seem to argue about was letting Brian go when he asked to be excused.

A half hour later, the boys were carrying the aircraft across town. They stopped by the highway to wait until it was clear, then they rushed across the road and followed the train tracks into the woods near the river. “Can we rest a minute, guys?” Brian asked. “It’s really amazingly light, but it’s just a little awkward to carry. I feel like I’m going to drop it.”

“I concur. Let’s take a break,” Max said.

“Yeah,” Alex said. “Right here on the Runaway Bridge.”

They had reached the middle of a big bridge made of giant blocks of limestone. The tracks ran down the middle, with small scrub grass growing up between the wooden ties and three feet of stone on either side of the steel rails. The sound of water churning around the center support column came from far below. Brian walked over to the edge to take a look. There was no side barrier, nothing to keep them from falling off. More than fifty feet down, moonlight sparkled on the water of the English River.

“Brian, be careful.” Max was crouched down next to him.

“Are you kidding me?” Brian said. “I’m about to fly an experimental aircraft. Maybe she’ll hold together. Maybe not. But this bridge has been here for a hundred years or whatever. I think I’m okay.”

“Still,” said Alex. “You don’t have to stand that close to the edge.”

Brian smiled. How could people be afraid of heights when they were perfectly safe? “Is that why they call this the Runaway Bridge, because everybody is so scared to be on it?”

“Whatever, dude,” Alex said. “Just if you fall, you won’t be able to help us carry the flyer back to the Nest.”

“I think it would be a good idea to keep going. Let’s get the flyer into position for takeoff,” Max said.

If it was a challenge to carry the flyer all the way down the railroad tracks and across the bridge, it was even tougher to get it down the embankment and through the woods. The weeds and shrubs kept snagging the wings, skateboards, or tail assembly.

“Perhaps it would have been a good idea to come here earlier to clear brush and prepare a path for the flyer,” Max said. Sweat beaded on his forehead.

“Yeah, no joke. This is the worst runway taxi I’ve ever seen,” Brian said.

Finally, they cleared the woods at the edge of the grain elevator’s lot and brought the flyer around to the blacktop lane. They set it down in takeoff position with its nose pointed straight down the center of the long flat stretch of pavement.

Brian stretched his arms and drew in a deep breath. For the last week of August, the air was cool and still. A great night to fly. He looked up. Beyond the tops of the tall, skinny evergreen trees that lined both sides of the driveway, the open sky and the stars seemed to call to him.

“Let’s do this,” he said. “Let’s fly!”

“Yeah!” Alex rushed to the backseat, but before he sat down, he stopped and motioned toward Brian’s chair. “You’re the pilot. You should board first.”

Brian grinned too, approaching the flyer. “She looks great.”

“Yeah, it does,” Alex said.

Brian slapped him a high five. “She’s ready.” He sat down. Alex took his seat next. “We’re ready.”

“If you don’t mind, I’d like to start the engine,” Max said. Brian waved toward the handle on the pull start. Max took hold of the handle. “When the engine starts, gently push the throttle lever up to give it more power.”

“Woo-hoo!” Alex shouted. “Let’s go!”

Max laughed. “Prepare to engage engine.” He yanked the starter cable. The engine rumbled a little, but didn’t fire up. He frowned and pulled harder. This time the engine sputtered and popped for a moment, then the propeller began to spin and the engine roared to life. Max backed away and gave them the thumbs-up.

They were rolling! Slowly, maybe, but the flyer was moving under its own power with the propeller pulling them forward. Brian eased the throttle up, giving the engine more gas to increase speed.

Alex tapped him on the shoulder. Brian risked a look back. Alex grinned widely as he leaned forward. “It’s working! It’s really working!”

Brian pushed the lever the rest of the way up. “Full throttle!”

The flyer moved fast now. Brian was pushed back in his seat. He loved this part. The thrill of the aircraft’s power. The mad rush just before takeoff. Speeding up to the skies.

They were halfway down the runway. Brian pulled back on the yoke. The nose lifted. The front wheels were off the ground! The back wheels were up next. “We’re flying!” he shouted. “I can’t believe it! We’re really flying!”

But even though the yoke was back, the plane came down and hit the pavement again. It rolled a bit farther and went up for a few seconds more before falling again. Brian cranked the yoke harder. Maybe he wasn’t pulling enough. Maybe the cables controlling the horizontal stabilizer weren’t engaging right.

“What’s up?” Alex shouted over the noise from the wind and engine.

“Not us,” Brian answered. “Not yet.” He gripped the yoke, pulling with all his weight. They were up now, two, maybe three feet off the ground.

“Dude, this is awesome! We’re flying!” Alex said. “You got it!”

No, I don’t , Brian thought. The pitch wasn’t right. The nose should be pointing higher when he had the yoke pulled all the way back. Instead they were level. The flyer smacked back down on its wheels.

“Give it some gas!”

“She’s at full throttle already!” The flyer was up and then down again. This was bad. They were running out of runway! They needed to get more air right now. He’d have to bank her hard as soon as they were off the ground, then shoot right down the highway to avoid hitting the trees on the other side of the road.

Brian shoved the yoke all the way forward and then pulled it back. Twenty feet of runway left. They went up — maybe four feet this time — then down again. They were going to roll right across the highway. Brian pulled the throttle lever all the way back to power down. He hit the kill switch to shut off the engine.

“The road!” Alex shouted. “I’ll hit the brakes!”

“No, don’t!” Brian called back. “You’ll stop us right in the middle of the highway. Just hold on!”

“Of course I’m holding on!” Alex screamed. “The heck you think I’m doing?”

“Please no cars, please no cars, no cars, no cars, no cars,” Brian whispered. The flyer rolled out into the highway. A pair of headlights made his stomach leap in terror for a moment until he realized they were over a mile away. The flyer hit the gravel on the shoulder of the far side, and as the ground below them dropped away into a deep, grassy ditch, they glided out into the air. They cleared the barbed-wire fence below and sailed into the woods. Twigs from a low branch whapped Brian in the face, scratching his cheek.

“Ow!” Alex shouted. The branch must have hit him too.

A huge tree trunk was dead ahead. Brian steered the flyer’s nose clear to port just in time, but the starboard wing cracked hard against the trunk. He lurched forward as they spun flat and hard to the right. Then he was thrown back in his seat when the flyer slopped down into the mud.