Deadland Rising (part 3 of the Deadland Saga)

Hope (Chapter 23)

After a cold night, we were anxious to sit in a warm airplane as soon as the sun rose the following morning. The Cessna lifted off the runway easier today, with less weight than when we'd taken off in Nebraska yesterday morning.

Clutch checked the airplane's clock. "We have under three hundred miles left, so we'll be there in roughly two hours, give or take."

"We'll have to be careful when we get close to Moose Jaw," I said. "We know they have an operational air force, and I'm not sure how they are at welcoming other folks flying into their airspace."

"We'll find out soon enough," Griz said.

Clutch dialed in numbers on the radio. "The radio's set to the frequencies listed on the map. If they've changed them, we won't have any way to know unless they're transmitting them."

When we were one hundred miles out, Clutch began to transmit our intention and location on the radio. When we were fifty miles out, someone responded.

"806 Romeo Bravo, this is Wing 15. Squawk 1219."

Clutch read back the instructions and set our transponder to 1219 so they could track us. When we were only ten miles out, the tower fed us landing instructions, which we followed to a T. When I was on final, I could hear Griz praying in the backseat, and I shot him the bird quickly before focusing on my landing.

Fortunately, for my ego and our well-being, this landing was spot on. When I pulled off the runway, the tower directed me where to go next.

"806 Romeo Bravo, take taxiway Alpha to the FBO."

I taxied toward a large hangar bearing an Air Force sign. A man jogged onto the ramp and flagged me to park at a location not far from the hangar.

"806 Romeo Bravo, cut your engines and stay in the plane until you are authorized."

I smirked. "We're the only plane with its engine running. It's not like they need to keep using our N-number."

"Guess they want to stay in practice," Clutch said.

Once we stopped and I cut the engine, I turned to Clutch. "We made it."

He smiled. "Thanks to you."

I couldn't help myself, and I leaned over and kissed him. "And thanks to my navigator."

"Don't forget me," Griz said. "It was my praying and good luck that got us here safely."

I laughed. "Thank you, Griz, for getting us here."

The flagger approached, and I opened my door to talk with him.

He had a wide smile. "Welcome to Wing 15. We don't see many planes that aren't based here. You can step out and stretch if you need, but please wait by your plane for another minute or two. Our official welcome wagon is on its way."

After a quick glance to each other, we climbed out with our gear, weapons sheathed, and I grabbed the cooler. We stood together. Clutch and Griz stood tall, tense, and still. I fidgeted, waiting to see what came next.

A black SUV came speeding toward us. I found myself shiver, not from cold, but from nerves, as the vehicle came to a stop only ten feet away. The front passenger door and two back doors opened, and three men stepped out, two of them holding machine guns. The third man, a younger one of perhaps twenty or so, walked over to us and smiled. "I'm Peter. Welcome to Moose Jaw, the capital of the Provinces of North America."