Dark of Winter: Prepper Book Two

Ch. XX - Newton's Curse

For every action, there is an equal and opposite reaction. This Newtonian gem keeps popping into my head and when I am finally able to, through shear force of will, push that thought aside, instead of finding my serene happy place, I get: an object in motion tends to stay in motion. The plane drops suddenly—momentarily weightless my stomach lurches— I'm subjected to a sudden jolt as the rigging goes taut and arrests my inertia and my last meal threatens to leave my body via the nearest orifice.

"It's not the fall that kills you," I hear my father's voice in my head. "It's the sudden stop."

I vomit violently. The hurricane of wind in the cabin makes certain most of my stomach contents are blown back in my face.

"Fuuuuck me," I moan.

"You okay back there?" Denton's annoyingly soothing pilot voice asks over the headset.

I've never been a great flyer, I can admit that, there's no shame in it. In years past I'd willingly board a plane to get to some far off destination quickly, but back then I could pop a Benedryll and distract myself with a drink or two, a movie and conversation with Kate. Kate loved flying, she loved take-offs, landings and turbulence made her giggle. But Kate's not here, no one is serving drinks and we aren't heading to Costa Rica.

"It's windy as fuck." I reply.

"That's what happens when you remove the door. Helluva view though, I imagine." Denton says. I can't tell if he's mocking me.

"I'm not enjoying it. Any chance you can fly a little smoother?"

"Sorry Connor, small plane, low altitude, unstable air, you're in for a lively ride," he advises.

"So you said this isn't your plane?" I inquire, desperate enough to take my mind off of falling out the door that I'm willing to engage Denton in conversation.

"Hell no man, this thing costs a small fortune. Some exec from that manufacturing conglomerate, uh, what was it, ummm—Freedom Industries—arrived in this thing. I guess him and his pilot got caught in Rose city when everything went south. Plane has been sitting in the hangar since."

"Why not take your plane?"

"Well, I think this one might give us an edge for one thing. Mine is built for a fairly specific purpose."

"What, you got like a Gulfstream or something?" I can just imagine the level of exorbitance Denton's plane exudes.

"Not exactly. It's a Beaver."

"What?! Like an old bush plane?"

"Not like an old bush plane, it is an old bush plane. It's THE old bush plane. Floats and everything."

"Why the hell do you have a float plane?"

"To get to the cottage of course. We have an off-grid cabin on Blue Rock Lake, we used to try to get up there a few times a year. Get away from the rat race, if you know what I mean."

I know what he means, and he knows I know, but I'll be damned if I'll admit it.

"Hmm." I reply.

"This thing is twice as fast as my Beaver and likely twice as fast as whatever little crop duster we're likely to run into. We might not have the maneuverability but we'll definitely have a speed advantage."

Denton turns in his seat and gives me a concerned look, "You okay man? You look like shit."

"Just find this guy so we can go home," I reply. "Check-in with Ari see if they have an update for us."

The patchwork of farmland below us is gradually getting swallowed up in the growing darkness of twilight, I have a great view of the northeastern sky as the first stars of the evening introduce themselves with a courteous wink or two. Somewhere down there Sung-Mi, Jake and Hartt have setup on a parcel of high ground with the TAPV which has been hastily converted into a poor-man's mobile radar station. Using an appropriated (stolen) marine radar from a derelict fishing tug they will attempt to spot the airborne interloper and vector us in for intercept... in theory.