The Sovereign

The Pilot

With the hangar roof open, and dust flakes sparkling like stars in the air, I climbed back through the the window and to the helicopter. The ending was running, but the blades weren't spinning. I realized that the motors may be completely useless. Even if they weren't damaged in the Ends--which seemed likely--I had no idea how to turn them on. Then, if I managed to get off the ground, there was the problem I had barely worried about for a moment before: I couldn't fly a helicopter.

I was pulling myself back up off the ground into the cockpit when I heard a humming. It was growing louder and louder with time.

I leapt out of the helicopter and walked out onto the runway. In the sky, to the right of the hangar, was a black figure, clarifying and enlarging.

I shook my head and rubbed my eyes. I was hallucinating. Returning my gaze to the sky, I found the object, less than a hundred yards away, coming straight at me.

It was a plane.

I snapped myself out of my awe-filled stare, and bolted back to the hangar and dove behind the car for cover. I'd never seen a plane before, I'd only read about them, and I had no idea what it would do when it hit the ground. When the plane gently hit the ground and careened further down the runway, I sighed and rose from the machine.

I peeked out the hangar door and watched as the plane continued to slow down steadily. I widened my eyes at the technological marvel: flying machines. People back in the 2000's overlooked it, but now that machinery was almost extinct, it was like seeing a whale in a kiddie pool.

I kept staring in awe until I realized it wasn't stopping.  It only had a hundred yards of concrete left, before the runway gave way to a shallow ditch.  100.  50.  25. I counted the yards until the imminent impact.  I winced as the nose of the plane crushed inwards like a soda can, producing a sound that ripped at my ears. 

The plane was ablaze, smoke billowing into the radioactive skies.  The plane wouldn't be salvageable, I realized.  Then I wanted to hit myself.  I realized the plane had to have a pilot to fly, and I was more worried about parts and fuel than a man's life.

I watched as the left front door--now facing the sky--popped open.  I gasped and recoiled back behind the hangar wall as a man with a pistol pulled himself out. 

I glanced back.  He had lowered himself to the ground, and looked shaken.  He was wearing torn, charred clothed and was covered head-to-toe in soot.

I think the man and I realized at the same time that the plane had high-power fuel in it.  And fire plus fuel does not exactly equal fun. 

I ducked behind the wall and crouched in the corner as the man sprinted across Tarmac.  I plugged my ears and waited.

Plugging my ears wasn't much help, and if it was, I'm glad I did.  The sound felt like a punch in the throat, and I was left gasping for breath with tears in my eyes.

I didn't have to look back outside to know that the man had fallen flat on his face, but when I did, I saw him still skidding across.  I winced at the idea of the pain.  Astonishingly, the man stood up, entire body bleeding, and looked around.  He saw me and raised the pistol.

Time slowed as the bullet whizzed through the air.  The man realized that I was a kid, and immediately turned his expression from intent to kill to terror.  The bullet grazed my scalp.  He looked somewhat relieved, but that was before the pain had even registered in my body.

When that happened, everything went black.

•••

I moaned, feeling sunlight hitting my eyelids.  Rustling to consciousness, I sat up and looked around, sending shockwaves of pain through my body.

I was in the old car, sprawled out on the backseat.

I reached up and touched my scalp.  It had been haphazardly covered by a once-white towel, now a dark red.  Removing the towel, I felt the point of impact.  I screamed at the shear pain. 

Though the windshield, I saw the man pop out of the helicopter.  His voice coursed through the hangar, and muffled inside the car.  I still made it out, though.  "Good, you're up!"

I wanted to scratch my head, but stopped myself.  What did that mean?  He was glad I was awake?

He jumped out from the cockpit and walked briskly to the car.  He opened the door and rubbed the back of his neck.  "Sorry I shot ya..." He said.  Something about him reminded me slightly of Martin.

I frowned.  He nodded.  "I know what you're probably thinking.  I really am sorry.  I mean it."

I closed my eyes and nodded.  "Okay," I said.  I didn't want to talk much.  Talking hurt.

He patted me on the shoulder like a father.  "Alright, where were you tryin' to get?"

I opened my eyes and looked back out the door.  "How'd you know I was trying to leave and not just camping out in here for the day?"

He looked back at the helicopter.  "Personally, I don't keep all my loot in a militarism helicopter."

I nodded.  That made sense.  "Wait..." I began.  He looked back at me.  "What was that...?"

He quieted, listening over his own shoulder before turning all the way around.  He drew his pistol from a holster balanced from his belt.  He looked around, back and forth, until he was certain that nothing was around.  He turned back and began to ask if I was messing with him, but didn't finish.

A blur of teeth and fur exploded from the shadows and tackled him.