Fistful of Reefer

Fistful of Reefer: scene 57 & 58

"Muddy! Stay with me!" Nena wrenched herself backward, yelling into the wind. In the rear cockpit of the biplane Muddy shook his head, clearing the tears from his eyes and focusing on the sound of Nena's voice. Without time to tend to his wound, too much blood had drained out. The higher altitude made his heart beat faster and his head spin.

"I'll make it!" But he wasn't sure. "We'll run out of gas before I run out of blood." He grimaced. "The flight time can't be more than a few hours!"

Chancho chimed in. "We've been flying for over three hours already!" They each looked over the edge. A thousand feet below, the ground rushed by at over 100 mph, hills dotted with clumps of trees and brush. In the distance a skeletal city of black oil derricks scarred the horizon like jagged stitches on the seam between sky and earth. Chancho pointed, "Boomtown!"

Nena shifted in Chancho's lap. "We have to land!"

"You're telling me." Chancho tried to rub feeling back into his legs and fend off the chill wind.

Muddy knew from the time they took off that crashing would be more likely than landing. Watching the countryside pass beneath him, he momentarily regretted not setting a course for Mexico, but his choice had been final, even before Jesse. When he wasn't focused on landing the plane without killing them, he seethed over the dishonor and ingratitude extended toward his mentor. He had to correct it.

Three hours had passed as he flew aimlessly, running scenarios through his mind. They needed a flat surface away from notice while maintaining access to ground transportation. No use in landing the plane just to be stranded in the wilderness without even a horse among them. He'd figured out the best option thirty minutes ago, but hesitated to commit to it.

Watching the ground blur past, he spotted the place and finally forced his mind to assent. He banked the plane sharply. Through the support struts of the biplane they watched dark smoke from a distant derrick transition toward the nose of the plane and across to the other side until it passed out of sight toward the back. Turning 270 degrees they came around for what, one way or the other, would be their final pass.

Muddy dipped the nose of the plane into a low wisp of cloud, all three of them shivering from the cold and damp as well as the unnerving feeling of whistling blindly through the air at 100 miles an hour. Moments later they emerged from the cloud into much warmer air within a few hundred feet of the ground. Beneath them a railroad, like a chalk line snapped across the surface of the earth, continued seamlessly over a small hill on the horizon.

"The railroad?" Chancho craned his neck, "I love trains, but I don't want to see one—"

Nena interrupted. "There should be room beside the tracks to land. The hill will slow us."

"But what about trains!"

"Exactly. Sooner or later a train will come, and we'll get on!"

"What if it's sooner?"

Nena turned until she could look Chancho in the eye. "You had better not die. I am not finished with you yet." Chancho swallowed and grew quiet. Muddy wondered which Chancho feared more, dying in a gruesome crash or living to face Nena.

Lifting in his seat, shockwaves of pain spidered through Muddy's body. He used the adrenaline to focus. Land the plane. He repeated the words as a mantra. He slowed as much as he dared, pulling hard on the controls to keep the nose up. Tears whipped off the sides of his face, the temperature of the air rising steadily as their altitude fell. Green blurs of scrub and live oak swelled in his peripheral vision as the ground rushed toward them. "Hold on!"

First contact came too hard, but he held the wings level and the nose up. They bounced, the landing gear creaking under the pressure. The torque on the steering slammed Muddy against the side of the fuselage. The smaller steering mechanism in the front cockpit bruised Nena's ribs. Aware of the strain on Muddy, she did what she could to help hold it steady.