The jet is currently at 28,000 feet so they have a hundred kilometres of range. Since Los Angeles is only seventy kilometres away they will reach their destination with altitude to spare. The autopilot is set to direct them to the airport, and then to the runway, where Rhonda will land the unpowered jet just as she has landed the unpowered shuttle two times for real and over five hundred times in the simulator.
Rhonda feels like she has everything under control. She managed to deal with the cabin’s depressurisation, work out how to maintain an optimum glide speed, dump the excess fuel, restart the remaining engine if need be, even use reverse thrust for landing. There’s only one problem. They can’t raise anyone on the radio, air traffic control included. Severson’s been trying ever since they took charge of the aircraft, but they’ve heard nothing but static. She hopes the turbofan’s explosion didn’t affect the airliner’s communication systems. They’re going to need priority to land and she’d really like the tower at LAX to know the situation before they arrive at the airport unannounced.
The 737 drops through a cloud bank and they see Los Angeles for the first time.
Rhonda catches her breath. ‘What the hell?’
Even from seventy kilometres out, the city looks like a war zone, worse than a war zone. Thousands of fires dot the horizon as smoke pyres feed a strange purple-tinged smog cloud that hovers above the city like a giant alien spacecraft.
Severson’s voice is a stunned whisper. ‘Guess that’s why we can’t raise anyone on the radio.’
Rhonda’s first thought is for Judd. Fear rises in her chest. He’s been there for hours. Is he okay? Christalmighty. She hasn’t told him she loves him in almost a year. She thought it showed weakness, probably because that’s what her father always said—
Stop it. Focus on the job at hand. ‘Try the emergency frequency again.’
Severson changes the radio channel, tunes in the emergency frequency. Through their headsets they hear the distant echo of a woman’s voice:
‘— affecting the greater Los Angeles area. The public are strongly advised to stay indoors. Do not operate combustion engines. If there is a combustion engine in operation it must be shut off immediately. If the exhaust from the combustion engine is purple in colour vacate the area immediately. All airports are closed and the airspace above the city is a no-fly zone until further notice. All aircraft are to proceed to their alternate airports. This message is part of the Federal Emergency Management Agency Alert System and will be updated half-hourly. There is an unspecified threat —’
Severson turns to Rhonda. ‘Well, fuck-a-doodle-do.’
She nods in agreement. ‘We saw the purple exhaust. That’s why the starboard turbofan exploded. The pilots shut down the port engine before it blew.’
Rhonda no longer feels like she has everything under control. The FEMA message told her the one thing she didn’t want to hear: that all airports are closed due, she could only guess, to problems similar to the one this jet experienced. As for proceeding to their alternative airport, which the pilot’s iPad told her was San Diego, well, they wouldn’t make it a quarter of the way there without engine power. It was LA or bust, no-fly zone or not.
She takes a deep breath, can feel her heart rate increase. This is how she feels in the Orion simulator when the techs throw the kitchen sink at her. This is when she needs to think on her feet to solve the problem, when time is critical and she can’t go by the book. Trouble is she loves the book, she’s done everything by the book her whole life and it has always worked out well for her. But now she must throw the book away and — literally — wing it. For a moment she wonders if she can pass the responsibility to Severson, let him land this jet, but as soon as she thinks it she realises it’s crazy. Even if he’d agree, he’s not half the pilot she is.
Severson turns to her. ‘We need to think outside the box.’
She nods. ‘It’s not my — strong suit.’ Admitting even that, especially to the person she respects least at NASA, a person who would happily trade personal information to benefit his own career, is one of the hardest things she’s ever done.
‘There are seventy people on this plane that need it to be.’
‘I don’t know if I can.’ Her voice is small.
‘You can. Improvise.’
‘I’m landing a jet, not doing stand-up. There’s no room for improv.’
‘But there is. A little. And your job is to find it.’ He smiles. ‘I’ve been seat-of-the-pantsing-it-and-making-it-up-as-I-go-alonging-it my whole life. You just need to — loosen up a little. I can help.’
She looks at him, breathes out to steady her nerves, then nods. ‘Okay. So we rule out both LAX and Santa Monica airports. That means we need to find something very flat, long and straight —’
‘And close. Let’s have a look.’ He picks up the pilot’s iPad, swipes it open and consults the map of Southern California.
She takes another breath and steels herself. The irony is, as lazy and hopeless as Severson was during their trip to Wisconsin, he just might be the best person to be stuck in this plane with.
Or then again maybe not.
She will find out one way or the other very soon.
38
The little yellow chopper thunders across the rooftops.
‘Okay, take us up. Let’s see where it is.’ Corey’s voice rattles in Judd’s headset as he works the controls. The Loach quickly gains altitude and rises above the smoke haze that cloaks the city.
Judd sweeps the brass telescope across the horizon and finds the Air-Crane in the distance. ‘Got it. One o’clock. We’re catching it, but it’s still a good three clicks away.’
Corey keeps the chopper just above the haze as Judd pulls the telescope from his eye. ‘Okay, two questions. Where in hell did you get this thing and can it go any faster?’
‘I’m thrashing it, mate. It’s the hero car from the Atlantis 4 movie — except it’s not a car, obviously. We got it from Twentieth Century Fox.’
Judd takes this in with a nod. ‘Thank you, Rupert.’
Corey’s confused. ‘Rupert? It was Lola’s idea to use it.’
Judd leans between the front seats and nods to Lola. ‘Good one.’ He then turns to Corey. ‘Rupert Murdoch owns Twentieth Century Fox.’
‘Oh, that’s right. He used to be an Aussie.’ Corey glances back at Judd. ‘I had to use every drop of the counteragent to get this thing in the air. Tell me you still have yours.’
Judd gestures to the bulge in his pants: ‘Is that a canister full of counteragent in my pocket or am I just happy —’ He realises Lola is sitting right there and stops abruptly, embarrassed. ‘Oh, sorry — that was completely inappropriate.’ He clears his throat, turns to Corey. ‘Yes, I still have it.’
Lola finds a small container under the passenger seat and passes it to Judd. ‘Is that a medi-kit in my hand or are you just bleeding from a bullet wound?’
‘Thank you.’ Judd examines the bullet wound on his thigh. It is bleeding, but not too badly. ‘It’s a flesh wound with delusions of grandeur.’ He opens the medi-kit, pulls out a wide bandage and wraps it tightly around his leg.
Corey looks back at him. ‘Need a doc?’