She shrugged off her backpack and took out a map. She sat down on a log, unfolded it, and searched for her location. She laughed when she found it. A dot labeled Rockmire amidst a sea of green.
“You bought a map without even looking at it to see if it would be of use.” Cursing, she crumpled it into a ball and stuck it into her backpack. It would make good tinder should she need to start a fire.
She glanced up at the sky, scarcely visible among the treetops that lined the narrow canyon. Faint streaks of orange told her it was getting late. The sight turned her mood dark. She might not be able to make it out before dark. The thought sent a shiver down her spine. She wasn’t afraid, exactly, but she didn’t love the idea of camping out here, just in case the stories were true.
The path leading up to the slot canyon was hard to find and even harder to ascend. By the time she reached the top, she was soaked with sweat and her muscles felt like water. What a sight she must be. Not that there was anyone around to see her.
No sooner had the thought occurred to her than she had the sensation of being watched. She sprang to her feet and looked around. Noting but green. And then she heard a sharp crack, like a tree limb snapping. In the quiet it sounded like a gunshot. Someone was out here.
She stood there, tension tying her stomach into knots, waiting. Her heart thrummed, her breathing was loud and heavy. Except that wasn’t the sound of her breath. It was someone else… or something else. The sound was a deep, wet, animal snuffling. And it was coming closer.
She considered her options. Should she try to run? Where could she go? Did the thing even know she was here? Perhaps the dense thicket of fir trees covered her scent. Maybe if she could just be quiet, it would go away.
She held her breath, sat motionless, and waited. The noise continued, circling the spot where she sat. And then a pungent odor, feral, almost sulfurous, washed over her, borne on the night air. She retched, her empty stomach flip-flopping.
My word, what is that?
But she knew what it was. She had gathered enough stories to be something of an expert. Dizzy with disbelief, she shrugged off her backpack and dug inside, searching for her camera. She should have had it at the ready, but the skeptic in her had quashed the idea.
And then the foul stench was gone. All was silent.
Trinity stood there, arm buried in her backpack, eyes searching the surrounding. Nothing moved. There was no sound but her ragged breathing. She took a few moments to let her heart rate return to something approaching normal.
“Foolishness,” she scolded herself. “A wild animal passed somewhere close by and your imagination turned it into something else.”
Just then, the foliage in front of her parted.
Trinity screamed.
8- The Dogfight
“What do you call this thing again?” Stone looked down at the strange suit he now wore. It was a set of coveralls made from a thin fabric that Alex assured him was exceptionally strong. Beneath each arm was a winglike membrane of the same fabric.
“I call it a soaring suit,” Alex said from the pilot’s seat. “Moses doesn’t like the name.”
“Neither do I,” Stone said. “How do we know it will support my weight?”
“The suit we’ve tried out,” Alex said. “Moses has flown in it and he weighs almost as much as you.”
“It was almost like really being able to fly,” Moses said. “Better than any parachute, that’s for sure.”
“It’s the boots that haven’t been flight tested,” Alex continued. “But we fired them up in the lab and they didn’t explode.”
“That’s comforting.” Stone cast a nervous glance at the heavy boots he wore. They were high, with thick soles. A tube ran from the back of each up to the canister he wore on his back. In his right hand he held a cylinder with a button on the end that would activate the boots.
“I recommend firing the burners in short bursts to conserve fuel,” Alex said. “You should have enough for about five minutes.”
“What happens when I run out?”
“You sail on down to the ground,” Moses said. “Just make sure you deal with that biplane before you do. Otherwise, it’s gonna be open season.”
“Thanks for that,” Stone said.
“Speaking of the biplane, we’re almost out of the clouds,” Alex said. “If you want the element of surprise, you’d better get a move on.”
“This had better work.”
“Relax,” Alex said. “I designed it, so you know it’ll run smoothly.”
“Like eggs in coffee,” Moses added.
“This is remarkable,” Constance said. “Like something out of Jules Verne.”
“It’s not that advance,” Alex said, his cheeks turning pink. “It’s based on work being done by several European inventors and scientists.”
“Alex figures out the science. I just help him make it run,” Moses said.
“You are both far too humble,” Constance said. “I am amazed at what you have done with the plane, the suit, and whatever you call these things.”
“Rocketboots,” Moses said.
Constance nodded and turned to Stone. “Be careful.”
Stone pulled on his goggles and grinned. “I don’t think that’s possible, considering what I’m about to do. But I’ll give it my best shot.”
Alex opened the hatch again and Stone climbed down the few rungs, holding on with all his might. The icy wind bit through him, and the cold moisture made it difficult to hold on. He was surrounded by impenetrable white mist.
Stone concentrated on his sharp sense of hearing. He mentally separated the rush of the wind from the roar of the Flying Wing’s engines. Then he picked out the higher-pitched drone of the Albatross. He focused on the sound until he was certain of its location. He locked in on the spot and opened his eyes.
The sky was brighter, the air growing warmer. They were leaving cloud cover. Stone tensed to spring. They broke out into open sky. Stone focused on the cloud bank until he saw the fighter plane’s silhouette appear.
And then he jumped.
He fanned his arms out and felt a sudden upward thrust as air filled the wings of the soaring suit. He really disliked that name. The biplane was emerging from the clouds and Stone angled toward it.
The pilot didn’t see him coming until Stone was nearly on top of him. Instinctively he opened fire. Stone gritted his teeth expecting a sharp burst of pain and certain death. But the pilot had no time to change his course and the rounds came nowhere close to the man in the flying suit. Unfortunately, Stone had aimed too high and he shot past the biplane. The pilot looked up as Stone passed him by.
Cursing, Stone adjusted the suit and began a long, slow turn. As he came about, he looked up to see that the biplane had maintained its course and was closing in on the Flying Wing. Alex was taking evasive action, but the transport lacked the speed and agility of the smaller plane. It was all up to Stone.
He completed his turn and locked in on the fighter. His heart skipped a beat as his thumb found the button that would ignite his rocketboots.
“Alex, I hate being your guinea pig,” he shouted. His voice was lost in the wind. Heart in his throat, he locked his legs as Moses had instructed him, and fired the burners.
A jolt of white-hot pain shot from his hips up his spine as he was hurled forward at high speed. In his ears, the scream of the wind rushing past him dueled with the sonic scream of the rocketboots. He felt his lips pushed back by the force of the air, baring his teeth in a rictus of adrenaline.
He released the button and adjusted his course so that he was following directly behind the fighter plane. Another burst of the rockets and in seconds he had closed half the distance between them. Still locked in on its target, the Albatross banked to the left as the gap between it and its quarry narrowed perilously. The pilot fired again and the rounds just missed the transport’s tail section. Distress twisted Stone’s gut. For a moment, he had been certain his friends were goners. It was time for an act of desperation.