The Guardian of Threshold (2 page)

The day seemed to turn to night, but the clouds weren’t the worst part. I was more concerned with the mysterious haze that accompanied the storm. With such limited visibility, it was hard not to lose my sense of direction.

As I flew into the storm, the faint hint of sun slowly disappeared behind me as if being swallowed by the thick clouds and dense haze. I no longer knew which way was up or down.

I stopped looking outside the windshield and focused all my attention on the altimeter. I used the horizon indicator and the compass as my guides. Although, I didn’t have any lessons on instrument flying, I knew just enough so I wouldn’t completely lose my bearings, thanks to some flight simulator practice on the computer.

I must have been about five miles from the airport when I heard Gilles’s voice on the radio. “Mark, pay close attention,” he said, “this isn’t going to be an easy landing, and you don’t have enough fuel to go elsewhere. You’ll have to execute a crosswind landing. Remember? We talked about them.”

“Yes, I remember,” I lied. I vaguely remembered making a few attempts at it in the simulator—none of which ended well—but I decided to keep that to myself—there was no need to worry Gilles even further.

“It’s not hard,” said Gilles, probably just to reassure me. “All you have to do is maintain a higher RPM than usual and apply full rudder just before you touchdown.”

Crosswind landings were challenging in any circumstance. Add poor visibility on top of my inexperience, and it was a recipe for disaster.

I did my best to align the Cessna with the runway. At first I thought I had it. I was wrong; as I got closer I could see that the airplane was off target by about two hundred feet. Visibility was so poor that it was hard to know for sure.

I was so shocked that I almost forgot to apply full throttle, retract the flaps, and pull back on the elevator controls in order to avoid hitting a parked plane at the end of the runway. Once back in the air, I came around for another try. Unfortunately, the visibility just kept getting worse. It seemed the longer I circled the airport, the worse my situation became.

I decided that once I had located the runway, I would give myself some extra time and space to properly align the Cessna. After a few minutes and a few precisely timed sharp turns at the command of the tower operator, I was finally able to find the runway. So I flew about six miles past the airport, fighting rain, haze, and violent winds as I climbed to fifteen hundred feet. I didn’t know if it was going to make a difference, but it was worth a shot.

My second approach was even worse than the first. The winds were stronger. The haze was blinding, and my fuel was getting very low. I should have landed in Boston while the winds were calm. Why didn’t I think of that earlier?

I was beginning to lose hope. Who was I kidding? I wasn’t going to land. I wish I could say that I thought about my father and friends when I stumbled upon the realization that I might die. But I didn’t: all I could think about was my mother. If I died, would I see her? Or would I sink into a world of nothingness?

Again, I suddenly felt an evil presence sitting next to me, mocking me, savoring my fate. But I told myself it was the stress getting the best of me.

I made two more approach attempts, but neither was even close. I started to doubt there was any chance I’d get out of this unscathed.

As I circled the airport for my fifth and probably last try, I heard the brief crackling of the radio and then Gilles’s voice through the tight headset. “Mark, you’re running on fumes. You need to put that bird down…” He said something else too, but I couldn’t hear it over the deafening thunder that cut the transmission short. Flashes of light bathed the Cessna; one came to close to hitting it. I hate lightning—I always have and probably always will.

“Roger,” I said while I checked the fuel gauge.

In the heat of the moment, I missed what probably was my last chance to land. The weather still gave no sign of improving. I climbed to a safe altitude and turned around quickly.
Maybe if I’m really lucky, I’ll get another shot
, I thought.

I was about to take a left turn toward Hanscom Field when the engine started to skip and rattle. A jolt of desperation shot through me. I felt the blood drain from my legs, making me suddenly lightheaded. Strangely enough, I found comfort knowing it would be a quick death. I wouldn’t have to wait much longer to find out what lingered beyond death.

“Mayday, my engine is out! Mayday, mayday!” I said over the radio, losing the last bit of self-control I still had. Immediately, the airplane started to lose speed. I was forced to tip the elevator control forward in an effort to retain some speed. In an aircraft, speed equals lift, and lift was what I desperately needed.

The sudden silence in the cockpit was disconcerting and surreal. All I could hear were raindrops smashing against the windshield. Then even that stopped. I stared at the motionless propeller and felt powerless, much like the airplane. I kept picturing it crashing into trees, tearing itself and myself apart bit by bit. I pictured my limbs being ripped from my body, my bones breaking as the plane slammed into the ground. Maybe I wouldn’t feel any pain. Maybe there was a limit to how much pain a person could suffer before the brain shut down. I hoped.

“Mayday! Mayday!” I said as I passed the one-thousand-foot mark, heading toward zero on the altimeter needles.

“Remember to pull up just before you hit the ground, try to find a clearing or something,” said Gilles.

Hit the ground? It took a while for those words to sink in. If there was a clearing, I couldn’t see it. At five-hundred feet altitude, the alarms in the cockpit began driving me insane. I quickly looked for the reset button to shut them off. That’s when I noticed a clear path through the fog, seemingly made for the sole purpose of guiding me. Out of options and with the ground quickly approaching, I followed the clear air and, amazingly, saw the next best thing to a runway: I-95, right below me, looking smooth as a rug.

“I-95! I can see I-95!” I said, almost crying.

I lowered the flaps all the way, double-checked and retightened my seatbelt until my ribs hurt, and just like that I was ready for a bumpy emergency landing on the interstate.

“I’m landing on I-95,” I said. At least Gilles would know where to send the rescue crew. At that very moment, I imagined dedicated men and women getting the call. I could picture them hurrying to my aid, expecting the worst.

Time seemed to completely stop as I glided toward the interstate. It was as though everything had come to a halt… the wind, the lightning, the rain; even the fog seemed to dissipate. The airplane silently glided as though guided by an invisible hand. Then, in a matter of milliseconds, I lived through all my sixteen years. I relived every argument, every joy, even every tear and smile, as if my memories were the only luggage I would take with me into whatever came next.

My training finally kicked in. I had to avoid landing anywhere near people or buildings. In the back of my mind, I could almost hear Gilles’s voice saying, “Not near the Burlington Mall.”

As long as I stayed on the interstate, the mall would be safe.

As I lined up with the interstate—which was fairly empty for two o’clock on a Thursday afternoon—I did my best to keep the airplane centered over the pavement. Luckily, this particular stretch of the interstate was fairly straight.

Somewhere below me there was the Burlington Mall, where hundreds if not thousands of people shopped unsuspectingly, getting ready for Christmas. The poor weather conditions prevented me from pinpointing the mall’s exact location. Unfortunately, the interstate was my only viable option. Landing in the woods was out of the question—that tended to be rather fatal. Not that crashing into solid asphalt was any prettier, but at least I’d have a chance.

“How are you doing?” Gilles asked as I tried to keep calm.

“I guess… I’m okay.”

“You can do this.” His confidence was infectious.

As I got closer to the ground, I tried to restart the engine one more time, but it was useless. I can’t say I was surprised. I was about to make an emergency landing, and there was nothing I could do to avoid it.

My only consolation was the prospect of maybe seeing my mother again.

“Oh God, here we go!” I said, even though I was raised an atheist. There I was flying… no, I was falling at 85 mph, with nothing more than a few feet separating death and me.

My heart pounded like it was trying to burst out of my chest. My hands burned. Sweat dripped from my forehead despite the cold, and my body shook uncontrollably.

Silence was suddenly broken as chaos blared into life. I heard brakes screeching as motorists stopped violently when they realized I was about to land this beast of a plane right in front of them. The cars ahead of me swerved into the median as I fell the final few feet toward the pavement.

CHAPTER TWO

FROM BAD TO WORSE

A
s a sudden warmth flooded my body, I managed to straighten the airplane just before it hit the interstate by applying all the left rudder I could at the last moment.

I was astonished at how well I was doing. It was like I’d made an emergency landing before. The Cessna gently touched the wet asphalt. Honestly, it was the smoothest touchdown I had ever performed, almost like it wasn’t me flying. Then finally I understood: it wasn’t me. I wouldn’t have been able to pull that off. I had help, from whom I didn’t know.

As my mind raced to figure out what had just happened, I forcefully and stupidly applied full brakes. Almost immediately, smoke started coming out of the landing gear as if it was on fire. Suddenly, the whole plane skidded sideways and came to a sudden stop on the grass median, narrowly missing a few cars.

When I came about, I was in shock and unable to move… I had pulled it off. But that wasn’t me. They were my hands, but I wasn’t controlling them. The part where I pushed hard on the brakes, that was me. But not the rest.

After a minute or so, I finally felt safe enough to move. I pushed the radio button and said, “I made it! I’m in the median, but I made it.”

“Are you all right?” asked Gilles and the tower operator, almost at the same time.

“I think I am… I just have a bump on my head,” I said as something warm oozed down my forehead. I ran my finger along my scalp to see the extent of the damage: blood dripped down my forehead, but the cut appeared minor. I wiped my bloody fingers on my pants and looked around to make sure that I and everyone else around me were in one piece.

“Mark, hang on, emergency services are on their way!” Gilles said. I could hear his sigh of relief over the radio.

I unbuckled my seatbelt and opened the passenger door. My door was blocked by the median. The Cessna’s left wing almost touched the grass, but aside from some worn tires and a badly bent propeller, the airplane seemed to be in fairly good shape. Wish my head had been so lucky.

When I stumbled outside, I noticed that traffic had come to a halt on both sides of the highway. Some motorists had come out of their cars to see if I was okay. Some seemed thrilled, while others appeared upset and looked at me with accusing eyes. How dare I mess up their afternoon commute?

My whole life, I’d never seen so much action in one place. The sound of sirens filled the air. In the distance, I could see an army of EMTs, police cars, and fire trucks making their way toward me. They used the median, the interstate shoulder, and any other openings they could to get to me. Scattered emergency lights decorated both the northbound and southbound lanes.

“Are you all right?” asked the first police officer on the scene.

“I’m… okay,” I said, still shaking and bleeding.

Emergency vehicles and news vans quickly surrounded the place. There were even a couple helicopters circling above. One was from the police department, and the other was from a local TV station.

“What’s your name?” the officer asked politely as she opened her first aid kit and examined my wound.

“Mark,” I said. “Mark Anthony Ryser.”

“Mark! Were you flying that airplane? Is there anyone else?” she asked, looking at the plane.

“No, there isn’t anyone else. I ran out of fuel and had to make an emergency landing,” I said, afraid I would be in trouble.

“Well… nice landing,” she said and smiled, much to my surprise.

“So… I’m not in trouble?”

“Not that I know of. I’m sure the FAA will eventually have some questions for you. They’re the ones who investigate this sort of thing,” she said casually. “Now, Mark, I need to inform your parents. What’s your mom’s number?”

“My mom’s dead,” I said as she cleaned the wound on my forehead and placed a bandage over it.

“I’m sorry. Who’s responsible for you?” she asked politely.

“My dad,” I said reluctantly. I could only imagine the kind of trouble I would be in after he found out.

“We need to contact him. Can you call him?” She took out her notepad and started to take notes.

I reached for my cell phone in my left pocket, but when I was just about to dial my dad’s number, the phone rang in my hands.

“Dad?” I asked, surprised. “I need to tell you something—”

“Are you okay? I’m watching you on the news right now!” he said. I’d never heard my dad sound so worried before.

“Yes, thank God. I’m fine, but the police need to talk to you.” I was tempted to just pass the phone to the officer, afraid of what he would say to me.

“I’m glad you’re all right. Don’t worry… everything will be fine. Please put the officer on.”

“Sure.”

Soon, I was completely surrounded by police, paramedics, and firefighters. Everyone seemed to be excited or at least amused by all the action. Against my wishes, the paramedics loaded me into the back of the ambulance to take me to the Lahey Clinic Medical Center emergency room. The ambulance took off, driving through the grass to avoid the traffic congestion I had created.

When we arrived at the hospital, my dad was already outside waiting for the ambulance—he must have been in the area because there was no way he could’ve made it there from Stoneham with all that traffic. Apparently, he was still on the phone with the police officer, only putting down the phone when they unloaded me from the ambulance.