Will to Survive (19 page)

“This is all going to take a lot of diplomacy, a lot of discussion,” my mother said.

“It will. In the meantime we need to get working on the physical task of extending a walled, guarded corridor along the 403 all the way to the river so that we can control all access across the river.”

“But what about the bridge across Dundas? Do we expand to there as well?” Judge Roberts asked.

“That's too far to expand or even provide protection for guards who would be placed there. That's why we have to destroy that bridge.”

The judge gasped and said, “Destroy it?”

I could see the same shocked look in the expressions of others around the table.

Herb nodded solemnly. “We'll do it the same way we destroyed Burnham Bridge and basically for the same reasons. Except this time we can't afford to wait until an enemy appears.”

“But don't a lot of people use that bridge?” Councilwoman Stevens asked.

“Hundreds use it each day,” Herb admitted.

“But what will happen to them?” she wondered.

“People on foot will still be able to cross at the bottom, but vehicles won't,” Herb said. “It's vehicles, carrying large groups of men, that we have to be afraid of.”

“But the last two attacks have simply been by a small group of individuals. Destroying the Dundas bridge or controlling the one along the 403 won't protect us from that,” Judge Roberts said.

“We are providing some protection for our core neighborhood by the expansion of the surrounding areas, but we can never have control over small-scale attacks. Those attacks can wound but never kill us. We have to take measures to make sure that nothing large scale can come at us from the city. Right now danger can come only from that direction.”

“But there are other bridges across the river,” my mother said.

“With the removal of the Dundas bridge and the control of the 403, the next-nearest bridge is almost thirty miles to the north. That distance gives us some protection. We can't eliminate threat; we can only make it less desirable and more difficult for any enemies who might choose to attack us,” Herb explained.

There was complete silence around the room as everybody tried to digest all of what Herb had just suggested. I knew there would be a need for people to talk and argue, weigh the alternatives, think things through. Then after that had taken place, I was equally sure it would all happen. Herb was right, and everybody knew it.

 

18

It was four days after the meeting and I was back in the Cessna, with Lori beside me. We were heading for the refinery. I would have felt more comfortable going out in the ultralight, but it was agreed the plane was more impressive—and we wanted to make an impression.

After our little fight, I had been trying to patch things up with Lori, and last night I had gone over to her place to spend a few hours with her and her parents. Her father had filled in Lori and her mother on the committee's decisions. Without hesitation, Lori asked to come up with me, to help out on this mission.

“Can you go any slower when we make the drop?” Lori said.

“Any slower or lower, and we'll
be
the drop.”

She had in her hands the invitation we were going to send down to whoever was living at the refinery—a weighted parcel tied to a homemade parachute. Originally it was going to be Herb at my side as well, but he was feeling under the weather.

Nobody except my family, Judge Roberts, and Dr. Morgan knew anything about him needing to rest. Herb being strong gave everybody else strength. His confidence gave everybody else confidence. Even so, his absence was easy to hide because it always seemed like he was everywhere, so everybody just assumed he was simply someplace else. And since the decision had been made to put his plan into effect, he had been almost everywhere all at once, hurrying from place to place inside and outside the neighborhood trying to put everything into motion. Today we were going to put two more parts into play, trying to arrange meetings with the refinery and the hospital.

The flight had been less than a smooth one. Right after takeoff we were buffeted by strong winds. I had to work the controls pretty hard to keep the plane steady, and it helped that Lori stayed calm beside me, even when we had one drop that was so sudden and severe that we both rose up in the air, our seat belts the only things that stopped us from hitting against the ceiling. Lori's only response was to giggle. Todd would have screamed. Heck, I almost screamed.

Repeatedly I'd changed elevation looking for calmer air, but there was none to be found at the lower range. Technically I could have tried to go above the turbulence—the ceiling of my plane was ten thousand feet—but there was no point in doing so when we were going such a short distance and needed to be low when we arrived.

Now the refinery loomed just up ahead, its metal superstructure towering into the air. It looked impressive and intimidating and a little unreal, like something made by a giant kid with an equally gigantic Erector set. It also made for difficulties with this drop. I needed to come in low enough to drop the parachute and make sure it landed on their grounds but high enough not to hit anything.

The first drop, at the hospital, had gone off without a hitch. As we circled back around we saw that a group of men had retrieved it; they even waved to us as we passed over. I'd wiggled my wings in response.

The refinery didn't look as friendly. Positioned all around the grounds were two dozen gigantic spherical storage tanks, streaks of rust marring many of them. The whole complex was ringed with razor-wire fences, earthen berms, cement walls, and guard towers. I couldn't see the guards yet, but there was no question that they could see us. Almost instinctively I dipped and banked to the right to evade anybody who had us in their rifle sights.

Lori popped open her side window, and a rush of air filled the cabin and the engine noise increased. We swept past the fences, the rigging rising right ahead of us. She chose a spot and dropped the package out the window, and I hit the rudder hard right, pulled out the throttle, and eased back on the yoke. Instantly we gained speed and height.

I craned my neck to try to pick up the little parachute going down but couldn't track it.

“You see it?” I asked.

“Direct hit,” Lori replied. “That makes us two for two.”

If both groups accepted the invitations, we'd meet with one tomorrow and the second the day after. I just had to hope that Herb was feeling well enough to take part in the meetings. Regardless, though, they were going to happen. We couldn't very well reschedule.

“So how would you feel about extending our flight?” I asked.

“How about a tropical vacation?”

“Close—a flight to the city.”

The committee had requested that my father and I widen our air patrols, looking for potential allies and dangers that were farther afield. So I'd informed them that I was going to travel closer to the city on this flight.

“I'm more than okay with that. I love being up here.” She reached out and placed a hand on my leg.

That sent a jolt through me. Luckily, it didn't cause me to put the plane into a nosedive right then and there.

“Good, then let's both keep our eyes wide open,” I said, although right then it was the last thing I wanted to do.

Slowly, so as to not disturb that hand, I put the plane into a long bank, bringing us well out over the lake before looping us back around toward the city.

“So pretty,” Lori said.

“The water is beautiful from up here, although I can't help but think of all the untreated sewage flowing into it.”

“You really know how to say the most romantic things.” Lori stared down at the lake below. “Look at all the sailboats.”

I could see lots of watercraft, including motorboats. That made sense. Anything with just a basic outboard still could work because they were all simple engines that didn't require computers, like the lawn mowers, old cars, and even the Cessna.

In the distance, just on the horizon, I could make out the tallest of the downtown office towers. They were in the core of the city and I could use them as dead reckoning to get there. On the way home I'd take a different route, probably following along one of the highways leading out of the city and ultimately right by our neighborhood to the south.

“It's so peaceful up here,” Lori said.

“It's maybe the only peaceful place around.”

I pulled back a little bit more on the wheel. I wanted to get even more cushion between the safety of the sky and the turmoil below. It meant we wouldn't see as much detail on the ground, but I was willing to make that trade.

Lori leaned in closer, and I thought the flight was going to get even better, but then she jerked back suddenly.

“What's wrong?”

Eyes wide, mouth open, she pointed past me.

Another plane was flying parallel to us—no more than fifty feet off to the side! I had to consciously think to not jerk the controls and put us into a dive or bank.

“Whoa, that's a World War II Mustang P-51!”

“What?”

“An old U.S. military plane.”

It was silver, with large numbers and a big white air force star painted on the side. It looked like it had flown out of the past and right to my port wingtip. This was unreal. And then the unreal became even more so as a second Mustang materialized on the starboard side! I was sandwiched between two antique fighter planes, the second even closer than the first.

We flew along in a little formation, both planes so close that I could see their pilots. And then one of the pilots starting making hand gestures.

I knew what he was saying, I just didn't want to believe it. “He wants us to go down, to land.”

“Land where?”

I shook my head. “I don't know.”

“Can't you just ignore him or outrun them?”

“Not a chance. This is a Cessna 172 with a top speed of about a hundred and eighty miles per hour and that's on a very good day. The Mustang's top speed is more than twice that. Plus it has a range that's longer than mine, a higher ceiling, and can make turns tighter than I could even imagine.”

“What if we just ignore them and keep flying?” she asked.

As if in answer there was a short burst of machine-gun fire that came out of the wings of the port plane.

My heart was pounding. “The Mustang also has six fifty-caliber machine guns and was one of the most dangerous fighter planes of the war,” I added mechanically.

“How do you even know all of that?” she asked.

“I love planes. I know things … things like that. We have no choice but to do what they want.”

The pilot to my left gestured for me to follow. I nodded. He accelerated and took up a spot in front of me. The second plane dropped back until he was right on my tail—the perfect place to use those machine guns to blast me out of the sky.

The front plane started a slow bank and I followed his lead. My mind raced, looking for a solution, but there was none. I couldn't outrun, outlast, outturn, or outfight him. All I could do was follow.

We were too far from the neighborhood to send a distress call over the walkie-talkie. So we were really on our own.

I looked over at Lori, who smiled back tentatively. “I'm so sorry, Lori, so sorry.”

“It's not your fault.”

We continued to turn, circling the office towers and descending at the same time. I played with the idea of hitting the rudder hard and cutting through the towers, but what then? If I did shake my tail for a moment, they'd just be waiting for me on the other side. How long did I think I could dodge them, how long before they'd simply lose patience and shoot us out of the sky?

I stayed true to the course he was setting. Whatever was waiting on the ground had to be better than being shot down, I hoped.

As we descended, I noticed we were doing a big pass over the lake, and then I remembered: there was a small airport on the island that formed the outer barrier of the city's harbor. Was that where he wanted me to land?

We came back around, and I knew I was right: the little airport, with its two black runways, appeared before me.

“I've landed here before, with my dad at the controls of a Piper Cub he'd borrowed from a friend, years ago, when I was a little kid.”

“What's down there?” Lori asked.

“I'm not sure what's down there now, but it used to be just a small private airfield, a few dozen houses people used as summer places, and an aviation museum.” Then it came to me. “They had old warplanes at the museum. It was a group of air enthusiasts who bought and repaired old planes.”

“Like Mustangs?”

“Like Mustangs. I've probably sat in the cockpit of one of those planes.” I wished I was at the controls of that plane right now. We'd have a fighting chance, or at least a chance to fight back. Here I was, defenseless. What were we supposed to do, crack off a rifle shot at one of them?

Lower and lower, the first plane led the way. I thought about overshooting once he landed, but there was nothing to stop him from skipping back up, a quick touchdown and takeoff, and then there was the problem of the plane still on my tail. He'd backed off, but that was just to keep a better eye on me. There was no way I was flying away from this.

“When we land I'm going to keep going, taxiing along the runway to get as close to the end as I can,” I said. “As soon as I come to a stop, jump out and start running.”

“Where are we running to?” she asked.

“Away from the runway, into any cover we can find. We have to try to hide. I can see a wooded area at the end.”

She nodded. “I'm scared.”

“So am I,” I said. Would Herb have said that? No, he would have said something to inspire confidence. “But we're going to get out of this. I promise.”

The runway came up fast. People and vehicles were moving around just off to the side, and as we came down I could see that the surrounding ground had been cultivated, some fields brown and harvested and others still filled with crops.