I pulled the throttle all the way back. I pulled the red knob—the choke. The engine sputtered once and died. I killed the electrics. The plane went bizarrely quiet, just hanging in the air, no engine, no power. Another second and the nose pitched down toward the city below. The black smoke billowed up. The smell in the cockpit grew thicker.
We were going down. There was no way out of it. I couldn’t turn the engine back on, couldn’t start the gas flowing, not with the plane in flames. I could glide for a while, but we’d keep sinking. Eventually, we were going to crash-land.
That is, if we didn’t explode first.
I looked out through the windshield, scanning the scene in front of me, looking for a place where I could make a safe landing. The river was too far. We’d go smashing into the streets before we got there. I might try to land on the highway, but I could see in the gathering dark that it was thick with headlights, thick with cars, everyone heading toward Manhattan for the New Year’s Eve celebration.
Lifting my eyes then, I spotted a deeper darkness in the distance to my left. Hard to tell from where I was, but I thought it might be a park. There was a chance anyway. The only chance, as far as I could see.
I turned the stick and the plane banked toward that deeper dark.
With the engine off, the power gone, the plane continued to sink steadily downward in a slow forward glide. I tried to keep the nose pointed at just the right angle, just low enough to keep our speed up so the wings wouldn’t stall, but high enough to keep us aloft until we reached the open space of the park. If it was a park. If there was open space.
Mike and Rose had fallen silent again. And I was silent. The plane was quiet except for the wind coming in through the shattered window. I felt a knot of tension in my stomach as I waited to see whether there’d be anyplace to land.
As if that weren’t bad enough, suddenly I heard a throbbing noise to my left. I felt my heart seize in my chest as another chopper appeared in the sky beside me. It took me a moment before I saw that it was the police. And now there were two choppers—no, three. Alerted to the action in the sky and the crash of the Homelanders’ whirlybird, the cops were coming after us.
There was nothing I could do about it now. I had to give my full attention to the plane.
My pulse was beating hard in my head. My mouth was dry. My hand felt unsteady on the controls.
Mike leaned forward from the backseat. He clapped his hand on my shoulder. I stole a look at him—catching a look at Patel, too, where he hung forward in his harness, dead. Mike also looked at Patel, then we looked at each other.
“That was some pretty fancy flying you did back there, chucklehead,” Mike said into his headset mike. His voice came over my set.
“Flying is one thing,” I told him. “Landing’s a lot tougher.”
“Stay cool, pal. You can do this.”
I nodded and faced forward. The plane sank lower. It was a park up ahead—I could see it now. I could make out the bare branches of the winter trees. There was a cluster of them—then open space beyond, a long field of grass. If I could stay high enough to clear the treetops, I’d have a shot at landing there. It wouldn’t be easy, though. Especially with my muscles so tight with fear I could barely move.
“You’ve landed planes before, right?” asked Rose nervously.
“Absolutely,” I said. At airports, I thought. With big, long, flat runways. And an instructor in the seat beside me telling me what to do. And a plane with a working engine so I could pull up and go around and try again if I made a mistake. It was a little different being alone like this. Heading for a park in deep twilight. With no engine. With only one chance to get it right. And, oh yeah, did I mention the plane was on fire?
“You’re gonna do fine,” said Mike, as if he’d read my mind.
I was glad he had so much faith in me. That made one of us.
The Cessna dipped lower and lower. At that slow speed, every breath of wind made the plane jump and wobble. The controls felt unsteady in my hand.
It was getting pretty dark down there below, but I could still see the trees plainly and the field beyond them was becoming clearer as we came closer. I could sense the police choppers hovering around me, but I didn’t dare to look. I was too busy, peering down too hard, trying too desperately to make sure there were no people in the park below who would get in my way. If there were, it would be a disaster. But no, the park seemed to have emptied out as the cold winter night came on.
I started, held my breath, as I caught a glimpse of flame in the window beside me. By the time I looked over, it was gone. But I could still smell the smoke. I knew the fire was growing. I knew that time was running out.
The darkness seemed to close over us as we glided down and down toward the level of the trees. As the plane got closer to the field, I could see the ground was less flat than it had looked from farther away. I could see the uneven contours, the slight rises—and the obstacles too—trash cans, benches, sandboxes. It was hard to find enough room to set the plane down safely.
But I was out of options. There was no way to climb back toward the sky, that was for sure. The plane went on sinking steadily. My heart banged in my chest. The Lord’s Prayer played in my head like a broken record. The tops of the trees rose toward me.
Then everything seemed to speed up. The end came very quickly.
We went over the trees—close, very close, but we cleared them. Now the dark ground rose up suddenly like a beast’s back. I lowered the plane’s flaps and lifted the nose. The plane dropped fast, rushing forward at the same time. The field came up to meet us, the park racing past the windows.
A hovering moment—then the wheels touched down—hard—very hard. The jolt threw me forward against the harness and brought my teeth snapping together. The plane bounced and lifted back into the air and dropped down again even harder this time. I tried to control the Cessna with the foot pedals, but the nose skewed farther and farther to the side.
Then the plane turned and dipped. There was a sickening crunch. The landing gear seemed to collapse under us and the wing thumped against the earth. There was a loud crash as something smacked into the rear of the fuselage. The plane went slantwise.
Then we stopped. It was over. We were down.
Everything was quiet. I sat there, dazed.
Then Mike started shouting. “Get out, Charlie! Get out! Get out fast—now—before it blows!”
His voice brought me back to myself. Quickly, I ripped off my harness. I found the door latch in the dark and shoved the door open. I tumbled out into the cold December air.
Confusion. The plane on fire. The Cessna’s crumpled silhouette flickering into relief as the flames rose. The police choppers hovered above me, sending white spotlights down on top of me. I couldn’t hear their engines. I couldn’t hear anything but my own heart pounding in my ears.
Then I ripped my headset off and I heard the pound of the choppers and I heard Mike shouting.
“Come on, come on!”
I saw him inside the plane. He was struggling to get out of the backseat before the Cessna exploded. There were no doors in back. He and Rose had to push the seat forward and climb over it before they could exit.
“Mike!” I shouted.
I rushed toward the burning Cessna. Avoiding the rising flames, I stuck my head in through the open passenger door. Mike was in the back, struggling with Rose.
“I can’t . . . ,” I heard Rose say. “My leg. Go on, Mike, get out.”
I saw Mike trying to shove him into the front seat.
I pulled the front seat forward to make way for him. I felt heat as the fire rose beneath me. The police spotlights swept over me, then were gone, and in the sudden dark I saw the flickering red light of the flames.
“Clear out, Charlie!” Mike shouted. “She’s gonna go! Clear out!”
I ignored him. There was no way, no way I was going to leave them there. I reached deeper into the smothering smoke and heat and grabbed hold of Rose
. I tried to drag him forward into the front seat. He let out a shout of pain.
“My leg!”
“Lift him toward me, Mike!” I shouted.
“Get out, I said!” he shouted back.
“Lift him to me or we all die!”
Mike let out a curse at my stubbornness but did what I said and hoisted Rose up until I could grab him under the arms. Rose let out a scream of pain as I dragged him into the front seat. He went on screaming and I went on pulling him until we were both outside, both clear of the fire.
I lost my balance and tumbled backward onto the grass. Rose fell on top of me. He screamed one more time and rolled off me. I sat up as the police spotlight swept across us. Then it was gone and there was just the red firelight, bright and steady now. The flames rose up from under the fuselage, up over the cockpit, blocking the exit.
“Mike!” I screamed.
I scrambled to my feet.
“No!” Rose shouted at me. “Stay back!”
I rushed toward the plane. I felt the heat of the fire tighten the skin on my face. I fought my way toward it, trying to beat the smoke and flames away with my hands.
“Mike! Mike!” I kept screaming.
And Rose was screaming behind me, “West, get back! Get back!”
The noise of the low-flying choppers filled the air. Their spotlights swept the darkness. The shadows of tree branches moved crazily everywhere like skeletons in a dance. There was the noise of sirens, too, growing louder. Cop cars approaching in the night.
Through all the confusion, another sound reached me. A sort of hollow bump. Was that it? Was the plane about to explode? The flames rose up higher around me.
The next second, something hit me hard in the chest. I went flying backward away from the plane, backward out of the firelight, out of the spotlights, into the night.
I went down on my back hard—and Mike came down hard on top of me. He had thrown himself out of the plane, through the flames. He’d thrown himself right into me, tackled me, driving me to the earth.
Just in time. The Cessna exploded.
There was no big blast, just a dull, hollow, echoless thud. The flames expanded upward and outward in a spreading ball. The three police helicopters, flying low, shot up and away into the air to escape the fire. Their spotlights yawed and crisscrossed.
Chunks of hot metal and drifting fire started to come down all around me. I tried to dodge them, but Mike held me where I was, covering my body with his.
When he rose up, I saw him clearly in the firelight, his face streaked with dirt, the dancing flames reflected in his eyes.
“You all right?” he asked.
I rolled over and sat up, feeling the heat from the fire wash over me.
“Patel,” I said. “He’s still in there.”
“No, he’s not,” said Mike. “It’s just his body, Charlie. Patel is gone.”
I didn’t like to think of Patel’s body stuck in that burning plane, but Mike was right, and there was nothing I could do about it now.
“What about you?” Mike asked again. “Are you hurt?”
“No,” I said. “Not much. I’m all right.”
“Rose?” asked Mike.
I turned and saw Rose sitting up halfway, clutching at his leg with one hand. His face was contorted with pain.
“I’ll be okay,” he said through gritted teeth. “But my leg’s busted.”
“All right,” said Mike. “We’ll get you help.”
“No,” said Rose. He had to shout now over the roar of the flames and the growing howl of the sirens and the beat of the choppers, too, which hung higher in the air to stay clear of the fire, but were still directly above us. “You’ve got to get out of here—before the cops arrive. If the police stop you, you’ll never get there in time.”
Lit by the flames from the plane, Mike scanned the area. I could see him thinking it through.
“Go,” said Rose. “I’ll be all right. I’ll get them to help, send reinforcements. They have to believe me now. All those lives at stake . . . They have to. Go, Mike. Go on.”
After another second, Mike nodded once. He turned to me.
“Let’s do it,” he said.
He didn’t have to say it twice. I leapt to my feet.
Without another word, Mike took off, sprinting away from the spotlights into the deeper shadows beneath the trees.
I paused. I nodded once at Rose—one nod of goodbye and thanks. Rose nodded back.
Then I followed Mike into the darkness.
CHAPTER THIRTY
Escape
I had no idea where we were or where we were going. I just followed Mike. He seemed to know the way, dodging and weaving through the park with absolute certainty. I remembered Milton One had told me he’d been studying maps all night.
At first, the choppers didn’t come after us. I think they’d lost sight of us, trying to get away from the exploding plane. But as Mike and I raced through the darkness, I heard the pulsing throb of their rotors growing louder behind us. I looked over my shoulder and saw their powerful spotlights sweeping the night. One of them seemed to have stayed behind with Rose. The other two were looking for us.
“Keep close,” Mike shouted back to me.
I did. He ran along a line of trees, his path tracing the shapes of their shadows. The shifting patches of dark thrown by the tree trunks and the bare branches gave us some cover and Mike made the most of it. All around us, the chopper spotlights swept back and forth over the grass, searching and searching.
But they’d lost us. By the time we reached the edge of the park, the throb of the rotors was growing dimmer as the choppers headed off over the trees in the wrong direction.
Following Mike, I stepped off the soft grass onto hard pavement. And I stopped. Mike was there, standing at the edge of the sidewalk. I followed his gaze, looked up and saw tall buildings standing black against the night. Their windows were broken and lightless. They seemed abandoned.
Mike slapped my shoulder and gestured with his head. He started running again. I went after him.
We wove down these dark, abandoned streets. There were no people anywhere. It seemed the city—or the borough—wherever we were—was completely empty.
Then we turned a corner—and suddenly there the people were. On a broad brightly lit boulevard, a large crowd moved in a steady line past stores and under streetlamps. There were police everywhere, too, standing on the outskirts of the crowd, scanning the people closely as they passed.
Mike and I stood on the corner of a shadowy side street. He swiped at his face with his hands, trying to use his own sweat to wash the grime off his cheeks, trying to make himself look as normal as possible. I did the same.
When he was done, Mike gave a quick tug at my elbow and started moving again. I followed him.
We joined the masses, moving with the human tide. In the distance I could hear sirens, lots of sirens. Then there came the beat of the choppers too. I looked up and saw a police helicopter hovering in the air right above us. When I glanced over at the patrolmen on the ground, they were all murmuring into their walkie-talkies. I figured they were getting the word about the crash in the park and our escape. I figured they were being told to look out for us. I felt the policemen’s eyes on me as we passed by them—I felt sure they were all looking straight at me. But I guess Mike knew that in a crowd like that, it would be hard to pick out any one person. Anyway, he shoved his way into the center of the throng and I went with him and no one spotted us.
We walked steadily along, pushed and carried by the flow of people. After a few minutes, I saw where we were heading. There was a subway stop on the corner up ahead. It was a stairway leading down from the sidewalk, the opening in the pavement surrounded by a low green barrier. At least one branch of the river of people was flowing into the opening and cascading down the stairs. Another few seconds, and Mike and I were cascading down with them.
As the lights of the streets, and the cold of the evening air, gave w
ay to the muted light and the dank stuffy atmosphere of the enclosed subway station, I felt myself relax a little. I felt safer here, belowground, out of the open, away from the choppers.
As we reached the bottom of the stairs, I looked around the station, peering over the heads of the people around me. There was a ticket booth in the tiled enclosure and ticket machines against the wall and a row of turnstiles leading to the subway platform. There were more cops also, patrolmen in blue uniforms: one in the ticket area, two more that I could see on the platform, watching the crowds.
Mike muscled his way to the ticket machines and came back to me with a ticket. Then he motioned me toward the turnstiles. The crowd grew denser as the turnstiles slowed the people’s progress. We pushed in close to the thickening mass. Reached the turnstiles, swiped our tickets, pushed through. We walked directly past one of the patrolmen guarding the platform. My shoulder nearly brushed him as I went by, we were that close. I felt my breath catch as his eyes went over me, but then we were past him—and the next moment, the train shot into the station, the windows flashing as it roared and rattled past.
The train slowed, stopped. The doors opened. No one left the car. The crowd just poured in like water into a funnel. I had to shoulder my way through the dense mass to make it on. Then the doors closed and Mike and I were crushed together, packed in so tightly with the others I could hardly breathe.
The train started moving again.
Someone shouted drunkenly, “Happy New Year!”
We headed into Manhattan.
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
Into the Darkness
It was a long ride. The train rushed through the tunnel, blackness at the windows. The crowd held me tight, immobile—which was just as well. Left to stand alone, I might have collapsed. I was that exhausted.
The madness of the past hours flashed through my mind. The flight over the river. The sudden death of Patel. The wild helicopter chase close to the city streets. The sight of the chopper caught in the phone wires. The gunman falling through the air to his death. The chopper exploding. And the Cessna, landing without power in the park. The crash. The fire. Getting Rose and Mike out. The race through the streets . . .