Gray Mountain: A Novel(44)

“Good morning,” he said with a big smile. “Did you sleep well?”

“Eight hours. Are you a pilot?”

“I am, and this is a Cessna 172, better known as a Skyhawk. I practice law in five states and this little dude helps me get around. Plus, it’s a valuable tool when it comes to spying on coal companies.”

“Of course. And we’re going spying?”

“Something like that.” He gently folded down and locked a cowling that covered the engine. “Preflight is finished and she’s ready to go. Your door is on the other side.”

She didn’t move. “I’m not so sure about this. I’ve never flown in anything that small.”

“It’s the safest airplane ever built. I have three thousand hours and I’m highly skilled, especially on a perfect day like this. Not a cloud in the sky, ideal temperature, and the trees are alive with the colors of autumn. Today is a pilot’s dream.”

“I don’t know.”

“Come on, where’s your sense of adventure?”

“But it only has one engine.”

“That’s all it needs. And if the engine quits it’ll glide forever and we’ll find a nice pasture somewhere.”

“In these mountains?”

“Let’s go Samantha.” She slowly walked around the tail and to the right-side door under the wing. He helped her into the seat and gently secured the seat belt and shoulder harness. He closed the door, locked it, and went around to the left side. She looked behind her at the cramped rear seat, and she looked in front of her at the wall of instruments and gauges.

“Are you claustrophobic?” he asked as he snapped his seat belt and harness into place. Their shoulders were about an inch apart.

“I am now.”

“You’re gonna love it. You’ll be flying it before the day is over.” He handed her a headset and said, “Stick this on. It’s pretty loud in here and we’ll talk through these.” They arranged their headsets. “Say something,” he said.

“Something.” Thumbs-up, the headsets were working. He grabbed a checklist and ran through the items, carefully touching each instrument and gauge as he went. He pulled the yoke back and forth. An identical one on her side moved in tandem. “Please don’t touch that,” he said.

She shook her head quickly; she wasn’t touching anything. He said, “Clear,” and turned the key. The engine jumped to life as the propeller began spinning. The airplane shook as he pushed the throttle. He announced his intentions over the radio, and they began taxiing down the runway, which seemed short and narrow, to her anyway. “Is anyone listening?” she asked.

“I doubt it. It’s very quiet this morning.”

“Do you have the only airplane in Noland County?”

He pointed to some small hangars ahead, along the runway. “There are a few more down there. Not many.” At the end of the runway, he revved the engine again and rechecked the controls and instruments. “Hang on.” He pushed the throttle forward, gently released the brakes, and they were rolling. As they picked up speed he calmly counted, “Eighty miles an hour, ninety, a hundred,” then he pulled the yoke back and they left the asphalt. For a moment, she felt weightless and her stomach flipped. “You okay?” he asked without looking at her.

“Fine,” she said with clenched jaws. As they were climbing, he began banking to the left and completed a 180-degree turn. They were low, not far above the trees, and he picked up the main highway. “See that green truck parked down there in front of that store?” he asked. She nodded. “That’s the * who followed me this morning. Hang on.” He jiggled the yoke and the wings dipped and rose, a salute to the * in the green truck. When it was out of sight, he began climbing again.

“Why would they follow you on a Saturday morning?” she asked, her white knuckles digging into her knees.

“You’ll have to ask them. Maybe because of what happened yesterday. Maybe because we show up in court Monday for a big trial. Who knows. They follow me all the time.” Suddenly she felt a bit safer in the air. By the time they reached Brady she was relaxed and taking in the scenery not far below. He buzzed the town at five hundred feet and gave her a bird’s view of where she lived and worked. Except for a ride in a hot air balloon in the Catskills, she had never seen the earth from such a low altitude, and it was fascinating, even thrilling. He climbed to a thousand feet and leveled off as they skipped across the hills. The radio was as silent as the one in Romey’s old fake patrol car, and she asked, “What about radar and air traffic controllers and stuff like that? Is anybody out there?”

“Probably not. We’re flying VFR—visual flight rules—so we’re not required to check in with air control. On a business trip, I would file a flight plan and get plugged into the air traffic system, but not today. We’re just joyriding.” He pointed to a screen and explained, “That’s my radar. If we get close to another plane, it’ll show up there. Relax, I’ve never had a crash.”

“A close call?”

“None. I take it very seriously, like most pilots.”

“That’s nice. Where are we going?”

“I don’t know. Where do you want to go?”