Total pages in book: 123
Estimated words: 119597 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 598(@200wpm)___ 478(@250wpm)___ 399(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 119597 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 598(@200wpm)___ 478(@250wpm)___ 399(@300wpm)
“He’s pulling up too soon.” The worry in Kody’s voice matches my fear.
Again and again, Leo tries. Each endeavor soaks me in ulcer-inducing panic. When he overcorrects, veering dangerously close to the cliff, I strangle on a gasp, my blood pressure sky-high.
“He’s not keeping it steady,” I say, as if I could do better.
I listened when he explained the basics of aviation, but at the end of the day, I know negative things about flying a plane.
His determination and quick reflexes are unrivaled, but so is his inexperience. The plane wobbles on the edge of out-of-control, a wild beast charging head-first into disaster.
Another run sees the tail swing too aggressively, a near spin that has me standing, ready to race toward him, toward the fiery crash that’s bound to happen.
But Kody’s hand captures mine, firm and unyielding, holding me back.
“He has to learn, Frankie.” He sets me back on his lap and places a reassuring kiss on my cheek, but it does little to calm my unraveling nerves.
“He can’t learn if he’s dead.” I slump into the solid warmth of him, my voice muffled against his sleeve. “The whole reason he’s practicing is so we don’t crash. But if he crashes while practicing, what’s the damn point? He only gets to crash once. If it’s going to happen, I’d rather be on that plane with him than out here watching helplessly.”
If he wrecks the plane, we’re dead, whether we’re on it or not.
We’re down to our final scraps of food.
We’ve been rationing our meals for months, each portion calculated and minimal. Hunger has become so familiar that its sharp pangs have dulled to an echo in the background. The pemmican, once overpoweringly gamy and chewy, now tastes like nothing.
We’ve lost so much weight that our raised bones scrape together every time we touch. And that feels…normal.
We’ve adapted, our bodies and minds conditioned to the constant gnaw of emptiness. We talk about our plans, our hopes for escape, but the conversation about food is conspicuously absent. It’s as if we’ve grown beyond hunger, beyond the physical demands that once dictated our every thought.
But that’s about to change.
Our food supplies have run out.
The remaining pieces of pemmican might last two more days, but no more.
“Let’s leave today.” I straighten on his lap. “Right now.”
“No,” he growls at my ear. “He needs a better grasp on this before your precious ass leaves the ground.”
Leo already said as much.
Their entire lives, they stood on this porch and watched Denver take off and land that bird. They know what it’s supposed to look like and sound like, even if they have no memory of flying inside it.
At least Leo’s practice runs don’t involve reaching the clouds or carving arcs across the sky. He can’t waste the fuel doing a complete lift-off. He’ll use just enough gas to get a feel for ascending, breaking free from the earth’s hold, and touching down. Nothing crazy.
Doesn’t stop my heart from slamming against my ribs. Every effort he makes, every bump, skip, and near collision with the ground, sends a fresh wave of anxiety through me. I imagine everything that can go wrong in vivid, terrifying detail, each scenario more gruesome than the last.
He practices for two more days, carving furrows into the landscape while my fingernails carve gouges into my palms.
But his dedication is legendary.
Each morning before dawn, he pores over his notes and makes adjustments in the flight manual, recording his mistakes and replaying maneuvers in his mind. His focus never wavers, his eyes scanning diagrams and instructions with a hunger for knowledge that’s insatiable.
Out in the field, he approaches the plane with deep respect, his hands running along the fuselage, familiarizing himself with every curve and line, committing it all to memory.
Every day, I sit beside Kody on the porch as Leo climbs into the cockpit with a quiet, steely resolve that contradicts his hot-tempered nature.
When his takeoffs stagger and slide into rough, bouncy stops, he nods to himself and tries again.
As the sun sets on his final day of practice, casting long shadows across the tundra, he remains in the plane, reviewing the day’s lessons, perhaps mentally preparing for the actual flight.
The only one that counts.
We’re leaving tomorrow morning.
Or attempting anyway.
After all his practicing, he never achieved a takeoff with any real promise that we’ll make it higher than ten feet into the air.
But we’re out of time.
The pantry is completely bare. Every shelf. Every cabinet. My garden never sprouted. The rabbits never came. We’re on our last bar of pemmican. And he can’t use any more jet fuel for drills.
“I’m scared.” The words tremble as they leave me, carried on an exhale that feels too shaky, too thin.
“Hey.” Kody pulls me against him, his mouth lowering to mine.
Our lips barely touch. Instead of kissing, I breathe love into him, and he breathes steadiness into me, calming the drumbeat beneath my skin.