She handed him her PRD, and he pulled out a white plastic-and-aluminum dial with varying increments of measurement on it. The thing looked ancient. “Gotta run this by the old whiz wheel,” he said.
“Whiz wheel?”
“The E6B. It’s a flight computer. Helps me plot the course we’ll take.”
She stared at it. “Computer? But it doesn’t even have power.”
He smiled and pointed to his head. “It’s all up here.” He started moving the dial around.
She sipped the hot chocolate and watched him work, relishing both. While she perched on the stool, he finished his calculations and checked over his plane, holding up his own PRD, which projected a checklist. After she finished her drink, he came back and drank his down in three long gulps. “We’re about ready.” He pointed at her tool bag. “That all your gear?” He gave her back her PRD.
She nodded.
“Well, welcome aboard.” He walked her over to the passenger side and opened the door for her. She hoisted herself up using a grab bar and settled down into the seat.
Walking around to the other side, he gazed outside. It still looked sunny and calm. Swinging himself into the plane, he landed in the pilot seat. “Take that buckle there and strap it in the middle of your chest,” he told her.
She reached down, finding two black straps that went over her shoulders and lap, and latched them in the middle with an antique metal buckle. She felt a reassuring click.
He started up the engine. The blade on the nose of the plane began whirring, so fast it blurred. Then he eased the plane out of the storage shed and into the daylight. Angling it out onto the runway, he looked over at her. “Ready?”
She bowed her head.
“Then here we go.” He eased the plane forward, gaining more speed on the runway. Suddenly she could feel the wind buffeting the wings. “Winds are always a little high this time of year, but we’ll make it,” he reassured her.
They zipped down the airstrip, traveling faster than she ever had before. The end of the strip loomed up before them, beyond which lay rocks and a small rise. She gripped the seat as the rise grew impossibly close, and then the nose of the plane tilted up. She felt the plane rock to the right, lifting slightly as the wheels left the ground.
And then they were airborne. She let go of the seat and gripped the doorframe, staring down as the airport buildings shrunk beneath them. She could see the dusty road she’d driven on with Rowan and, glinting in the distance, a tiny square she imagined was the solar panel on the roof of her car. Rowan was just now pulling away, heading south toward the other camp.
Then they drew higher, and she took in a vast landscape, the likes of which she’d never seen before. All of Delta City lay before them. As they rose in altitude, she could see the gleaming of the atmospheric shield, stretching across horizons. All along the base she saw carbon dioxide ports like the one she’d entered. Soon they passed the perimeter, flying over the shield itself. She could see the PPC tower where she’d made her pirate broadcast. Around it, millions of gray buildings bristled upward. Long, dirty streets that had been so insufferably crowded on the ground now looked like dark little ribbons winding among the buildings.
Soaring over the tops of buildings, she peered down through the shield into the teeming chaos.
They flew for more than two hours like that, the view of clustered buildings and narrow streets all blending together. At last they reached the far edge of the shield, and the entire scene changed.
She could see the shapes of hills, dried riverbeds, and brown dust extending endlessly. The wind caught the plane again, and the craft dipped. She gripped the seat, her heart crawling up into her throat. She looked over at Gordon.
He grinned. “We’ll be okay. See this?” he said, pointing at a dial that floated in some kind of oily liquid. She read 270˚ W on the bobbing device inside. “That tells us which way we’re heading.” He pointed at the icon of a little plane, titled slightly above a flat line. “This tells us how level we are.” He pointed at another dial. “And this is our air speed.” She blinked at it: 140 mph? Could that be right? If so, she was elated. No cracked roads to drive over, no potholes that could destroy a car’s axle. No night stalkers. No flooded streets. Her body started to relax. She felt like the birds she had read about. She gazed out at the clouds nestled in the blue sky and felt a freedom she’d never known.
He caught her expression and smiled. “Great, isn’t it?” He pushed back in his seat, relaxing his shoulders.
“How long can we fly before we have to refuel?”
He looked at the gauge. “About five and a half hours if the methane tank is full. Of course, just crossing Delta City eats up a chunk of that.”
She studied him for a while, the way he turned the controls with the ease of experience. “How long have you been a pilot?”
“Sixty-five years. My parents taught me when I was fifteen. They were both pilots too.”
She looked down at her lap, then turned to the window. “What was that like?”
“Hell, the best feeling in the world! They were both crackerjack pilots. They could do all the stunts. They had a sweet little red biplane with yellow on the wings. I love that plane. Still got it in storage. My grandfather was also a pilot, and before that, his mom. A whole family of aviators going way back.”
She looked at him awkwardly. “I mean . . .
