“Most likely.”
“Anything you can do?”
“We’re scrambling jets at the moment. We can keep an eye on them and if they try to fly them into a populated area…”
“I get the idea. Hopefully it won’t come to that. Is there any way to scramble those things?”
“Not that I’m aware of. How about your buddy, Walter? Is he strong enough to handle this?”
“I’m not sure, and I can’t reach him. He said he was going up to Chicago today. If he’s flying too high he’ll be out of cell range.”
“Yeah, and how long does it take him to fly that far, anyway? Isn’t he pretty fast?”
“Not sure how fast he is, really. He went to New York in a few seconds once.”
“You know, Larry, I don’t like this one bit. We can’t just shoot them down without knowing what’s going on, but we can’t let those planes be used in another 9/11 either.”
“Well, I’m going to touch base with the station. Let me know if you make any progress.”
Walter wasn’t that far ahead of the plane when his hearing picked up something that didn’t sound right. The pitch of the airplane’s engines was different, way different, and he thought he heard people screaming. He turned around and started flying back the way he had come, looking up to where the plane should be, but seeing nothing. Then he looked below and there it was, nose down in a steep dive.
“Ah hell, that ain’t good,” he said as he angled down and dove toward the plane. He came next to the jet and looked in the windows. The oxygen masks had dropped, and some passengers were more calm than others. Many had the masks on, others were panicking, and others seemed to be resigned to their fate, heads bowed in prayer.
“Guess I’ll find out how strong I am,” he muttered, before flying toward the front of the plane. Looking inside the cockpit, he could see the pilots struggling with the controls, but having no success. One of them saw him out the window and managed a weak wave and a smile. He smiled back, hoping he could reassure them, but in reality trying to reassure himself. He dropped down just below the nose of the plane, bracing his palms on the underside and pushing up, like he was trying to deadlift the plane.
He wasn’t sure if he was having any success or not. He was pushing up with every ounce of strength he had and it still felt like the plane was diving, pushing him down with it. He gritted his teeth and tried to summon more strength, reaching down to a level he never knew he had.
“Come on Lord, I gotta have more,” he prayed.
He strained more, grunting with the effort, until his biceps ripped the sleeves of his T-shirt. He stole a look down and the ground was closer than it had been earlier, but didn’t seem to be coming up as fast. He was slowing the descent. He increased his efforts until he thought he would pass out from the strain, let out a primal scream, and pushed some more. Another glance down confirmed that they were no longer diving and he appeared to be lifting the nose of the plane. Yes, he was lifting the nose, and a minute later he had the plane level. He could still feel the plane wanting to dive, but he appeared to be strong enough to hold it level. He knew that if he let go for even a second, it would go into the dive again, which gave him an idea.
Instead of holding the plane level, he eased off and let it descend, but he kept enough pressure to keep it from going into a dive. He could see an interstate highway below, which highway he wasn’t sure, but it ran straight through the Indiana cornfields. That would have to do, he thought, until he realized the plane didn’t have its landing gear down and setting down on the highway would cause untold headaches. The cornfields were flat enough. Yep, that would have to do. The plane kept trying to dive, and he kept supplying enough pressure to keep the dive from becoming too steep or too fast. When they were only a few hundred feet above the ground, he moved back along the belly of the plane until he thought he was somewhat centered, and pushing up with everything he had, held the plane level and gently set it down in a cornfield about a hundred yards off the highway.
“What in the hell happened there?” Mixon screamed.
Salazar backed up the video feed until he saw what he was looking for.
“That’s what happened,” he said, slowing down the video so they could see Walter flying toward the front of the plane and disappearing under the nose.
“Walter…I had to figure he’d be able to stop one of them. Well, he can’t be in two places at once. Take down the southbound one, now.”
Walter flew up to the side of the plane and knocked on the door. One of the flight attendants was gesturing through the window and saying something.
“We can’t open the door. No control,” she was saying.
Walter motioned for her to back up and he ripped the door off the plane and tossed it aside. He stepped inside to raucous applause from the passengers and handshakes and hugs from the flight attendants. The cockpit door opened, and the pilots stood there taking in the scene. Jerry Owens pushed his way through the crowd until he was standing in front of Walter and stuck out his hand.
“Thank you,” was all he managed to say as Walter shook his hand.
“It was my pleasure. What was the problem?”
“We just lost control. The plane was flying itself, doing maneuvers without us controlling a thing. We still can’t do anything.”
“That’s a bit odd,” Walter said, “You don’t have any idea what caused that?”
“No. It was like someone else was in control. I know that sounds weird, but
