The Cessna



“Get us down!” The man shouted.

Rylee's knuckles whitened against the flight stick. Blast these city slickers, she thought.

The four-seated Cessna bucked against the wind, screaming in agony.

“Please,” her second client breathed. Levier was his name, his last name. His first he hadn't offered.

“We'll be fine,” Rylee soothed, more to herself than to Levier. She reached for the radio and twirled a knob. Drat it. Still dead. Just when she needed it the most. She risked a glance out the window, at the water churning below.

The little mirror on the dash, placed so she could see her passengers, quivered. Levier sat in view, his thin black mustache twitching in the corners. Tight coils of hair sprung from his head.

His companion, Heffler, sat by his side, as tall as Levier was short. Heffler's gaze locked with Rylee's. He might have been considered handsome, a “catch,” if not for the accusing anger in his eyes.

Rylee looked away. She exhaled slowly.

“We paid you to get us across this deviled water.” Heffler leaned close to her ear. “I was assured your charter service was legitimate.”

Rylee caught herself before she looked at the mirror. “It's just another storm. We have them all the time.” Liar. She swallowed down her conscience.

C'mon, baby, she twisted her hands on the flight stick. Stay with me.

Her plane, her baby, her sweetheart, answered with a jarring rattle.

“My call won't go through,” Levier shook his phone.

“Bad service around here,” Rylee explained. “The weather doesn't help.”

Ice crystals slammed into the windshield, like pebbles thrown by a mad giant.

“Oh, oh dear.” Levier pulled at his tie.

“It's fine,” Rylee bit out, chiding herself for the snappy tone. She opened her mouth to voice an assurance, but the plane lurched.

“Hang on,” she shouted. Her little black book slid to the floor. She kicked it to the side with a boot.

“Twenty-thousand dollars,” Levier shouted.

“What?” Rylee shouted back.

“Twenty-thousand dollars,” Levier gasped, “if you get us on the ground safely.”

Dude. Rylee felt like slamming a fist through the windshield. Was the man mad? Instead she called back, “Thanks, but I have enough motivation as it is.”

The engine whined.

Rylee strained to see past the gray sleet. A glimpse, a shadow. “Almost there,” she whispered.

A dark mass flickered through the fog.

“Is it?” Heffler demanded.

“Land,” Rylee replied. She breathed a sigh.

Almost there.

She slowly pushed the flight stick forward. A force drove the stick into her palms, fighting every move.

Then it gave.

Rylee shrieked as the plane broke from the storm and plunged downwards. She pulled up, praying the plane followed her bidding.

“Are you trying to kill us?” Heffler freaked.

“Easy, girl,” Rylee whispered to her plane.

The engine cried as it fought to obey. The Cessna lurched through another wall of sleet.

Rylee angled the plane, piloting onto a calmer path, leveling it as land grew closer.

“This is good,” she whispered. “We'll just stay right here.”

Through the mist, man-made lights twinkled, beckoning them home.

Almost there.

So close.

She glanced at the foaming clouds, roiling above.

“You know where the airport is?” Levier squeaked.

“Yes,” Rylee jerked her head into a nod, not bothering to correct him. The town's airport was little more than a dirt strip and a tower operator who lived in an underground shelter.

Rain washed down the windshield as they neared the landing strip. Rylee eyed the broken radio, holding back the habit of announcing her approach.

The Cessna bounced when the tires made contact. The ground whirred beneath, calming Rylee's nerves. She piloted the plane to a stop, then let out a breath hidden deep in her lungs. She stared at her hands, still clutching the flight stick.

She wasn't going to die today. That was nice.

Heffler let out a curse.

Rylee stiffened.

He unfolded his large frame from the seat, straightening his suit as if he'd been calm the entire trip. “Levier, let's get out of this flying bucket.”

Levier wheezed sharply. “We're–we're fine.” He blinked. Then smiled.

Rylee slowly turned, viewing her passengers directly.

“Here,” Levier, looking much like a happy puppy, offered Rylee a packet.

“What's that?” She pulled back.

Levier smiled again. “Twenty-thousand dollars. As I promised.”

Heffler's face blistered with wrinkles.

“Ah.” Levier held up a hand and smiled at Heffler. “ But I promised.”

The rain pattered softly on the metal, the only sound in the hollow drum of a plane.

Heffler tightened his jaw. Levier smiled wider.

“Thanks?” Rylee hiccuped.

“Good girl,” Levier nodded and tossed the packet beside Rylee.

She recoiled, but the packet lay still.

“Thanks for the trip,” Levier called merrily as he and Heffler stepped from the plane. The door slammed with a thud, leaving Rylee alone.

She watched as Levier and Heffler ran through the rain, to where a car awaited them.

“Finally,” she spat. She dug through her pockets and pulled out leather gloves, stretching them onto her hands. She picked up the packet and peeked inside. “Thank. You.”

She stuffed the packet inside her jacket and grabbed her black book from the floor. One more look to make sure the Charming Duo had left, and she jumped from the plane, walking to the office, dismissing the operator's surprised look with a short explanation of “radio trouble.”

The phone in the back room awaited. Rylee locked the door and placed her call.

Her superior answered on the first ring.

“We did good,” Rylee spoke first.

“What?” he asked.

“They gave me twenty-thousand dollars,” Rylee whispered. She plucked at a bill. “If you can call it that. The money is as fake as my 'legitimate charter service'.”

“Good work, officer.” Approval dripped through the line. “Maybe now we can get them into court. You'll get a gold badge for this one. I'll send a patrol car to pick you up.”

Rylee set the receiver back in its holder. Now she could only wait. She pushed away the packet and opened the black book. She picked up a pencil and began sketching Levier's face, starting with his mustache.