Total pages in book: 110
Estimated words: 105868 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 529(@200wpm)___ 423(@250wpm)___ 353(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 105868 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 529(@200wpm)___ 423(@250wpm)___ 353(@300wpm)
“Hey there.”
Ace turned.
Solomon Torrington made his way down the dock with careful, deliberate steps dressed in tan pants and a mint-green golf shirt. Sunglasses were perched on his head instead of over his eyes. The retired lawyer moved with natural grace, even though he had to be in his sixties.
“I got here as soon as I could,” Ace said. “Just came from a meeting.”
Torrington smiled. “You want to take her up?”
Ace’s stomach spasmed hard enough to make him swallow. The memory of spinning horizon and freezing water flashed without warning. “Sure,” he said. “Great.”
“I’ll pilot her first,” Torrington replied easily. “Then you can take over if you want.” He patted the side of the fuselage. “I’ll offer you a real good deal on her. I need to get to Arizona. My grandkids are growing up without me, and I can’t have that.”
“Uh-huh.” Ace kept his voice neutral. He stepped onto the float first, his boots thudding softly against aluminum. The plane shifted gently under his weight, rocking once before settling. The water lapped against the pontoons in a steady rhythm.
He moved automatically into preflight and ran his hand along the leading edge of the wing, feeling for nicks or dents. The metal was cool under his palm. He checked the static ports along the fuselage and made sure they were clear. The pitot tube was uncovered and unobstructed. He crouched and inspected the float compartments, checking for leaks or water intrusion. The tiedown rings were secure.
The propeller blades were smooth, no chips along the edges. He looked into the engine intake and checked for foreign objects. The oil access panel was secure. He leaned down and peered at the fuel drains, reaching beneath to sample. Clear blue. No water separation. No sediment.
He moved toward the step and pulled himself up to the cabin door.
Inside, the Caravan smelled faintly of avgas, leather, and sun-warmed plastic. It wasn’t a new airplane, but it was well cared for. Six passenger seats were in the back, and the beige upholstery showed only slight wear along the armrests. The cockpit seats were darker, reinforced, and built for hours of use.
He slid into the right seat first, passenger side, the way Torrington had suggested.
His butt hit the seat and his gut hit the floor. This was a mistake. No. He could do it. Maybe.
The cabin rocked again as the older man stepped onto the float behind him. The door frame vibrated under the shifting weight. Torrington released the ties, climbed into the left seat, and settled in with practiced familiarity. The door shut with a firm metallic click, sealing them inside. The cabin muffled immediately, outside sounds reduced to the slap of water and distant birds.
“Let’s get her loose,” Torrington said.
Ace slid his window open a few inches to let in air.
They ran through the checklist together, and then Torrington engaged the starter and brought in fuel. The propeller began to turn, slow at first, then faster. The PT6 spooled with a rising whine that deepened into a steady, controlled growl as combustion caught. The entire airframe trembled lightly with power.
Sweat broke out on Ace’s brow. He clamped his hand on his thigh, taking deep breaths. He watched every lever.
“Clear,” Torrington called out his open window before bringing it back up. He advanced the throttle gently.
The floats responded, pushing against the water. The Caravan began to taxi, nose pointing upstream and away from the alcove. Water rippled outward from the pontoons, a widening V trailing behind them.
Bile rose in Ace’s throat. He couldn’t breathe. Why couldn’t he breathe?
Torrington used short bursts of power and rudder to steer through the narrow part. A slight crosswind pushed at the tail, but nothing dramatic. They eased into the main river, and he advanced the throttle smoothly to takeoff power.
The turboprop answered with a rising roar that vibrated through the airframe and into Ace’s bones. The Caravan surged forward, floats slicing across the surface. Spray kicked up along both sides, streaking the windows with river water.
Oh God. He had to get out of there. Ace bit his lip hard enough to taste blood.
At first the floats stayed firmly in the water, plowing. Then, as speed built, the drag lessened. The nose lifted slightly. The plane climbed onto the step, riding the surface instead of pushing through it.
The vibration shifted and smoothed.
“Sixty,” Torrington said, eyes forward.
Ace gagged. His hands were slick with sweat now, leaving damp prints on his jeans.
Torrington eased back on the yoke.
The floats skipped once, twice.
The water fell away beneath them, dark and rippling. The engine note steadied at climb power. The Caravan lifted cleanly into the mountain air, climbing out over the rushing water, wings steady against the light wind.
Ace panicked. “No.” He shoved open the door.
“Ace!” Torrington yelled.
Fuck this. Ace leaped out, head first, and fell fast. Just a few yards. He hit the water, and it swallowed him, the current strong. Cold burst all around him.