The Eye of Moloch

Chapter 61

By the time the tiny airfield came into view Noah noticed that the plane’s fuel gauges had dipped to near zero and one engine was running rough.

Though the old C-60 had clawed her way through battering turbulence and ice and lightning strikes and equipment failures, in the end its pilot had endured even more. Despite his brave front Bill McCord was clearly fading and it had become a continual struggle for Ellen Davenport to preserve the weakened function of his heart. The only saving grace was that one way or another, the flight was nearly over.

Ellen watched from the right-hand seat as the pilot eased down the throttle, set the flaps and trims, flicked on the nav lights, and pulled the lever that would hopefully lower the landing gear. There was a grinding and a deep mechanical rumble from behind and below them as the undercarriage descended. McCord took his eyes from the windshield for only a second when the sound had ceased; he checked the status lights of the gear and shook his head.

“Hold on tight,” he said. His jaw was clenched, his voice only a harsh whisper spoken through the unrelenting torture of the shocks from the pacing. “I don’t know if both the wheels are down, but either way, we’re landing.”

As the throttle was pulled back farther the right engine faltered and then coughed and died with a final wheeze. The plane slowed and yawed perilously and the pilot responded to correct his crumbling descent.

Every minute of his many decades of flying experience must have come to bear in those last few seconds. With utter concentration and some last measure of untapped strength he somehow straightened them out. He eased the craft into a gentle bank that would put the bulk of the weight on the only wheel they were sure was down and locked, and then he held all the battling forces steady under his hands as the ground rose up to meet them.

• • •

“There they are,” Hollis said.

Through his passenger-side window he’d seen the faint lights of an approaching plane wink on against the backdrop of black thunderheads rolling in from the west. All the adrenaline from the battle at the warehouse had deserted him along the ride and the pain and weakness he’d felt before was returning, worse than ever.

Cathy Merrick pulled the truck to a stop as they reached the end of a long dirt road. Just ahead was a little country airfield with no tower, lights, or services, just a grass-lined runway probably used only by crop dusters and private pilots practicing their touch-and-go landings.

They both rolled down the windows and though the sound of the approaching aircraft was just barely audible it didn’t sound right at all. The descent grew unsteady as they came on; they were way too high and moving too fast to land and the wings weren’t fully level. Soon Hollis could see that only half the landing gear was down.

When it passed the far end of the runway the plane settled in and flared, banking subtly as if to favor the side with the missing wheel. It flew down the length of the pavement, holding itself in the air and bleeding off speed, and then when it seemed the air could support it no longer it lost its lift and dropped the last few inches to the ground.

It rolled out and slowed on that single wheel, the tail came down, and then the unsupported wing tipped and fell into sudden contact with the pavement. The one spinning propeller shattered at impact and threw its blades, the plane skidded and veered, showering sparks and grinding along until at last it skidded into a sharp half turn and came to a silent, smoldering halt.

As they drove out onto the runway Hollis pulled a small fire extinguisher from its clips below his seat. He jumped out before the truck had fully stopped, fell, and got up and ran as best he could to the side at the rear of the fuselage. When he found the door he pulled it open and climbed inside.

Noah Gardner was already helping Molly out of her seat belt and together they brought her out and clear of the wreck. When she was safe the two men returned to the plane and walked up the tilted aisle to the cockpit.

There they found Ellen Davenport kneeling by the side of an elderly man who was slumped and motionless in the pilot’s seat. As they approached, they saw that she was straightening the old man’s disheveled clothes, smoothing a few bits of broken glass from his thin white hair, and gently easing his hands from their steadfast grip upon the wheel.

“When we stopped,” she said, “I looked over, and he was gone.”

The patter of a light freezing rain had just begun, quietly pecking at the metal skin of the aircraft. In the distance Hollis heard the unmistakable sound of sirens on the way.

“Ma’am,” he said softly, “I’m afraid we need to go.”

“I won’t leave him like this.”

“Ellen—”

“You two go on,” she said. “I’ve got my phone. I’ll wait until you’re long gone, and if they haven’t found us yet, I’ll call it in.”

Noah had known this woman long enough to recognize a final decision when he saw one, and he didn’t argue.

“Thanks for everything you’ve done for us,” he said.

Before he could stand to leave she stopped him with a touch.

“This man got us here so you could make a difference,” Ellen said. “Don’t you dare let him down.”

• • •

Once all were safely assembled in the truck and they were back under way Hollis checked the time-to-destination on the GPS. When ten minutes remained he took out the last of their disposable cell phones, punched in a number, and listened. He waited until the phone on the other end picked up and then he pressed the button that ended the call.

Sixty seconds later his phone rang twice and then went silent again. That was the signal that all would be ready up ahead.

Cathy Merrick looked over briefly from the driver’s seat, and he nodded to her.

“That’s it,” Hollis said. “From here on out it’s do or die.”