The Rule of Three (21 page)

I went out front. There were already people with their water containers heading to or from the creek. We’d had a couple rainy days in a row, and the water level was up. Mr. Peterson’s tractor, the carriage, the wagons, and the flatbed truck were all on the street in front of Herb’s house. Livestock in the back and tractor and carriage out front seemed like perfect symmetry.

I pulled open the garage door. There on the trolley was my ultralight, the wings lying on the ground beside the body, the engine attached but still lifeless. If Dad had been here, those wings would have been put on by now and we would have had our first flight. It was so close to being ready. If he had been here, it
would
have been ready.

We’d spent so much time on the plane I knew it like the back of my hand. Of course it wasn’t just this little plane. I’d studied so much about flying. Not just the actual flying, but the science behind flight. If you didn’t understand those principles, then you’d think that flying was magic. I often wondered what it would have been like for people in the early 1900s to look up and see those first flying machines in the sky. They would hardly have believed their eyes because what they were seeing wasn’t believable. I had to laugh—when we’d seen that Cessna in the sky the other day I had thought my eyes were playing tricks on me. Flying had become amazing again because it was so rare. And if I was up there in the sky now, that would be
magical
.

What would be even more magical would be if my father had the ultralight with him. It was possible to fly an ultralight across the entire continent. It had been done. They weren’t fast, but in twelve hours you could fly five or six hundred miles at a go. It would have taken my father only a few days to get home. Or, if I went to get him, I could have him here in five or six days.

Of course I couldn’t do that. Where would I get gas? Where would I stop? Could I navigate that far? And even if I could get there, how would I find my father? It wasn’t anything more than a fantasy.

“Good morning.”

I turned around. Lori was standing there, smiling.

“Morning. You’re up early.”

“I’m a farm girl.”

She walked into the garage. “Does it fly?”

“As soon as I bolt on the wings and do some minor adjustments, then she’ll be good to go.”

“Aren’t they usually just one-seaters?”

“Usually. We built this one so my dad and I could go up together.”

“I’m sure that’ll happen.”

“I hope. We spent hundreds of hours working on it.” I paused. “When I’m out here it feels like I should just be able to turn around and he’ll be standing behind me, ready to hand me a spanner.”

“I could hand you a spanner, but I’d need to know if your ultralight is using SAE or metric.”

“Metric, actually. I’m impressed.”

“Like I said, I’m a farm girl.”

She gave me a smile that made me feel like I was floating up into the air without the need for any machine.

“Since you have an extra seat, maybe I could even keep you company up there.”

“I’m not sure how either of our mothers would feel about that.”

“Maybe we don’t have to tell them … After all, do you tell your mother everything you do?” Lori ran her hand along the frame of the ultralight. “But you
are
going to try to finish it, aren’t you?”

“I want to but—”

“Good morning, kids.”

We both turned around. Brett was standing there in full uniform. He flashed a big goofy smile. Lori smiled back. I worried that it was a bigger smile than the one she’d given me.

He walked into the garage. “This is one interesting little toy, Adam.”

“It’s not a toy,” I said.

He put a hand against the plane. I had to fight the urge to brush it off. It wasn’t the same as Lori touching it.

“I used to build models when I was a kid,” he said. “Of course those planes had wings.”

“But they didn’t actually fly. This one can.”

“
Can
fly, or
will
fly?” he asked.

“She’ll fly, and I’ll be the pilot,” I snapped.

“There’s no way you’d get me up into the air sitting on something that looks more like a lawn mower than an airplane.”

I laughed. “A lawn mower you could handle, Brett, an ultralight you couldn’t. Not unless you know how to fly a plane.”

“Not me.”

Brett suddenly looked anxious. That gave me an idea.

“Hey, I could take you up with me. It
is
a two-seater.”

He took a half step away from the ultralight, as if he were afraid it might grab him and take off with him.

“No way he goes up with you—you’re taking
me
up,” Lori said. “You promised I could fly.”

“Probably a good thing,” Brett said. “I figure the only way this thing is going to fly is if it falls off its trolley.” He stretched and yawned. “Anyway, I’ve been on patrol all night. I need to get to bed. I’m going to go crash on Herb’s couch so the twins don’t wake me up.”

I was grateful to have him walk away. But now I was even more determined to get my plane in shape.

“You really want to help?” I asked Lori.

“You bet.”

“Okay, let’s wheel it outside. I want to attach the wings and maybe even start the engine up.”

Lori answered with another one of those smiles. She helped me ease it off the trolley and onto its wheels. We rolled it outside onto the driveway.

“It looked a lot bigger in the garage,” Lori said.

“Wait until we attach the wings.”

I went back into the garage and picked up one of the wings. It wasn’t heavy, but it was long and awkward. Carefully I carried it out and placed it on the ground, perpendicular to the body of the plane, right where it was going to be attached.

I went back in for the second, wishing my dad were here. In the first few days of the disaster, thoughts of him were floating around in my head almost all the time, but they’d been chased out for the last week or so. Maybe that was for the best. I felt awful when I thought about his situation and guilty when I didn’t. There was no winning; it was just a question of which way was best to lose.

I came out with the second wing, but instead of putting it down I positioned it against the body of the plane.

“Could you help me with this?” I asked.

Lori took hold of the wing and was handling enough of the weight that I could nudge the end of it over until the bolts sticking out of it stuck in through the matching holes in the body.

“All right, if you can hold this here, I’ll let go and get those nuts into place.”

She nodded. Carefully I removed my hands, and Lori shouldered the whole thing. I pulled the nuts and washers from my pocket as well as a wrench, working quickly to tighten them up until the wing was secured.

“You can let go now.”

She removed her hands and the wing stayed put.

“One down and one to go.”

With Lori’s help I picked up the other wing and got it into place. It attached just as easily as the first. With both wings on, the ultralight was now wider than the driveway.

“Now it looks like a plane,” Lori said.

“It is a plane, I promise.”

I climbed into the pilot’s seat. The second seat was empty, but I could almost feel my father beside me.

Absentmindedly, almost instinctively, I hit the switch that fed fuel into the engine. It wouldn’t hurt to start the engine, just to make sure it still worked. It would also impress Lori.

“Okay. Stand back, well back,” I said to her. She retreated onto the lawn.

I hit the starter button and the engine roared to life. The propeller cut through the air, producing a breeze that blew back Lori’s hair. I revved the engine and the plane jerked forward along the driveway. I eased off the throttle and put on the brakes.

My heart racing, I looked over my shoulder. I half expected my mother or Herb to come running out to see what was making such a racket. Instead there was just Lori, standing there, clapping and cheering. I decided I’d put on a little bit of a show for her.

I eased off the brakes and gave it more gas as well as applied the left brake pedal. Slowly I began to move forward again, and the front wheel eased off the driveway and onto the road followed by the left and then right rear wheels. Giving it more brake, I turned it so I was in the middle of the road. Then I started to taxi up the street.

I looked over my shoulder, still expecting to see my mother running after me, but she was nowhere to be seen. Other people had been drawn out of their houses by the noise, though. Some waved and yelled out words I couldn’t hear over the engine behind me. Reaching the end of the street, I put on the left brake hard to turn it around. In front of me was a straight, completely empty stretch of road. My wingspan was only twenty-eight feet, so as long as I stayed in the middle there was plenty of room on our car-less street. This stretch of pavement wasn’t nearly long enough for a Cessna to take off, but it was definitely long enough for an ultralight.

I missed my flying lessons. I missed being up in the air. I missed my father. Being here behind the controls was as close as I could get to any of those.

No, there was one way to get even closer.

I took my feet off the brakes and gave it lots of fuel. The engine roared louder as the propeller pushed the plane forward and it rapidly gained speed. I tried to focus on the plane, but I couldn’t avoid seeing the reaction of those watching. They were cheering, raising their arms, waving.

I gave it more and more gas until I was racing along, approaching takeoff velocity, the wheels feeling like they were just skimming along the top of the asphalt. I caught a glimpse of Lori off to the side, and right then I pulled back on the stick and I was flying!

I was in the sky, and it was fantastic—and a terrible mistake.
What was I doing?
I needed to set it back down, but there wasn’t room. Up ahead the road ended in a cul-de-sac and there was a house, directly in my way. There was only one thing to do. I pulled the stick back even harder, gave it more gas, and climbed.

Within seconds I passed over the house and was above a field and then the highway, with the electrical towers looming ahead. Dead or alive, the electrical wires were a danger to any aircraft. I pushed the stick to the left, pressing the left rudder with my left foot, and the little plane responded instantly—almost too instantly. I eased off both controls.

Banking, I could see the highway clearly, a long curling stretch winding by our neighborhood and away into the distance.

To land, I had to come back over and approach our street upwind. I’d have to make a big, wide circle around the neighborhood. Below was the checkpoint at Erin Mills Parkway, and I was low enough to see the people. They waved and I waved back. I leveled off again and followed along the side of the neighborhood. There were more people below, and everybody seemed to stop and stare up at me.

I knew I should just do a tight circle and land, but I didn’t want to. Besides, once my mother heard about this, I didn’t think I’d be up here again, and it felt
so
amazing. I decided I’d just fly a little bit farther. My mom wasn’t going to be any angrier if I was gone twice as long. My father would understand. If he were around, he’d be down there cheering me on.

I pulled back on the stick to gain height, while at the same time banking right and giving it more fuel to keep up my speed as I climbed. I needed more elevation. Height was safety. If the engine stalled out, the higher I was, the more time I’d have to glide until I found a place to land. That was something my father had drilled into me—a pilot should always have a backup plan, should always think one step ahead. Funny, that sounded so much like Herb as well.

There were also other benefits to gaining height. It gave me not only a greater perspective but even more space and separation from anybody or anything on the ground. Up here nobody could get me. I leveled off when the altimeter read out close to three hundred feet. I was high but could go higher if I needed to.

Beneath me I could see the houses and streets of other subdivisions. The main road was littered with abandoned cars. It all looked pretty normal except there was virtually no movement. It was like seeing a real-life painting instead of real life. From this height it was all calm and peaceful. Distance could be deceptive.

I kept traveling, retracing the route we’d done on the ground yesterday to bring the Petersons to the neighborhood. Up ahead was the barricade where we’d had all that trouble. I could see cars back in position, blocking the road, but couldn’t see any people.

I crossed over the highway and left behind the houses and gained the fields and woods below, coming up to the farms. The fields were filled with the first shoots of crops that had been planted before this happened. That illusion of normalcy was once again so strong it was almost overpowering. I wanted that illusion to be real. Up here, for a while, it was. I just wanted to stay up here, fly until my tank was dry, and—
My tank! How much fuel did I have?

I hadn’t intended to fly, so I hadn’t done any checks, hadn’t even looked at the fuel level. I knew my father had been the last to put any in. He and I were working out the kinks in the timing of the engine. How long had that taken and, more important, how much fuel had he put in? Assuming he filled it up completely I would be fine, but there was no way of knowing. There was no gauge, and the tank wasn’t accessible while flying. How could I be so stupid not to check? Really, I could have just done a turn and brought it right back in, but I hadn’t. Instead I’d just kept extending the flight.

I banked hard to the right until the six lanes of Eglinton Avenue were below me. The road could be both my guide and my emergency landing strip if I needed it, although with the positioning of the stalled cars I didn’t know if there would be space to put it down without running into one of them. Either way it was better to hit a car on the ground than crash into a house from above.