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The Flight Of The Fox [calibre 5.23.0]
- Автор: Мерфи Ширли Руссо
- Язык: английский
- Жанр: Фэнтези
Электронная книга - «The Flight Of The Fox [calibre 5.23.0]». Краткое содержание книги:
Born aloft on the dawn wind, the Fox purred sweetly as she sped away from Skrimville. Pilot and passenger gazed around them at the slowly lightening sky and looked down at the brightening land below them. The stars began to fade. A wash of red reached up from the horizon to push back the darkness. Below them, the hills and meadows emerged, then gave way to plowed fields and winding roads. Each detail of the land fitted perfectly to the next, stream to hill, road to field or wood. A few tiny cars crawled along. Crispin forgot the fear of his first look downward and leaned over the side to stare in fascination as the mounting light picked out more and more of the countryside. And as the Fox winged on, the sky turned golden, then a deep blue. The clouds were like snow mountains, like icebergs. And there were caverns among the clouds; Rory rolled the Fox and played among the clouds, getting a finer feel of the controls, of what the Fox could do. And grinning from ear to ear as she responded to him. He learned what her stall speed felt like. He learned to recover from an accelerated stall, the words from the flight manual flashing jumbled through his mind as he thought he had lost control, then felt her respond and straighten out. He knew quite well he was doing more than he should. But he was up there in the Fox, and he had no one to help him learn but his own common sense and memory. He wished several times that he did have a flight instructor aboard, though he would never have admitted it to Charlie. And the feel of flying, of the plane under him, was like nothing in the world he had known. He was nearly drunk with the pleasure of it.
Crispin forgot his giddiness at the steep banks. Or perhaps he grew to like it. He laughed with pleasure as the Fox rolled.
And too soon their hour was all but gone, their fuel running low, and Rory was circling a lone farm south of Charmin, looking for a flat place to land.
Charlie mooched around his room feeling unsettled. He threw away some ancient Hershey wrappers and some bent nails. Where were Rory and Crispin now? They had to have landed by this time. They would be out of gas.
Well, they were all right. Charlie fished half a dozen chewed socks out of the bottom of his bed and sat looking at them. Then he spread up the covers and finally went down the hall to phone his dad and say he didn't feel like going up to the air show. He said he guessed he'd just grunge around his room and maybe give it a good cleaning. He had thought about trying to find Rory and Crispin at the air show, but the Fox would be landing at Skrimville Sunday morning. If he went to the air show, he wouldn't be back until late Sunday night. He wished he were with them. He wished . . .
"Charlie, are you still on the phone?"
"Sure, Dad. I'm here."
"Listen, Charlie, it isn't going to do you any good to lounge around there feeling wiped out. I know how you feel about the starlings, but it couldn't be helped, that's all. You did the best you could. Charlie, this is Thursday, and if you hop on that late train tomorrow night, you can be up here by ten o'clock. We can catch what there is of the air show. Though some of it has been canceled because of the grasshopper plague. No one up here is much in the mood for entertainment. But what do you say? Feel like coming? I could use the company. It gets pretty lonely up here."
Charlie swallowed. "I—I'll see you tomorrow night at ten."
He threw a pair of socks and a sweater in his flight bag and tossed it on the bed. Then he went out across the uncut lawn, got his bike, and headed for the dump. There was no place else he really wanted to be.
When he got there he collected junk for a while, then, at last, he took the plywood off the hangar, found some hinges for it, and rehung it. He fiddled around for a long time, installing a latch and getting it to work so the animals could open it. Both hinges and latch were plenty rusty. He had forgotten to bring anything to eat, and in midafternoon, when his stomach was starting to growl, he closed up the hangar, picked up his bike, and was about to throw a leg over when a tiny noise stopped him cold.
He looked up at the sky. He strained to see. There was a humming somewhere out there in the vast sky, a tiny purr like a bee. And it was getting louder. And it was not a bee. It was an engine, it had to be an engine. But it was too high-pitched for a big plane.
Charlie could see a speck now. It was—it had to be. He started running toward the airstrip.
Why were they coming back? What was wrong?
When he reached the strip, the speck was bigger. He could see color now. It was the Fox! He could almost see her markings. Yes! Soon he could see pilot and passenger waving.
He stood on the asphalt gawking as Rory circled in pattern—and as the starlings rose in a black angry mass from the garbage dump and sped up toward the little plane, whistling a challenge. Charlie screamed and waved and ran, trying to frighten them away. The Fox turned and flew right at them. "Oh don't Rory! Get away from them!" Charlie yelled.
The starlings were almost at the plane, some beginning to circle her—she would be surrounded in another second. And the lemming—the lemming was standing up in the cockpit! He had removed his seat harness and was standing almost on top of the plane holding onto the upper wing. What was the fool animal doing? He'd fall; starlings were diving at him viciously. What was he holding up above his head? Something half as big as he was. The starlings had paused in flight when, with one tremendous throw, Crispin pitched the object up and away from the plane. Two starlings swooped, snatched at it, and were tearing it apart between them as the others crowded around them. With the birds fighting among themselves above her, the Fox came in to land.
She had almost landed when some starlings broke away from the squabbling crowd and dove at her. Again Crispin stood up and threw something high in the air—and again the starlings ignored the plane in their eagerness to snatch it out of the air.
The Fox was on the ground at last. She taxied up to Charlie. He stood over her, trying to protect her as the starlings began again to dive.
CHAPTER 23
"What were you doing up there?" Charlie yelled. "What were you throwing out of the plane? How come you're home so soon? What . . ." The Fox sat safely on the runway. The starlings whistled and hovered close above, watching her intently. "What were you throwing out of the plane?" Charlie repeated. What . . ."
"Shh, sonny," Rory said in a fake whisper, "Shhh. Let's get these things out of here and into a safe place. We've already tossed away two, just to get down safe. I don't want to lose any more."
Now Charlie could see that Crispin had been sitting jammed into a small corner of the rear cockpit, and a bulging cloth bag took up most of the space. It towered high above the seat, and it almost looked alive the way it wiggled and writhed.
"But . . ."
"Shh, sonny," Rory whispered loudly as starlings dropped down to listen. "Shoo those birds out of here. Listen, sonny, these are the biggest, juiciest grasshoppers you ever tasted. And we've found an unlimited supply! Unlimited, sonny. Grasshoppers as far as the eye can see." His whisper was hoarse and carrying. The starlings cocked their heads and their eyes sparkled. Rory, his back to them, winked broadly at Charlie. "We had some fried this noon, sonny, and I tell you—"
"Grasshoppers?"
"Shhhh, sonny! My gosh, use your head. They'll have every one if we don't get out of here fast. Come on, sonny, see if you can get this bag of grasshoppers to the hangar before we lose any more."
Charlie grinned, picked up the Fox, grasshoppers, pilots and all, and made a dash for the piano crate with starlings swooping around him.