Page 17 of Protecting the Flame

No one said, Hey, congrats, Einstein, you can multiply. Instead, Hunter warned, “Seventeen.”

Oh, God. She leaned and plucked at Will’s sleeve with two fingers. “Can he do it?” she asked.

“If he has the time.” Will’s voice held only a tremor, which he must have heard himself because he cleared his throat. What he said next was back to steady, even, calm: the doctor keeping his shit together while all about him were losing theirs. “He has to do things in a certain order and at the right time, or it won’t work. Can’t try to get the starter to catch if you don’t have fuel in the tank. That’s what he’s doing now.” He offered her a thin smile. “I guess this is why one of the first things a flight instructor teaches is what to do in a stall.”

She bet teachers only did that on nice, clear days with not a mountain in sight, too. Pushing both halves of the window curtains out of her way, Emma peered out. Still nothing to see, only clouds, so that was good, right?

“Fifteen!” Hunter said.

Will’s fingers brushed her elbow. “You know how to brace? Can you help Mattie?”

Her chest went tight. Like bracing for an impact in this little thing would save them if they plowed nose-first into a mountain. But she nodded. “Mattie, let’s get you ready. Book in the seat pocket and glasses off. Make sure your buckle’s tight. Feet flat on the floor then bend over your knees.” Face white, Mattie did what she was told without uttering a word. “Good,” Emma said. “Now, lace your hands behind your head.”

“You guys.” Across the aisle, Will was talking to Scott and Grampa. “Feet flat, but don’t bend over. Keep your head up and press back into your headrest.”

“Why?” Scott asked.

“So your head don’t pop off your spine if we hit, that’s why,” Grampa growled.

Scott’s jaw dropped. “What the hell—” he began as Hunter sang out, “Twelve! Dad!”

With a great splutter and cough, both props caught.

Yes! Emma shot a look out of her window. They were still in a whiteout, though the clouds seemed gauzier, more like torn draperies. A shower of orange-red sparks spewed from the engine as the prop churned. C’mon, c’mon. Outside, the view began to tilt as her body sank into her seat, the acceleration and thrust palming her body, and she thought this was what it must be like to be an astronaut on takeoff, thousands of pounds of thrust fighting gravity, pushing, pushing, pushing, breaking free, leaving the Earth behind and shedding the past, too, while, ahead, all of space and stars and the future waited. The fuselage shimmied as the Chieftain’s engines screamed, the plane shuddering and clawing for altitude. We’re going to make it. We’re going to make it. We’re going to make it—

Beyond her window, the drapery of clouds finally tore and now, through sheets of snow, she saw, to her horror, colors coming on fast on all sides and below and in a blur: dark green and brown and white and gray and black—

“Dad!”Rearing back in his seat, Hunter threw up his hands. “Watch—”

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