Page 14 of Factory Controller

“Why? Surely they didn’t stick around once we escaped.”

I let out a snort. “Yeah, but, if I were them, I’d leave somebody behind to watch my place in case we return. Anyway, the point is moot. I’m going to set us down for a water landing right here.”

“Here?” Heather stares out the cockpit and frowns. “Here is all trees. The river is over there.”

“I know that.” I keep my hands white-knuckle tight on the control stick, battling the laws of physics in my attempt to keep Dorothy steady. The engine coughs and sputters like an old man with emphysema. The pontoons dip mighty close to the treetops.

I should have known this woman would be nothing but trouble. As usual, I stick my head out of the sewer for one second and life shovels shit into my open mouth. Next time a beautiful, bedraggled woman stumbles upon me naked in a jungle, I’m going to run screaming in the opposite direction.

“Strap in,” I say. “This is going to be a bumpy landing.”

Heather obeys silently, she pulls on the corroded silver buckles to tighten up her belt. I don’t have time to assist. I can’t spare a second’s concentration as I vector for the Amazon River.

The plane vibrates as the pylons dip into a high branch. Fortunately, it’s a small one and we only crack the pontoon instead of getting hung up and spun off into the trees. We’re coming in fast—too fast. I grasp the stick and pull up until my vision grows dark at the edges. A manic, defiant growl escapes my tightly clenched teeth as I strain to keep us alive.

Dorothy levels out at the last second, striking the water with her pontoons. Unfortunately, we’re going way too fast. I can feel the flip coming before it happens. I don’t have time to do more than yelp as the front edge of the pontoons dig a furrow into the water, sinking lower and lower until the plane’s tail shoots up into the air.

Now top heavy, the plane flips in a forward somersault, making like an Olympic gymnast on crack. Dorothy comes apart during the series of rough tumbles that come next. Glass cracks, a wing shears off, and a fire breaks out in the engine.

Dorothy finally comes to a rest, upside down in the water. So far we’re afloat, but water pours in through the cracked windshield. Heather panics, hands struggling to free herself from the confines of her crash webbing.

“It’s stuck,” she says, face turning red. With her hair standing up on end—to my perspective—she looks truly harrowing. “Trent, I can’t swim!”

“Relax, Heather,” I say, carefully unsnapping my own belt and navigating the tight confines of the cockpit until I’m in a crouch beside her. The water is already several inches high. I have to hurry.

“You don’t understand, I can’t swim,” she gasps. “Hurry, hurry, get it loose.”

“The lock is jammed,” I say. I reach for my knife, intent on cutting her free, but the windscreen breaks. A gush of water surges inside the inverted cockpit, tilting us hard to the left. I’m thrown against the side of the cockpit and strike my head hard enough I see stars.

“For heaven’s sake, Trent, get me out of here,” she screams. “Get me out!”

Her hair splays out over the water now, darkened in hue. The water is mere inches from her scalp and rising fast.

“Heather,” I say as calmly as I can while I draw my knife. “I’m going to cut you loose, but it’s going to take a minute.”

“Do it, do it quick,” she cries, tilting her neck to keep her eyes out of the water.

“I’m on it, but you have to listen to me. We’re going to go underwater.”

“No,” she cries. “No, I can’t swim.”

“I’ll help you. I’ll help you, Heather, but you have to keep your head. I want you to take three big breaths. On the third one, hold it and don’t let go.”

“I’m scared, Trent,” she says, on the verge of tears.

“It’s all right. I crash in rivers all the time. Now, let’s breathe. One…two…Three…”

We hold our breath just as the water comes up over our heads. I use the knife to cut her free, an arduous process. I cut my own fingers on several occasions, but I do it. As soon as I get her free, I help her toward the shattered windscreen. Heather is dead weight in my arms, concentrating all of her willpower on not panicking and not letting go of her breath.

We break the surface at last, taking huge gasps of air. I snake an arm around Heather’s neck and paddle backward toward the riverbank.

I feel stony grit at my back as I backpedal out of the river, dragging her along. Heather and I fall on a gritty embankment, panting heavily.

“Oh damn,” I say with a resigned sigh. “I’ve got to go back down there.”

“Why on earth would you do that?” she gasps. “We barely made it out of there alive.”

“I need my survival pack out of the back, that’s why. We both have cuts, and infection is a huge danger in the rainforest. Besides, it’s got other things we might need. Like tablets to dissolve in the river water so we can safely drink it.”

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