O Brave New World - Chapter V

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There were a few moments of silence as the plane climbed in the darkness. I peered out from the back to see some wayward lights upon the ground, but I had little hope that it had meant the remainders of civilization were still surviving in full. Rather that the living is wasting the candlelight in the dark of night.

 

“Nice little plane you’ve got here. Cessna, right?” My companion’s tone was monotonous.

 

“It’s a Cessna 400.”

 

“It’s a fast little bastard.”

 

“Not fast enough to take off before you tried to kill me.”

 

“Tried? Padre, I could’ve killed you. I chose not to on the account that neither one of us know how to fly.”

 

“That’s rather comforting.”

 

“Yeah? I hope you are ****in’ uncomfortable, on the account that you tried to leave our ***** back there!”

 

Silence. Nothing but the soothing humming sound of the motor could be heard.

 

“I wasn’t sure who you were.”

 

“We were kickin’, I think that’s more than a prayer can go on when it comes to spotting decent folk!”

 

That’s not what I meant! You know how many crazies have tried to take my plane from me? Or what they’ve offered me? Last time I landed they were coming at me like a horde! It was hard to tell who was a goner and who was still decent.”

 

Silence again.

 

“Where you comin’ from, padre?”

 

“Saguenay.”

 

“Never heard of it.”

 

“It’s in Quebec.”

 

“Far from here?”

 

“About 800 miles.”

 

“So then the real question then, padre, is how much fuel does this thing here have left?”

 

This time the silence was uncomfortable.

 

“I said—”

 

“I heard what you said.”

 

A beat.

 

“This is the fuel gauge.” He pointed to a small meter that was pointing to the far left end.

 

“Well **** on a stick. Should we prepare for a crash landing?”

 

A sudden tingle crept down my neck at my companion’s words. It was a sensation that was weighing which death was worse—being berated by the mob or becoming a crater. Death frightened me the most in general, so I could not make up my mind.

 

“Hey, I didn’t ask you to join me.”

 

“Yeah, well I guess I made the mistake of thinking you were a competent pilot!”

 

“Corbleu, I was flying to Sault Saint Marie to visit my mother!”

 

An awkward silence.

 

“And why do you keep calling me this ‘padre’?”

 

“Because you are old enough to be my pops.”

 

“Pardon?”

 

“Nothin’. Fine, before we find our shallow graves, would you like to enlighten us all on what your name is?”

 

“My name is Damien Francois-Marie Bedeau.”

 

“Let’s stick with Damien.”

 

“What is yours?”

 

“You already know my name. It’s Chicago Ted.”

 

“Oh c’mon, that is not your real name.”

 

“In case you haven’t noticed, Matty, real names aren’t much use these days.”

 

“My name is not ‘Matty.’ Now you are just mocking me.”

 

“Don’t get so touchy on me, Jason Bourne, just try and land us before the engine—”

 

Gives away. And it was starting to give away. Sputtering and chopping up, it was running on fumes. The only thing that was perhaps on our side was the beginning of the new day, giving us just enough light to see the ground below. Nothing but farmland.

 

“Praise Michigan’s agricultural department, we’ve got plenty of runway here!”

 

“Non! If I land in these crops then I will never get this plane back in the air!”

 

“We won’t be flying anywhere if we are ****in’ pancakes, Matty! Just land the goddamn thing before we lose—”

 

Total control. And we did. The engine died off and the propeller came to a stop.

 

“We are a dead stick!”

 

It was unclear to me at the time what I was feeling in that elated moment of our fastidious decent. Was it excitement? Was it fear? It was on that night that I assayed our plot within our lives. But I knew the answer even amongst the yells and screams of my companion and the plane’s pilot, and so I closed my eyes, expecting to never open them once again in this lifetime.

 

But fate is certainly a cruel monster in these troubled times as the plane evened out and we careened across golden wheat fields with a force that would shake the worlds around us until we came to a safe and intact rest. No, fate, on this new day, would not grant us our wishes to leave to the afterlife in peace. We were fated to live. Or perhaps we were fated to die a thousand deaths before we could truly be laid to rest.

 

“I…*******…hate…Michigan…”

 

It was the last thing I remember my companion expressing before he passed out and I too followed shortly into the familiar world of darkness.