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Morning Bud
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You nod affirmatively. Noted. "No silver bullets?"
McMurray scowls, but there isn't any force behind it. "Don't fuck around, Jackson," he sighs. "I'm serious."
"Right. Sorry, Boss." You pick your bag back off the ground and the two of you finally set off for the actual airplane. One of the pilots- thirty-something, dark hair and a round, friendly face- is perched on the top step of the Hercules' airstairs, and he waves to you as you approach. "Just finished refueling," he calls. "Ready to go when you are!"
"Guess that's my cue." Your boss stops again, and turns to face you. "I'll leave you here, I'm sure you can manage the last fifty feet on your own." He scratches the back of his neck. "Look, Jackson- don't get yourself killed, okay?" It's about as nice as he gets, and that's definitely something.
You almost make a snappy comment, but reconsider just in time. "Thanks, Boss," you say instead. "I mean it." You're not really sure what to do with your hands, so you shove them into your coat pockets. "I don't know what I'll find out there, but..." You are, for a moment, struck with the vision of fire in the snow, the arctic night lit red- failure, a worst-case scenario, something terrible-
"I'll be careful," You say.
McMurray claps you on the shoulder. "Good man," he says. "Be seeing you."
The pilot waiting for you gets up when you near the stairs, and extends a hand in greeting as you reach the top step.
"Name's Barry," he introduces himself as he ushers you inside. He's practically cheery despite the inhuman hour, with the kind of smile that genuinely seems more friendly than forced, and, when you ask him about it, he explains he's used to flying much earlier hours and usually gets most of his sleep during the day anyway.
"Don't touch the cargo," he warns, and shakes a finger at you as he shows you into the airplane's main chamber- a single aisle loaded with large crates and a row of unfolding seats on either side, simple metal frames covered in red canvas. "We're taking the opportunity to deliver some last-minute supplies to Anchorage after we drop you off, and you would not imagine the hell they give me if anything's out of order." He laughs. "Anyway, as you can probably see, rest of the plane's free, so feel free to sit wherever you like. Box over there is yours, too." He points.
You recover the case you're directed to and sit down in one of the seats near the front of the plane. Barry leans against the still-open door as he makes one last safety check of the cargo, marking things off on a clipboard produced from the cockpit. He finishes and turns to look at you again, his expression slightly more subdued than before. "Too bad about what happened up there," he finally says. "Poor guy, dying out in a place like that." He shakes his head. "Man. Lucky the weather's good enough for us to fly you out there though, huh?" He runs a hand through his hair, good humor already returning. "A winter this bad, and here's all flights from Grand Island taking off as scheduled. Real stroke of luck, eh?"
He's interrupted by a voice from the cockpit, and leans inside to reply. "Yeah, that's right," he says as he pulls his head back out. "High time we were on our way." His gaze sweeps over the inside of the plane one last time, and he gives you a little wave as he retreats into the cockpit, closing it off behind him.
There's a jolt as the plane shudders to life, and the intercom crackles on.
"This is your pilot speaking, again," Barry chuckles like it's the funniest thing in the whole wide world.
"Taking off from Central Nebraska Regional Airport. The time is 4:58 AM, ETA's at about 8 AM local time- that's about six hours from now, so I suggest you make yourself comfortable-" There's a pause and you can hear a murmur as the copilot says something to him. "Oh, yeah, yeah. And from me and Mary both- wishing you a nice flight."
The intercom clicks off and the plane rolls onto the empty runway. Moments later, the airstrip's lights fall away beneath you and the Hercules C-130 rises into the still-dark sky.
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