Sharkbait

“Wake up, Sharkbait,” Mom said.

I groaned and refused to move. My head was pounding, my tongue tasted like a cat took a dump on it, and my stomach was rolling like a heavy ocean swell. I managed to get an eye open, for a moment, until the bright sunshine came in the window that my Mom just opened. “Uhhhh….”

“I warned you not to get into drinking games with those boys,” she said. “Get up and shower, we leave in an hour for the airport.”

“I’m never drinking again,” I swore as I tried to roll myself to the edge of the bed.

“Nothing good ever happens after someone hands out shots of Jaegermeister,” Mom said with a laugh. “I had to learn that lesson the hard way, and now you’ve learned it too.”

My stomach flipped as I stood up, and I ran for the bathroom. I barely got the seat up in time, and Mom held my hair back as I emptied my stomach. I stood up and rinsed my mouth out with the glass of water my Mom handed me, then brushed my teeth and got in the shower.

Mom had two bottles of water and some Tylenol waiting for me when I came back out. I drained one with the pills before I got dressed. I chose a shark-pattern sundress in teal and black, strappy sandals, and dark sunglasses. “Feel better,” Mom asked.

“No.”

“Drink the other water and finish packing so the Omegas can take it to the car. Breakfast is in ten.”

“Where are we flying out of?”

“Private airport in Waterville. One of the Pack members owns a share of a Cessna and volunteered to fly us.”

“We’re taking a little plane back home?”

She picked up the messenger bag that held the cash I’d gotten from Corvinus. “I had it washed and dried after they finished looking for clues,” she said. “Still, you can’t carry that much cash through an airport without getting in trouble.” Mom opened the bag and removed a small stack of bills. “The charter plane comes out of your end, baby.”

“I guess. I’m just not looking forward to being cramped in a noisy airplane all day.”

“You’ll live.”

With my pounding headache, I didn’t feel like I would. “There better be barf bags by the seats,” I warned.

“Come on, Parties-With-Wolves,” Mom teased. “Let’s get some food into you.”

I left the bags on the bed and went downstairs to the breakfast buffet. I went heavy on starches, with a big stack of blueberry pancakes, scrambled eggs, and bacon. Mom went to sit with the high-ranks, while I found some fellow sufferers from last night’s festivities and sat down. “Never again,” I said as I poured a glass of orange juice.

“I’ve said that at least five times since I came of age in March,” Dot said as she poked at a sausage link.

“Nothing good happens after midnight,” Jessica agreed.

“I got even; I threw up in my mate’s car last night,” Dawn said. “I don’t even remember him coming to bed.”

My stomach started to feel better with food in it as I worked the stack down. “It was a great party, though.”

“I bet you go to a lot of great parties since you’re famous,” Dot said.

“Not as many as you might think,” I said. “I spend a lot of time working, and I’m not old enough to go clubbing. My boss wants me seen out on the town, so I’m on the gossip pages, but my security keeps me out of trouble.”

“Until you have to kick his ass,” Jessica said with a laugh. “I love those videos.”

“Nothing they didn’t deserve,” I said. “In the meantime, I travel to cool places to model and dive.” I told them we were flying back to Red Wing on a small plane; I might stay a few days to see friends before flying back to San Diego. By the end of the meal, I felt better.

I was surprised when Jessica, Dot, and Carl joined us in the car heading to the airport. “Luna Pamela said we could hitch a ride with you guys to Minnesota, then rent a car to drive home and stop at some Packs on the way,” she said. “One last attempt at finding our mates before school starts up again.” Since the three weren’t ranked wolves, they don’t attend the Summit. They relied on travel and visits by other wolves to try and find their mates.

“Mom, does this plane have room for three more?”

“It should be fine,” she said.

Great. I was feeling better by the time we arrived at the airfield. The driver stopped in front of a hangar where a sleek single-engine plane waited with the stairs down. It was far from the puddle-jumper I expected. Travis DuBois was walking around doing his pre-flight checks. “Hey, guys. Leave your luggage by the stairs and go take a seat, we’ll be leaving in ten.”

Mom handed him an envelope with the cash for the charter while I grabbed our suitcases. I took the messenger bag into the cabin, hunching down as the ceiling was about five feet up. “This is SO COOL,” Jessica said as she moved to the back of the plane to sit down. The executive aircraft had a center aisle and six leather seats in pairs. The front seats faced the rear, next to a refreshment area. They could share fold-out tables with the front-facing seats in the middle. There was even a small bathroom in the back corner.

Mom took the center chair on the left, and I put my bag on the right one. “I want to watch Travis,” I told my mom. Going back down the stairs, I caught up to the pilot as he was stowing the bags away. “Travis? I’m interested in aviation, do you think you could walk me through what you are doing?”

“I can do better than that.” He took his flashlight, touching it to my left, right, and left shoulder. “I dub thee Lady Co-Pilot of Coronado.”

“Really?”

“Sure. I can use the company, and the right seat is open. If you can follow my directions and not touch anything I don’t tell you to, you can stay there.”

“I can do that!” I was practically bouncing as we finished pre-flight checks. I’d snuck a glance into the cockpit as I left, and it was modern with all kinds of screens and controls.

Travis explained each check as he did it. We checked the fuel tanks, the flight surfaces, instrument ports, and tires. We climbed up, and I watched as Travis secured the door, then I climbed carefully into the right seat. He walked me through the start checklist for the engine, then talked me through what he was doing as he taxied out to the runway. Travis radioed to get takeoff clearance, then had me push the throttles forward before releasing the brakes. The agile plane accelerated quickly, and I called out ground speed until he pulled the yoke back. We lifted off the ground, and I retracted the landing gear and reported them stowed as Travis continued the climb. “The autopilot on this plane can do anything but the takeoff and landing if you tell it what you want,” he said. “You can’t learn by watching, though. Take the controls and maintain a five-degree rate of climb until we reach five thousand feet,” he said.

I took the controls, focusing on being smooth as I got a feel for the aircraft. Flight control had us turn to 250 degrees and climb to our cruising altitude of 22,000 feet. Travis talked me through the maneuver and set the autopilot once we were stable. “Nice job,” he said.

“That was so cool!”

“I love my job,” he agreed. Flight time was just under four hours, but it was still too short for me. I was like a curious toddler, asking questions and learning as we flew west over the Great Lakes. When we were on approach, he surprised me again. “You’re going to land the plane,” he said. “I can take over at any time, and if I say ‘hands-off,’ you raise your hands in the air and take your feet off the pedals,” he said.

I was as nervous as a long-tailed cat in a roomful of rocking chairs as I piloted us into the approach to Red Wing Airport. Travis got landing clearance and local conditions. “The wind is at 15 knots from twenty degrees right of the nose, so it will slow us down and push us left. You have to use the rudder to hold your position centered on the runway.”

“So, I keep our nose pointing a little to the right with the rudder?”

“Yep. Right before touchdown, you line up with the runway center. Use the lineup aids to see if you’re drifting left, right, up, or down, and fly to correct. Be smooth, and if you can’t handle it, ask me to take over.”

By the time we taxied to a stop outside the hangars, I was a sweaty mess. Travis talked me through the engine and system shutdown procedure. “Thank you! That was AWESOME,” I said.

“You have a real aptitude for this, Vicki. You should take lessons and get your private pilot’s license.”

“Another thing for the list,” I said. I saw the vehicles from Miesville Pack pulling up next to the plane. “Are you staying with us?”

“No,” he said. “I’ll take my FAA break and refuel, then I deadhead to Chicago and turn it over to another pilot. Now go, you’re sweating up the leather seats.”

I got out after him and helped him with the door and stairs. It had been a great day; I got to fly, I had fat stacks of Benjamins in my bag, and Leo’s pool was open.

The party would be fun, but I was leaving if the Jaegermeister bottle came out.