Friday, March 9, 2012
Gulfstream G5 over North America
I groaned and woke up. Angus strolled over to me and sat down.
“Where are we?” I asked. looking around the cabin.
“My guess is somewhere over Montana.”
“How did … what the ...” I tried sitting up too fast and got dizzy.
He looked sheepish. “You're post concussive, Jake. It seems that sintered bullet hit you in the back and jammed you rather hard into the glass wall.”
“If I were a foot taller and 100 pounds heavier I’d shove my foot …”
“I know. I know. I’m very sorry.”
I stared out the window for a few minutes. Clouds passed, the sun peeked in and out, the engines droned. Finally, something dawned on me.
“If you’re back here, who’s flying this damn thing?”
He laughed. “Hopefully, the auto pilot.”
“Where are we going?”
“If your friend Dolores' information is correct, we’re flying you home, lad.”
“Home? We're way west. What are you talking about?” I sat bolt upright, setting off another wave of pain and vertigo.
“We're headed to the ones ye love.”
Posted by Jake at 11:04 AM