Flight

Today you can write about anything, in whatever genre or form, but your post must include a speeding car, a phone call, and a crisp, bright morning.  -The Daily Post

I thought I’d try a little bit of fiction:

dirt road

Gravel sprays the bottom of the car as we race around another corner on the winding dirt road. Bright sun flashes through the branches whipping past us, but I am grateful for the heater’s blast. It’s so cold. And so dry.

Only a week ago I got the frantic phone call from my sister in Oregon. “Get out of there, Sue. I’ve got an air ambulance pilot who can pick you up. But he can’t wait. You have to be there when he arrives. I love you. Hurry.” Probably one of the last calls before the network failed.

I must have a guardian angel. I don’t know how we got out of LA before the real rioting began. No water for a week, gas stations closed. Things were getting out of hand fast.

I glance over at my husband. He grips the wheel, intent. Suddenly the road levels and widens into a once-grassy airstrip.

Oh God, I hope this guy shows up.

As if in answer, a small plane flies into view over the tree line. We park, grab our backpacks and make a run for it.

“Buckle up. This is gonna be rough.” the pilot yells as we board.

The tiny plane jolts and rattles down the runway, lifts, then steeply banks. I watch out the window as a pickup truck roars onto the airstrip, full of refugees waving, shouting.

Then they’re gone. I see only the open sky, cloudless and blue.

For more responses to the Trio no. 4 challenge, click here

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