The wide blue landmark in the distance caused me to refocus. “We’re coming up on the Mississippi. Start looking for our bridge,” I said to no one in particular as I strained my eyes, searching the Mississippi River for its bridges.
If the GPS had still worked, it would’ve brought me straight to our destination since Sorenson had provided the bridge’s coordinates. Now, I had to fly by sight, and I was often a mile or more off my destination. It was my fault. Like most, I’d become way too reliant on technology before the outbreak.
“Wait, I’ve got it. I’ll check in,” I said to no one in particular as I lined up to the giant yellow X that had been painted on a bridge. I pressed the radio’s transmit button. “Cessna to Camp Fox. If you can still hear us, we’re descending to land at the RP. Over.”
Dead static came as the only response.
“Clutch might have heard us, but there’s no way I could pick up his handheld from this distance. I’m not even sure he can pick us up,” I said. “We both figured that’d be the case.”
On the right day, the radio signal could cover the entire state, especially with the lack of other signals to hinder it. Today didn’t seem to be one of those days.
As the river grew larger, I descended and slowed. No signs of zeds and—unfortunately—no sign of the riverboat yet. I flew over the bridge with two steel arches. “Everything looks clear, but I’m not seeing our guys. You guys see any zeds?”
“No. Nothing,” came the response from my crew.
I lined up for the bridge again, this time running through my landing checklist. Touching down this close to the river set my nerves on edge, even though the highway was open for a quarter-mile before the bridge, and I had plenty of runway ahead of me. Still, it was discomfiting having all that iron and open water surrounding me. It wouldn’t take too much to veer off and hit a wingtip, and then we’d be stranded over two hundred miles away from Camp Fox. And, once down, I’d have to taxi onto the bridge so we didn’t have to walk to our destination.
The engine sputtered a couple times on final approach, and I throttled forward just enough to keep it from cutting out completely while still making the landing.
“That engine doesn’t sound good,” Tyler said.
“It’s been acting up more and more lately. Joel says it needs some new sparkplugs,” I said as I pulled the plane to a stop in the middle of the bridge so that I could take off in either direction at a moment’s notice.
“He’s been busy with Humvee Three, and that’s his first priority right now. But I’ll ask him to take a look,” Tyler said.
“Yeah, I figured that.” After double-checking to make sure everything was powered off, I set my headset on the dash and unbuckled.
“Rise and shine, Grizzly Bear,” Jase said, and I heard Griz grumble something unintelligible.
Tyler smirked, grabbed his bag, and climbed out of the plane. I grabbed my backpack and rifle. Before I opened my door, I glanced back at the red five-gallon jugs filled with emergency av-gas to make sure they were still bungeed together in the baggage compartment, and then headed outside. Jase and Griz followed.
Griz stretched under the sun while I locked the Cessna’s doors and turned to Tyler. “We’re all set. Barring any big change in weather, we should easily make it back to the park without having to refuel.” I thought for a moment. “I miss getting the weather forecasts. They sure did come in handy with flight planning.”
“I kind of prefer the lack of news,” he said as he pulled out his sword. “It was always sensationalizing the bad things.”
“I’ll check out the area to the east,” Griz said. “I need to stretch my legs.”
“I’ll go with you,” Jase offered, and the two sauntered off with their weapons drawn.
I started to head in the opposite direction.
“Weather reports were inaccurate as much as they were accurate,” Tyler said. “I miss pizza delivery more.”