“Take a look over there,” Ron directed them. “That’s Aspen Mountain there shrouded in shadow, and as we get up, you can see those two peaks to the west, those are the Maroon Bells, two of over fifty-three mountains in Colorado that are over fourteen thousand feet.”
In his basket was some big-shot financial dude from Connecticut, who was trying to work it out that he and his bundled-up trophy wife could get a private, trying to buy off the launch manager. But it didn’t work out. And a middle-aged couple from Japan, equipped with the requisite camera and one, long fucking lens, Ron admired. At five hundred feet, the four balloons cut a beautiful path across the morning sky, each of them a colorful design of reds, yellows, and greens.
By seven, they were at six hundred feet, the maximum elevation today because of the winds, and Ron cut off the burner, cooling the air.
The view was amazing.
“Wave hi to your mates over there,” Ron said, pointing to the closest companion balloon, maybe a hundred yards away. The Japanese couple waved and the husband aimed his gargantuan lens. The financier and his wife were bickering about where they were going to have lunch later, the burger at Ajax Grille or sushi at Matsuhisa.
Suddenly Ron felt a thud from above. The whole basket rocked back and forth. Everyone looked up. “What the hell was that?” the financial guy asked, his wife clearly a little spooked and not happy in the first place to be sharing the ride with the Japanese couple.
“Don’t know,” Ron said. “Maybe we hit a thermal. It’s kind of like a wind inversion. There’s a breeze today.” He checked out the other balloons to gauge his relative height and noticed he had descended slightly. He opened the valve and shot a blast of flame hissing into the balloon, momentarily lifting it to where it was before. “I think we’re okay. So check out that river to the northwest out there.” He pointed. “That’s—”
The basket wobbled again. He noticed them losing more altitude. Air was definitely leaking from somewhere. He may have to bring this baby down. Then suddenly he heard a tearing sound from above them. The basket lurched again, swaying. Everyone grabbed the sides. Ron shot more heat in, but nothing seemed to be happening. Except that they were losing air.
And altitude.
“Is everything all right?” the financier’s wife asked, looking a little edgy.
Ron looked above and kept pumping as much heat as he could into the envelope. “Don’t really know.”
A call came in on the radio. Steve, in the next balloon. “Ron, you got something wrong on your right side. You’re definitely losing your pitch. Can you see it? You better get yourself down. Pronto.”
“I hear ya,” Ron replied. “Exactly what I’m doing, Sorry, folks, seems to be some kind of malfunction up there. I’m going to have to take her down. Shouldn’t be a problem.” He kept pumping in as much heat as the balloon would take. But still they kept coming down.
“Cole! Cole!” he radioed in to the company attendant at the landing field. “Something’s wrong with the balloon. We’re leaking air. I’m coming back. Now.
“Nothing to worry about,” he said supportively to his passengers, who were now clearly anxious. “We’ve got a malfunction in the canvas. But I’ll get you down. These babies are fit to—”
Suddenly he heard another tear. They all heard it this time. Phhfft. “What the Sam Hill …”
The basket lurched again, this time terrifyingly. Then there was a deep groan emanating from above, hot air leaking out, colder air coming in.
The balloon swaying and collapsing.
Over the radio he heard, “Ron, you’ve got a full-scale implosion going on! I can see it. Get your ass down as fast as you can.”
“I’m trying, I’m trying,” Ron replied. He continued to rev the valves, thrusting as much heat as he could into the envelope, compensating for the cold air rushing in through the tear, to bring them down at a manageable speed.
It wasn’t working.
“What’s going on? What’s going on?” the financial guy was yelling. Their descent started to pick up speed. “Do something!”
“I’m trying, I’m trying,” Ron said. “Everyone be calm.”
They were still five hundred feet up. He looked up and saw the huge tear on one side, a flap in the material buckling and falling over, a huge swath of it suddenly falling down on top of the basket, and to Ron’s horror, catching the flame and suddenly igniting.
The balloon became engulfed in flame.
“Do something!” the financial guy’s wife shrieked, her eyes bulging in terror.
“There’s nothing I can do!” Ron replied, continuing to rev heat into the useless, crumpled canopy. He grabbed the radio. “Mayday, mayday, we’re going down!” They started to fall out of the sky, picking up speed. The ropes holding the basket could catch at any second and then …
The financier’s wife was sobbing on the floor mat. Her husband gripped the basket’s rim and looked down in disbelief. The Japanese couple huddled together.
Ron shouted, “You know a prayer, this would be the time to say it.”
He always wondered what this would feel like. How he would react. In his dreams he had dreamed it many times. It was like a bad trip. And he’d had many of those. “Mayday, mayday!” he screamed uselessly into the radio as the basket began to plummet. “Oh Jesus Lord, we’re going down!”
CHAPTER SEVEN
Dani saw it as she headed into town before her rendezvous with Ron.
Around the cutoff to the Aspen Industrial Park just after the airport, traffic was being slowed into one lane. She saw EMT vehicles, their lights flashing, and it seemed as if every cop in the valley was there. A throng of people, many out of their cars, were lining the highway looking on. In the large field which the Aspen by Air Balloon Adventure used as their takeoff site, a plume of black smoke funneled high into the air.
What the hell had happened?