Broken Wings 2 - Midnight Flight, Andrews, C. [classic books for 10 year olds .TXT] 📗

I heard wheels being lowered and locked into place and then the plane touched down with a small bounce. It slowedand taxied until it turned. Wherever we were wasn't much of an airport. Maybe because of the angle I was at, I couldn't see any lights or people or cars. I heard the engines being shut down and the propellers slowing. When it all stopped, I waited in anticipation to see who would come out of the cockpit. The door did not open for so long, I began to think no one was flying the plane.

Then, the two pilots emerged. They looked so young to me, too young to be in charge of an airplane, but they had wings on their white shirts and gold-​threaded bars on their shoulders.

“Where am I? Who did this to me? Why am I tied down?” I fired my questions at them in machine-​gun fashion.

They looked at me, but neither spoke, making me feel as if I weren't really there. Instead, one of them undid the door and lowered the steps. I heard a woman outside ask if everything was all right.

“Just peachy keen,” one of the pilots said, and the two left the plane. No one else had emerged from the cockpit. Who was in charge here?

“What about me? What is going on?” I shouted after them. I watched the doorway and then tried to kick at the seat in front of me. “What's going on, damn it!”

Finally, a young woman with short, dark brown hair appeared. She was as tall as I was, about five feet ten or so, and she was wearing a dark blue uniform jacket with brass buttons and a pair of blue slacks. I thought she wasn't much more than nineteen or twenty years old. She was wide in the hips and small on top with narrow shoulders, making it look like two different bodies had been slapped together when God was busy attending to other matters.

“Who are you? What's going on?” I demanded.

“Keep your voice down,” she said sharply, and approached. When she drew closer, I saw she had a pudgy face with thick lips and wide nostrils. A streak of freckles burst down the bridge of her nose on both sides and over the crests of her puffy cheeks. She wore no makeup, not even lipstick, and a small, thin scar was on the left side of her chin.

“Where am I?” I asked as softly and as calmly as I could. First, I had to have some answers. Then I could take some action, I told myself.

“You'll see,” she replied, and began to unfasten the straps.

“Who are you? Am I at some school? Where is this school that I had to be flown here?”

“You're wasting your breath asking me questions,” she said, stepping back. “Get up and get out.”

“What happened to my clothes? Why am I wearing this rag dress?”

Her untrimmed eyebrows lifted and I thought she smiled, although it was hard to tell because her lips were so stiff. She seized my right arm and tugged to get me to stand. When I did, I wavered for a moment and she had to grab my shoulders to keep me from falling.

“I'm so dizzy,” I said. “They put me to sleep. Maybe they gave me something poisonous.”

“Oh, you poor little thing,” she said with exaggerated sympathy and sweetness. Then she snapped, “Walk!” She poked me at the base of my spine with her thick, right forefinger, which felt like the barrel of a gun.

I scowled back at her and made my way down the small aisle to the door. For a moment I was dizzy andnauseated again. Then I caught my breath and navigated the half dozen metal steps. The outside area was well lit, but all I saw was what looked like a building made of concrete. It had bland gray walls and a metal door with no windows on it. The front of the building had no windows either.

The first thing I noticed when I started down the steps was how hot it was. It was dark, but it felt like the middle of a summer day in Atlanta, especially in the poorer part of the city where we had lived. It wasn't true that people of African descent didn't notice the oppressive heat and humidity as much as white people.

“Where is this? It's so hot.”

“Hell,” I heard her say behind me. “Keep walking toward the building before I have you carried there,” she threatened, and I continued slowly. Where had the two young pilots gone? Why wasn't anyone else around? I stopped to look and she gave me another shove to move me toward the building.

“Where are we going?”

“Just walk to the building and keep your mouth shut,” she ordered.

Every time I turned my head to look around, she pushed me.

“Keep your hands off me,” I warned.

“We've got a long night ahead of us. Move it,” she commanded.

When we reached the door, she stepped ahead and opened it. The hinges squeaked as if it hadn't been opened for a hundred years. It was like opening a tomb. How could this be a school? Why was I being brought here?

“Go in,” she said.

I hesitated and she reached out, seized my wrist, andpulled me forward, driving me into the building with such force, I nearly stumbled and fell.

The inside was poorly lit by some weak overhead neon lights, but I could see it was just a dusty, empty warehouse or something. At first I didn't realize anyone else was there. They were both so quiet and so still. Then I saw a petite, rust-​color-​haired girl sitting on a stool in front of a desk on my right. Her hands were folded, the fingers gripping like the fingers of someone in pain. Her knuckles looked as if little white buttons had been sewn onto them. She was dressed in the same sort of one-​piece rag I was wearing, and I could also see she had the same