The Spirit of Steamboat by Craig Johnson

Author:Craig Johnson [Johnson, Craig]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781101635513
Google: 98hfmQEACAAJ
Amazon: 0670015784
Barnesnoble: 0670015784
Goodreads: 17674999
Publisher: Viking Adult
Published: 2012-12-31T18:30:00+00:00

There was a small space at the rear of the cockpit that looked as if it was for the radio and possibly the bombardier, but what did I know? The plane rocked and dropped as I grabbed the rails in a weightless state, looking back to see the two pilots attempting to right the aircraft; evidently, the real teeth of the storm were catching up with us.

I placed a foot on the small ladder, which was bolted to the rear bulkhead that led to the dark crawlspace above the bomb bay. I took a few steps up and forced my bulk into the aluminum sheathing, aware that the empty space and a few doors that had their own ideas about staying closed were the only thing between me and a doozy of a couple thousand foot drop. There were handles on the side to assist, so I pulled myself along, feeling like I was working in a coal mine.

There was light at the other end of the crawlspace, and I have to admit that I was relieved to get to the other side; I raised my head to look into the dimly lit amidships and the rear of the B-25.

The gurney was still attached the way it had been, the IVs, oxygen tanks, battery packs, and assorted medical equipment not having moved, but the other two passengers were not in their seats. The child’s grandmother was on the floor beside the covered, ventilated gurney, but I couldn’t see Isaac anywhere.

Mrs. Oda looked up, very happy to see me, and yelled above the constant drone of the engines, “Yokatta!”

I maneuvered a turnaround and clambered down the ladder with all the grace of a wounded buffalo; I still couldn’t locate the doc. Steamboat bucked again, and I grabbed hold of the inside fuselage to steady myself before venturing farther, sure that if I didn’t, I would likely land on someone.

Feeling a knot in my stomach, I kneeled by the woman, pulled back the blankets beside her, and discovered Isaac, out cold, with a good-sized goose egg on his forehead. “The plane knocked him out?”

“Hai.” I noticed the fine quality of her features and the absolute white of her hair; if I’d been casting a Japanese empress, I don’t think I could’ve found anyone that looked more the role than Mrs. Oda.

“How long has he been unconscious? Did it happen when we took off?”

She nodded twice, but I was pretty sure she didn’t understand a word I was saying.

I figured Isaac must’ve fallen on takeoff before he could get in his seat and get his harness on. I checked his pulse, which appeared to be fine, and then gave him a few gentle smacks on the face. “Doc, hey, Doc!”

His eyelids compressed and then opened, his eyes focused through the thick lenses of his glasses, and he turned to me. “Walter?”

“None other.”

Listening to the engines, he raised his voice. “Where are we?”

“Considering the alternative, the good news is—still aloft.”

A bit confused but rapidly gathering his wits, he looked up at the woman.

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