Retribution by Steve Stanton

Author:Steve Stanton
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: ECW Press
Published: 2011-09-15T00:00:00+00:00

A tiny lake like a crooked finger came into view as the small float plane banked around a tree-studded hill. The choppy surface was laced with a pattern of froth by a stiff winter wind.

“Up near the northern tip on the west side,” Zak instructed the pilot.

“I don’t see anything,” said Jackie in the seat beside him, bundled in her pink designer ski jacket.

“It’s set back from the shore,” Zak yelled over the sound of the single propeller engine. “Camouflaged. You can’t see it from the air.”

“There’s no docking facility?” the pilot asked.

“No. A bit of a rock ledge, that’s about it.”

“You want me to beach it?”

“I’ll jump out and grab a canoe for the lady,” Zak shouted.

“The water will be near freezing this time of year.” The pilot pulled back on the throttle and tipped the wings level as he set up for a landing. A gust of air rocked them and Zak noticed frost forming on the side windows.

“It’s not dangerous, is it?” Jackie yelled to the pilot.

“No ma’am, just a walk in the park. Beautiful day.”

Another burst of wind buffeted the craft and Jackie reached to clutch Zak’s hand.

“They do this all the time up here,” he said. “There’s no roads. Are you cold?”

“My legs are like ice.”

“We’re almost there.”

The plane dropped suddenly and their stomachs lurched.

“I think I’m going to be sick,” Jackie moaned.

“You’ll be fine. Just hang on.”

“Sorry, folks,” the pilot said over his shoulder. “Air pocket.”

“What the hell’s an air pocket?” Jackie whispered through gritted teeth. “That’s ridiculous.” She closed her eyes and hyperventilated through her nose.

They hit the surface and bounced. The windows rattled.

“Whoa,” the pilot said as he tipped a wing into the gale.

The floats settled with a noisy thud that sounded like hard ground underneath. The pilot kept the throttle up as he fought against the wind. Water splashed up against the windows. “Just like downtown,” he said and grinned with a peculiar manic pleasure. Finally they slowed and veered toward the shore.

Zak pointed. “You see that jumble of boulders to the left?”

The pilot leaned forward to the windshield. “That’s your dock? It’s sure a primitive hunt camp.”

“We don’t hunt.”

“What do you do?” The pilot darted his eyes back to the fashion model in the seat behind him and looked pained by a salacious thought. “Any good fishing?”

Zak nodded. “Brook trout.”

“You’ll need steel line this time of year,” he said.

“We’re just here for an overnight.”

“Same time tomorrow?”

“Yeah.”

The pilot shrugged his incomprehension. “It’s your nickel.” He kept his eyes fixed on the water as he approached, checking for rocks. He nosed in close to shore and cut the engine. They bumped gently onto a sandbar and Zak peered out a side window. They were close to the rock ledge. He might not even get wet. “Perfect,” he said.

The pilot grinned. “We do our best.” He zipped his jacket and pulled a hood up over his head. Zak opened the side door and the wind almost ripped it out of his hand. He stepped cautiously down onto the float.

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