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Flying blind unnerved him. It was easier for George to close his eyes than to peer outside at nothing but white. Abbott scanned the instrument panel every few seconds but gave no sign of concern. Outside of a few bucks and turns, the flight so far was fairly smooth despite the lack of visibility. The cockpit’s heater generated enough heat to lull him into a sleepy haze inside his goose-down parka. George’s arms suddenly flew up as though he were doing the wave at a football game as the airplane hit a downdraft. The plane’s altimeter danced with every pitch and lurch. Outside there was still nothing but white. Or black, take your pick. The cockpit was warm, at least. He unbuckled his seat belt to reach back for the thermos in his backpack. “Better keep that buckled up. We’ll get a lot of downdrafts and updrafts before we fly through this crap,” hollered Abbott through the noise.
Excerpted from In From the Cold by David R. Bliss, published in 2010 by Big Hill Publishers. Copyright © 2010 by David R. Bliss. Reprinted by permission of David R. Bliss.
In From the Cold By David R. Bliss
42
He was about to ask what a downdraft was when the plane’s seat dropped from under him. He hit the ceiling so hard that he broke the plastic molding above the passenger door. Blood seeped from the top of his head. In another instant he slammed back into his seat as the plane rocketed straight up, or what seemed like straight up. With all his strength he managed to pin himself into the seat long enough to refasten his seat belt. A huge welt began to form on the top of his head. He gingerly took off his wool stocking cap to find shards of plastic imbedded in his skull. He couldn’t focus his eyes. Too much adrenalin pumped through him to think of the pain that had started to arc through his head and shoulders. At the peak of a sharp climb the plane’s motor fell silent. The last updraft was a terrible irony, for the plane’s altimeter showed that they were
