“Pegasus, we need to be at the entrance of that large white building three blocks ahead,” I said, releasing the control handles. “Mind the power lines.”
“I am aware of them,” said Pegasus.
I could swear it was acquiring a dry wit.
We slowed to a crawl, moving just above the street. I had no idea how Pegasus was able to remain airborne with such a low groundspeed. That certainly wasn’t a function of the computational rocket’s airfoils. People ran into buildings and dove to the sidewalks as we cruised along. I felt a bump through Pegasus’ deck as we grazed the top of a bus.
The tail view of the Mustangs rocked and spun as we tracked them flying overhead. After a moment, I could see them in the main viewer. They were turning to make a pass back at us. I prayed they wouldn’t shoot. The fifty caliber guns on those fighters would chew up the street below us like a rat through cheese.
Pegasus pitched down suddenly and landed with a gentle bump. “I suggest you conduct your business quickly, Vernon Dunham.”
The hatch opened behind me as I unclipped my seat straps. I jumped up and tried to grab Dad by the feet, to drag him towards the exit. My entire body protested. My hip was feeling worse, and I suspected I was dislocating my shoulder.
“Vernon,” Floyd said again. “Please. Let me help.”
Damn it all, I thought. “Cut him loose,” I told Pegasus.
Floyd rolled up out of his chair and got his hands under Dad’s shoulders. I climbed painfully out of the hatch and down to the street. We were right in front of the St. Francis Hospital, a three-story brick building with a long history. Following the aerial pursuit, a crowd gathered, keeping its distance from Pegasus. I realized how I must look in my torn bathrobe, bandaged and bruised as I was. Heck, my undershorts were showing.
I didn’t care. I had to get Dad to a doctor I could trust.
“What’s going on, Mac?” somebody yelled from the crowd.
That was a question I should have anticipated. I’d been so concerned with getting here I hadn’t planned any further. I thought fast. “Top secret military experiment. I’ve got an injured man here.” I tugged on Dad’s legs, trying to get him out of Pegasus as Floyd worked him from the other side, keeping his head from banging on the deck.
A couple of men from the crowd edged out across the open space toward me, obviously wary. One of them said, “Looks like a dead body to me.”
“He will be a dead body if I don’t get him into the hospital,” I said, grunting with the strain of Dad’s weight.
The two men stepped forward and grabbed Dad’s hips, lowering him gently to the ground as Floyd climbed out, still supporting my father’s shoulders. One of my new helpers, a sandy-haired fellow in a business suit, peered inside Pegasus’ hatch. “Gee, that’s pretty crazy stuff in there,” he said in a low voice.
“You don’t know the half of it, buddy,” I said, frantically trying to divide my attention between Dad, Floyd, and wherever the Mustangs had gotten to. On the ground at my feet, Dad began to cough. I bent down. “Dad, I’ve got to go. It will be okay. There’s doctors here, doctors we can trust.”
“Vernon,” he whispered, grabbing the lapel of my borrowed bathrobe. “I think I’m going to die. There’s something you need to know.” He started coughing again.
“You’re not going to die, Dad. No more dying today,” I said, patting him. His blankets had fallen away. Dad looked real bad, pale and shuddering.
“Hey, buddy,” Floyd said quietly, touching my arm.
“One sec,” I told him. I turned to the two men who had helped me. Both of them were staring. “Get a doctor, damn it.” The one wearing a cook’s uniform ran toward the hospital. I could hear sirens approaching, and the Mustangs finally made another pass overhead. They were waiting for Pegasus to lift off again.
Dad wheezed and poked me in the side with a finger. “Floyd Bellamy… Floyd…”
“Right here, Mr. Dunham,” Floyd said, kneeling to take Dad’s hand.
“I know,” I said. “It’s all right.” I stroked the old man’s temple. His skin felt soft and doughy. It was already chilly.
“Floyd is your brother, Vernon. You’ve got to know that. Floyd’s mine.” Dad coughed again. “We didn’t think Alonzo was coming back… Alma and I… we…” Dad collapsed flat on the pavement.
“I think you guys had better wait for the cops.” It was the second Good Samaritan, the sandy-haired fellow, turning away from his long peek inside Pegasus.
I punched the stranger in the kidney. It was a sucker punch, unfair as hell, but there were doctors and cops coming and a whole crowd watching and I had to get out. The poor chump fell down groaning, doubled over. Behind me, the crowd roared. I could hear them starting to run toward me.
“Go!” I shouted to Floyd, who scrambled through the open hatch. I heaved myself up to follow as quick as I could. I was so very tired.
Someone grabbed my leg.
The fighters were buzzing overhead again, their big Packard-built Merlin engines snarling like a cloud of mechanical hornets. Behind me, people were cursing, and someone threw a rock through the hatch.
“Pegasus,” I screamed, “lift off!” My hand had a death grip on a stanchion just inside the hatch.
There was a great whooshing sound, like steam venting from a locomotive. Pegasus began to pitch and roll as it pulled up, flinging me back and forth against the outside of the hull. The hand on my leg let go, accompanied by a desperate wail. I craned my neck around in time to see the man I’d punched, the sandy-haired man who’d helped Dad, drop thirty or forty feet into the angry crowd. His hat tumbled free as he fell, whipping through the air like a little black kite. I flinched away from the man’s fall to see white-clad doctors and nuns crowding around Dad. At least my father wasn’t being trampled in the rush.
Floyd dragged me the rest of the way into Pegasus’ cabin by main force. Even if I got out of all this without being killed, I couldn’t see any way of talking myself out of the trouble I was in. In addition to all the destruction and disruption I had caused in Augusta, I had now started a street brawl in Wichita, and maybe killed at least one man in my escape. A man that had helped my father live, at that.
Behind me, as the hatch closed, I heard a sharp hammering.
“You re-entered the cabin in a timely manner,” Pegasus announced. “The Mustangs have just opened fire on us.”
The thought of what those bullets would have done to my legs blazed through my mind on wings of terror and panic. I crawled toward the pilot’s chair. “Back to the refinery,” I said as I collapsed into a resting position. I turned my head to look at Floyd, my newfound half-brother to whom I had not so long ago promised messy retribution.
There wasn’t much for me to go back to, given the swathe of destruction I had left behind me. What about him? My half-brother had darned near killed his mother, then left behind some very angry men with very long memories, not the least of which was the man who had raised him as a son.
“Thank you,” I told him.
There was nothing else to say.
Chapter Fifteen
Flying back to Augusta wasn’t as easy as flying to Wichita had been. For one thing, the P-51 pilots knew where we were going. For another, they were already above us and moving at speed when we pulled up off St. Francis Street in downtown Wichita. And they obviously had orders to bring us down. Even through Pegasus’ stout hull, I could hear the rattle and thump of their heavy machine gun fire as it struck us.
“You won’t shoot back, huh?” I asked Pegasus.