Airborn

Flight and infidelity

1

Jacob Crossworthy had been a test-pilot for the Horizon Series, an RAF black project, for just under three years. In that time he had seen some pretty inexplicable things, and yet, bizarrely, his most intense experiences occurred on the pedestrian level. Of course it didn't help that Clara was having nightmares like clockwork, usually around three in the morning, and they finally forced her to act. It happened on a miserably cold October night.
'Oh f**k off, not again,' she whispered.
Jacob, who barely slept anyway, turned. Clara's creased brows told him this was a bad one. She let out a short, strangled sob. 'Again.'
'Clara?'
Her eyes shot open. Sweat stood out on her forehead, stuck strands of blonde to her flush face.
'Again?' she said, and coughed.
Jacob nodded. 'Could be the tablets?' he offered.
'I told you already it's not them,' she said, her tone like cold ice biting, and turned toward the window. A slim foot appeared at the bottom of the bed, floated silently through the air, and parted the curtain allowing soft white light to glimmer into the room. She wanted to see the moon.
In fact, she wanted a lot more than that: wanted to laugh like she did mere months ago, wanted to sleep in peace as she had done for most of her life, wanted freedom, any sort of freedom, even just for a day.
But none of this would come to being unless she told her husband the truth. It was only a matter of time, anyway. So why not now?
In a crazy moment of confidence, she blurted out, 'I have to tell you something.'
Jacob, who had suspected a sinister secret now for awhile, couldn't speak nor breath nor blink.
'I'm so sorry,' she said in the softest voice she could muster, 'I've been seeing someone.'
So I was right then, thought Jacob bitterly. My intuition is always right. Especially when my number is up.
When he finally had the heart to answer, his voice was a creaking plank.
'Who?'
There was a monumental pause which froze the blood and cut the room.
'Glen.'
Jacob broke from the bed so fast Clara thought he was going to lunge at her which was ridiculous because he hadn't laid a hand on her in twenty-five years. Instead he skulked swiftly from the room and apart from the sizzle of the tv downstairs the next she heard he was leaving for work in the morning.

2

Inside the Aurora 130 prototype, four men sat with headsets fixed and nerves wrangling. Two scientists in the rearseats; pilot and co-pilot up front. The scientists were, as always, cagy and weary of the journey. No two flights were the same due to civilian surveillance and so their route was often relayed in realtime.
'How's the ride?' called a voice from Base through the phones.
'Slight chop,' said Jacob, eyes fixed ahead at the curvature before him.
'Okay MET check is good for BRAVO point,' replied the scratchy voice, 'keep MACH at three.'
'Wilco roger.'
Jacob turned to his co-pilot, who nodded comprehension, and they proceeded on their route.
Soon they were high above the Himalayas and that's when it happened, all at once.
The sleek triangular craft quickly dipped its nose toward the jagged peaks of white. Interior sirens whistled as the four men jerked forward in their seats. Jacob's mind filled with still images. Like black and white photographs.
The recovery crew, dressed all in white, picking through the snowy debris like landfill kids, scratching their covered heads. Red-rimed rocks molten over with flakes of flesh and ropes of splintered clothing. Here and there a tooth or what could have been a skull fragment.
And then Jacob came back to his senses, realized his hands were clutching the steering bar in a downward position. He had done it without even knowing, as if in a trance. Discreetly, he gently pulled up, and steadied the craft above the clouds.
He could feel the sighs of relief pluming all about him, from the scientists behind him especially. Yet none had seemed to notice whose fault it was, not even the co-pilot; it had happened so fast. Blame would come later, when the data had been analysed back at the Base. For now there was just the sniggers of the co-pilot as he said, 'just as well I said my prayers this morning.'
'Oh just shut the f**k up, Glen,' said Jacob.
Stunned, Glen murmured, "Wilco roger.'

3

As lead-pilot, Jacob stayed longer than the others to answer the many questions put forth by the myriad staticians at Base. The event would be scrutinised over the next twenty-four hours and until then, all were grounded. All, except for Jacob's mind that is.
He took a long, rambling route home and was surprised to see Glen's range-rover in the wide driveway.
The gall of him, he thought.
Then, he realised with a pang, if he stepped inside and caught them at it, he probably wouldn't even have the energy to throw them a dirty look. He just wanted to get to bed and watch a dvd in peace.
They were sat at the kitchen table when he entered. Sure, they had always been friends, hadn't they?
'How did it go?' asked Glen as Jacob sat at the head of the table. Clara stood to put the kettle on. Jacob ignored the question and instead asked his wife, 'Any Stella's left?'
Clara flicked the kettle off and pointed at the fridge. Glen went and retrieved two cans without being offered, and handed one to Jacob.
'You put the s***s up us today,' said Glen, grinning.
'Yep,' said Jacob, and gulped down half the can. He then rose and left the room without any further wording, collecting the last three cans from the fridge.
While getting changed up in the bedroom, he heard Glen leave, more than likely disappointed, and settled onto the bed with a sustained huff of exhaustion. However, his dvd collection was nowhere to be found. Clambering, he made his way downstairs, his mood turning from grey to red. When he arrived in the bright-lit kitchen, Clara was opening her second bottle of wine.
'Just making sure there's no orgys going on down here,' he said without humour.
From downturned lips, Clara said, 'if there was, you wouldn't notice.'
'Tell me about it."
'Really?" slurred Clara with fake enthusiasm, 'you want me to tell you everything?' She smacked her lips. 'Well there's the couch, the floor you're standing on, the-'
'What the f**k is your problem?" scowled Jacob, and then, surprising even himself, he burst out laughing. 'You'd swear I was the one whose cheated.'
'Yep" was all she said.
It was then he saw the splintered discs in the bin and shook his head in disbelief.
'What have I ever f*****g done to you for you to be like this?' he said.
Clara's eyes were cool spheres of coal.
'Enjoy your movie," she called after him as he slowly ascended the stairs.

4

Three days went by. Jacob's hiatus from flight would've lasted longer but with the amount of money involved, as in all black projects, the tech-heads were strong-armed into writing off the episode as a glitch. And finally, test-flight nine was given the green light.
In those three days, talk in the Crossworthy household had been sparse. Intimacy non-existent. And Clara had spent more and more time at her friends. Of course there was always a chance that she had taken up Glen as a full-time hobby, but Jacob had put this deep in the back of his mind because the idea was far too excruciating. But one thing was certain: Glen knew that the jig was up. Jacob came to know this when his co-pilot requested a transfer, which was given. It was for the best, his boss had said, for tension between the two had been obvious, whatever the f**k was going on.
So he got a new co-pilot, a ginger Canadian called Dennis who minded his own business as if his life depended on it, and that was just fine with Jacob. The on-board scientific observers had also been recycled and were presently sitting behind him like mute ducks awaiting feed.
'You want me to do prelims?' asked the Canadian, as soon as the craft was in the air. Jacob shook his head.
'Three days is a long time on the ground,' he said, 'I wanna run through it myself.'
Her did so, zombified by the routine, and soon they were soaring through the sky at an altitude of about eighteen thousand feet.
Despite the revitalising feeling of flight, Jacob couldn't help but ponder the depressing aspects of his life. If he had've been level-headed he might have noticed the problem in the technology that was to cause such devastation.
As he was making a standard change in direction, a sharp thud cracked the atmosphere inside the craft. One of the scientists behind him let out a squeak like a squashed churchmouse and several alarms sounded out in horrific unison.
Frantic, Jacob darted his eyes across the panel of glowing nodules but they all seemed normal. But he knew things were far from fine; they were dropping altitude, fast. The green-grey of land hurtled toward them like a terrible grinning mouth. The wind hissed outside like a broiling stove. It soon became apparent that a corner of the pyramidal craft was malfunctioning. In a single second he made a choice.
'We need to eject.'
Before the sentence was even finished he heard two quick pops behind him and saw four legs vanish into the aether; the scientists needed no second orders.
Jacob interrupted his co-pilots panicky examination of the control panel, to scream, 'EJECT NOW.'
Resigned, the Canadian did as he was told and went caroming into the high, thin air.
With one last, nostalgic glance at the controls which had become so familiar, Jacob clicked down the button to eject.
Nothing happened.
He clicked again, harder. Nothing.
When he tilted his head to see, the sight filled his chest with cardiac horror. The panel seemed to have been smelted together.
Desperately, he clawed at the release but the bellowing winds from the opened hatch made him sway and rock uncontrollably. From the corner of his eye he could make out the windows of a little farmhouse. He was running out of time.
And then, as if things weren't bad enough, an unfamiliar sounded rung out.
It took him a second to realize what it was: his phone. Knowing this was probably the last chance he'd get to talk to anybody, anybody at all, he managed to retrieve the phone from his pocket.
It was a video message.
Breathlessly, he dabbed down on the screen and the images that appeared turned his entire body into a used pyre, a hollow thing.
Clara...bent over, face aimed at the lens, smiling and, though he couldn't hear, moaning. Glen was behind her, smiling smugy as he thrust it in again, again. Waving goodbye. J
Jacob's eyes filled with tears, his heart with hate. He knew now beyond all doubt exactly what was happening, and his last thought was, there's nothing I can do, there's nothing I can do.

5

Officially, Jacob Crossworthy died during a routine training exercise. Clara was comfortably compensated. Everyone at the funeral noticed how broken-hearted his wife was, and remarked on how good a friend Glen was as he quietly consoled the widow. The flowers were beautiful.
Glen and Clara are married now with two children, one of which is called Jake, a private joke. Glen was promoted three times in two years, mainly due to how brilliantly he had handled the investigation into Jacob's death. They live in a beautiful house in the Wiltshire countryside overlooking their private pond and go on date night once a week at a cozy restaraunt by the airport.
And Jacob Crossworthy. ..well he's somewhere else.

END

Kealan Coady 12/09/17