Jet Pack

[Flash fiction for the Crash and Burn — The Steve Weddle Memorial Airport Flash Fiction]

Work your empennage.
Work your elevators.

Acknowledge affirmative correction.
Go ahead. How do you hear me?

The wind side of the computer
determines the altitude which results
in the highest groundspeed, as they say.

The pressure on the ailerons and rudder
pedals? Neutralize them.

This increases drag.
This decreases airspeed.

“Okay,” I say, not telling him Hodge was dragged to death behind a very-much-earthbound car yesterday.

“Not anymore, Herr Doctor,” she said. “And never again.” Behind her teeth brass cylinders rotated, clicking together to form the right shapes to transform the air from her bellows into words.

Slow night. Snow and sleet came down like slushy piss. The bar was empty but for him and her. But this is where Jonny Stoops found himself, night after night, no matter the weather.

If the virus gets into his shoulder muscles, it could mess with the signals that run from brain to arm in a game of bioelectric telephone. Permanent damage.