The Altruism Trial

Chapter Four: The Day The Story So Far:

Riley refuses to accept ownership after being suspended for misusing his smartphone. While suspended, Riley doesn’t understand why Brianna is no longer talking to him. On the day of the Flight Assignment, Riley is chosen first to present his SDE-T009 Microjet two-seater, that his dad built for him.

September 23rd 9:45 AM

My knees feel like they are going to buckle. I’m not sure why. I’ve never really been nervous about anything before—except when Brianna talks to me, but that hasn’t happened in a while. No one is cheering or clapping as I step into the SDE-T009 Microjet two-seater. They’re probably in shock that I have built such an impressive machine. Too bad the thing won’t fly. I figure I’ll get a pretty decent mark anyway, because it’s the only plane that can actually hold someone. Well, not including Raymond Dharma, but his goofy flight pod uses some sorta paramotor. I doubt it will take his weight.

What a loser.

Plus, what teacher will let him actually drift off into air anyway?

“I’ll take that.” The hooded man reaches into the cockpit and yanks my phone from me.

He’s gone before I can anything.

I assume it’s just protocol— to do with the school rules and all—plus my suspension. I’m not phased—got too much on my mind to fight. Besides, I’ll get it back at the end of the day. I look at the controls on the front panel and press a couple buttons. I realize that I have no clue how to fly it, even if I could get the thing off the ground. My dad mentioned something about a throttle and keeping the wings level but other than that I was too busy checking the hockey scores on my phone.

Oilers lost.

Mcdavid two assists. Leafs lost.

Shutout. say Penguins won.

Crosby with a hat trick. Besides, I thought he was just kidding, anyway.

The flight display lights up on the dash. This is the beginning.

“Beginning of what,” I mumble to myself.

I look out at the spectators on either side of me. The judges watch intently, the photographer snaps some pics. I can’t see Brianna. Where is she?

The engine kicks in and purrs, vibrating my seat. A blue light flashes on the display screen as the words fade out.

Wait, what?

I place my hands on the control column, unsure if the microjet will take off on its own. My first thought is that it has an autopilot control which must have been activated when I closed the overhead latch. The best thing to do is to simply get out and call it a day.

I feel around above my head at the latches, pulling frantically on anything that might give. The buttons. I glance down at the panel. There’s so many knobs and switches it looks like this thing could travel to space.

I bang on the glass.

“I can’t open it!”

Mme. Capretta watches me from the side of the runway. She’s pacing back and forth banging her pen against the clipboard.

“Help me!” I shout out to her. The man with the hood grabs her arm as Mrs. Capretta steps over the pylons. They talk for a second before she shakes her head and turns away.

I focus again on the control panels—punching buttons and pulling whatever handles I can snag with my hands.

A voice comes over the interior speakers—a deep, monotone like voice. Kindly, remain calm. Phase two is now commencing.

I bang on the glass again, but the plane is already moving. “Get me out of here! There’s gotta be some kinda mistake.”

An explosion shakes the back and in a matter of seconds I’m airborne. Below me I see the school, the playground, quickly slipping away out of sight.

This isn’t real.

It can’t be.

Funny numbers appear on the monitor—perhaps coordinates, or something.

When I look up again, I only see white—white clouds—nothing but white clouds.

11:25 AM

The EOTS tablet feels heavy in my hands. I don’t want to type on this stupid device anymore. But I can’t stop.

I don’t know why.

Below me, a long twisted and winding river splits the land. On one side is a matrix of tiny buildings bordered by endless grid lines. On the other, there is a mix of green and brown scattered over a rocky terrain.

On the screen, a digital map locates me over South Carolina. Coordinates are flashing and changing so quickly, I can’t make them out.

A ladybug crawls up the window frame, over the tiny screws Dad drilled in a few weeks back. The little useless thing has no clue what’s happening.

Then again.

Neither do I.

1:23 PM

A hazy white gas spills from a device below the control panel.

It smells funny.

1:26 PM

Over water now.

I think.

But really tired.

Where am I again?

Gas is making it difficult to see. I don’t kn…

September 24th, 2018 5:32 AM

Salty water splashes up into my mouth. I lift my head and spit out a wad of seaweed. My eyes sting. Foamy bubbles gurgle over the squishy ground, sloshing about in a slow yet menacing rhythm.

Through a hazy blur, a row of dark pillars sway from side to side.

Trees.

Palm trees.

Wet sand oozes between my fingers and in my teeth.

What happened? Where am I? Another rush of warm water crashes over me.

I spit.

And gag.

And spit again.

Rising to my feet a sharp, crippling pain shoots through my right leg.

“Ahh!” I grimace as a wave pushes me down to the ground before dragging me backwards. The strength of some sort of undertow spins my body around like a sock in a washing machine, pulling me in all directions. I can’t breathe.

My shirt is pulled off, my head pounds the sandy floor.

Air! I need air. This is it, isn’t it? What did I do to deserve this?

It’s at this moment—this very moment when I realize that I’m about to die.