“Hmm?” Steve answered groggily. He wore a stupid smile.
It’s not over. I need you to take the controls so I can prop
the plane. Those guys drained the battery.”
“Ok, fly to get more batteries,” Steve said in his delirium.
“No! no! no!” John yelled. “I have to hand prop the plane.
Listen; just hold your feet on the brakes.”
John climbed out and turned the propeller a couple of times
and prepared for a starting kick. Then he saw a commotion in the jungle. Some
of the natives were holding up the ponchos where he and Steve had been. So far
they hadn’t seen him.
“Please, God, let this start,” John prayed before throwing
the propeller downward.
It went around sputtering but not catching. The alerted
natives looked and moved slowly toward the plane, taking cover as they
advanced.
“Great, an audience.”
A hastily fired arrow struck the back window and deflected
high above John’s head. He jumped up and shoved the propeller with all his
might as he came down. John ran a wide arc around the spinning propeller and
entered under the left wing.
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