Tempting Wind

CHAPTER 2. Alluring Rain

The alarm at five in the morning went off like a gunshot in the silence. I opened my eyes and immediately heard it - a sound rare, almost impossible for Palmdale. Rain. Heavy drops drummed against the glass, turning the pre-dawn world into a gray blur. My plan for a run on the highway was shot; I'd have to settle for the treadmill in the corner of the living room. I hated running indoors. I'd rather be out on the road, feeling the cool wind on my face, than in this stifling room.

​The phone on the nightstand chirped, lighting up with a notification. Of course, it was Ron. He doesn't shut up even in his sleep. I sat on the edge of the bed, feeling the familiar stiffness in my back, and opened the message.

​«Brother, where were you and why didn't you pick up your damn phone? Roy? When are you getting here? Someone wants to meet you. I showed my friend Jacqueline your photo, and she practically gasped-said you look like Eric Bana from Troy. Anyway, we're waiting.»

​I rubbed the bridge of my nose. Hector from Troy, seriously? Ron was in his usual form - trying to drag me into a world of beer, cheap flirting, and Jacqueline with her hickeys. It made me want to gag.

​«Man, Roy. You're a snake. I get it. You promised to come... Text me when you wake up. Or see you at the base. And yeah, you're a damn loner-psycho in your burrow, and nothing interests you but training. Oh wait, music and books. That's it. Or maybe you're gay? Huh?»

​I smirked at the dark screen. «Loner-psycho.» He wasn't entirely wrong. My «burrow» was my cocoon, where I didn't have to pretend to be interested in his girlfriends. I stepped onto the treadmill, set the pace, and began to hammer out a steady rhythm on the moving belt.

​«Gay?» No, Ron. I'm just selective. I'm not interested in anything that lacks weight or meaning. Until yesterday, I thought meaning only existed on the instrument panel of an F-22.

​But yesterday, I saw Sana. And Hal.

​I increased the speed. My heart beat faster, pumping blood through my veins. Running within four walls to the music of Vivaldi - it used to be my ideal world. But today, it felt different. I thought about Sana waking up in that small house. Could she hear this rain? Was she afraid of it, knowing that desert roads turn into ice rinks after a downpour?

​I stepped off the treadmill, breathing heavily, and typed a reply:

«Ron, I'm not gay, I'm just picky. Got held up yesterday - helping a family on the highway. I'll be at the base at 07:30. And take down my photo, Hector. See you at the briefing.»

​Tossing the phone onto the sofa, I headed for the shower. Standing under the stinging spray, I imagined Sana wrapping herself in my jacket. This rain... it changed everything. Takeoff would be harder, visibility lower, and the clouds thicker. But for some reason, I wanted her to see me pierce that gray sky and go where the sun always shines.

​I stepped out of the shower, dressed in a fresh uniform, and glanced in the mirror. «Eric Bana.» Nonsense. I'm just Elroy Walker, and in twenty minutes, I'm supposed to be at her doorstep. I had to know how they were. Is it so bad to check if someone is okay? I'll just stop by, and that's it.

​I stood in the kitchen, staring at a bowl of oatmeal. I had no appetite. I ate only a few spoonfuls - purely mechanical, so I wouldn't «stall» by noon. Overloading my stomach with porridge before a flight would be the height of idiocy. One sharp bank or a vertical climb, and that porridge would be on the instrument panel, and I'd be retching into my mask.

​I poured only a little coffee. Just a few sips to wake up the receptors. Моё heart already works to exhaustion every day: running, iron, and then the monstrous pressure in the cockpit. Extra caffeine combined with the adrenaline of a test flight is a one-way ticket to arrhythmia. I needed the motor inside me to run steady, like a Swiss watch.

​I pushed the plate away. The house was quiet, only the rain rustling on the roof. I checked my watch; it was time. I grabbed my keys, threw on my waterproof flight jacket, and stepped out into the damp chill of the morning.

​Ten minutes later, I was at Sana's door. It was too early, and I doubted myself - maybe they were still asleep. I knocked. Quietly, sharply: one, two, pause, three.

​A few seconds passed. I was already looking at my watch, about to leave, when the door finally swung open.

​I saw her. Sana stood on the threshold with her hair down - thick, dark waves spilling over her shoulders and cascading almost to her waist. Her sleepy brown eyes held genuine surprise.

«I didn't think you'd actually show up this early,» she rubbed her eyes, squinting at the gray morning light.

«I promised Hal I'd show him the base and the jets,» I replied, trying not to stare at her hair for too long.

«I'm glad you decided to fulfill a child's wish, but... my partner is sick. I have to cover her shift this morning. Can we move it to the weekend? I think we can go and see everything then.»

«Fine,» I nodded. «How's the car?»

​Sana hesitated, looking away.

«The car is sitting there and...»

«And what, Sana?»

«It isn't fixed,» she exhaled, bitterness in her voice. «I don't have the funds to pay for a repair like that.»

​I see. Without a word, I turned back to the Mustang and opened the glove box. I pulled out my wallet and counted out three hundred dollars - all the cash I had. Returning to the porch, I took Sana's hand, forced her palm open, and pressed the bills into it.

«Are you crazy?» she tried to push my hand away.

«No. This is for the car, for your expenses, and for the medicine. Give me your phone.»

«What for?»

«Sana, just give me the phone. I'm recording my number.»

​Her eyes widened, stunned by the money. She turned and walked into the house, tripping over the doorsill, then came back and handed me an old, worn Nokia. I took out my iPhone and began dictating the numbers.

«70-78...» she pressed the buttons slowly. «Is that it? The end of the number?»

«Yeah. Remember: 70-78. Call after five or six in the evening; I'll be free after flights. If you have problems or need help - don't be shy.»

​Sana looked up at me with a gaze that mixed gratitude and suspicion.

«Are you some cowboy playing hero?»

I looked her straight in the eye. My voice was drier than Saharan sand.

«Sana, I'm not a good man or a bad man. Но you shouldn't turn your back on someone holding out a hand. I decided to help on my own. And I'm not doing it for you, I'm doing it for the boy. I know what it's like to grow up without a father. And even more so - without parents at all.»

​I took a step back toward the car.

«Take care. Tell Hal he'll see the sky with iron wings this weekend.»

Sana didn't smile. She just watched me, and I saw a single tear roll down her cheek.

«Thank you, cowboy,» she said softly.

«See you.»

​I entered the locker room, stripping off my sweat-soaked flight gear. My body still vibrated from the afterburners, and my ears were ringing. Ron was already there - sprawled on the bench, flashing his white-toothed grin.

«Well, well, here's our boy who skipped out on the meeting,» he drawled, not changing his posture.

«Hello to you too, Ron,» I tossed my helmet into the locker. The dull thud echoed in the empty room.

«So, who were you helping on the road?» Ron narrowed his eyes, waiting.

«Doesn't matter. Business.»

«Oh, you're a busy man now. You sure you aren't gay, handsome?» He barked a laugh, pleased with his joke.

​I didn't answer with words. I walked over and gave him a short, bear-like punch to the gut. Not full force, but enough to make him double over, feeling both the dull pain and that unpleasant tickle under the ribs.

Ron howled but immediately caught me from below around the waist. We tumbled onto the bench, gasping in a playful but rough struggle. We'd wrestled like this since the Academy - testing who would back down first.

​«Ron, enough! You're going to break my arm, you damn cretin!» I growled, pinning his shoulder to the wood.

«And who's gay now, huh?» he managed, trying to squirm out.

«No one. Damn it. Let go!»

​I released my grip and sat up, catching my breath. Ron rubbed his side, looking at me without the smirk.

«Okay, handsome. Seriously. Where were you?»

I went silent for a second, looking at my palms stained with oil and kerosene. And then I told him. Everything as it happened: the stalled Jeep, Sana, Khalid, the three hundred dollars in her palm, and the old Nokia. Ron listened to me with uncharacteristic quiet, not interrupting. His face went slack, as if he were looking at an alien rather than me.

​«So, some girl with a kid melted the cold ice and the pile of metal on your soul?» he finally said, shaking his head. «Well, brother. Has it been that long since you met a girl?»

«I've met them,» I snapped, buttoning a clean T-shirt. «But this... this is the first time. It's different, Ron. Not your 'one-night' format.»

​«Captain Walker! Lieutenant Miller!» The commander's voice, entering the locker room, snapped us both to attention. «Enough jawing. Get to the briefing room. Morning test data is in. Move it!»

We nodded in sync. But as I left, I felt my phone heavy in my pocket. Five in the evening was still a long way off.

​The briefing room greeted us with the hum of servers and dimmed lights. On the massive screens, the graphs of my morning flight were frozen - jagged telemetry lines looking like a madman's EKG. The air smelled of ozone and the strong coffee that was consumed here by the gallon.

The commander walked to the center monitor, tapping a pointer against his palm.

«Sit down. Walker, let's break down your 'vertical' at the ten-minute mark.»

​I sat, feeling my back muscles still remembering those nine Gs. Around us sat engineers in white shirts and a couple of staff officers. To them, my flight was a set of ones and zeros.

«At twenty thousand feet, the system faulted in the tracking sector,» the commander pulled up the helmet-cam footage. «Your heart rate spiked to a hundred and forty. What happened, Shadow? Did you pull the loop too hard or did the software choke?»

​I watched the screen where my jet was turning the world upside down. There, in a blurred patch below, was the desert. My heart rate hadn't spiked because of the G-load. In that second, I had simply remembered Sana.

«The targeting system lagged by zero-point-two seconds,» my voice sounded steady, formal. «I felt a delay in the thrust vector control. I had to compensate manually.»

«Zero-point-two seconds?» The engineer in glasses frowned, typing into a tablet. «That's within the margin of error.»

«For you, it's a margin,» I snapped, eyes fixed on the graph. «For me, at supersonic speed, it's an eternity. If the software is stalling, I want to know before a missile.