5:59 a.m.
Any minute now, Hunter will meet my deadline and land his plane in New York. I await him on the tarmac. This is one benefit of owning your own landing strip and hangar. No security hassles.
The sky lightens with the first signs of dawn. Mine is a small airport: just a single runway. A wide field surrounds the asphalt. Beyond the low grasses, lines of identical houses stretch off to the horizon. Human suburbia.
I remember when this spot was nothing but old forest and Iroquois territory. Back then, I marched under the trees along with Hunter and Indigo. Now it’s all planes, runways, and suburbia. Some days, it doesn’t seem real.
A small dark spot appears in the cloudy sky. The shape grows until it becomes a mini jet. As the plane flies overhead, the engines roar. Heated wind wh
