‘With regret, Radio 98.5 FM announces that Barry TT – “So nice dem name ‘im twice”, will not be hosting the planned outside broadcast due to the pending arrival of Hurricane Lenny. Regular programming will be replaced by a special Hurricane Watch, hosted by Harriet Hughes throughout the day, and Peter Jones throughout the night. Radio 98.5 FM is the station that will keep you fully informed of all Wrong Way Lenny’s movements as it approaches Jamaica, so don’t touch that dial. The new broadcast tower on top of Blue Mountain will enable us to reach more people throughout Jamaica with breaking news about this weather system. Stay tuned for news, sport and music from Radio 98.5 FM. Right now, we switch to Harriet Hughes for the latest on Hurricane Lenny.’
‘Thanks Chris. Hurricane Lenny has already caused some damage as it caught meteorologists unawares. This is the first hurricane in over one hundred years that is following this east to west trajectory through the Caribbean. This Category Four hurricane did some early damage over the Blue Mountains area last night with strong winds blowing down power lines and trees …’
‘Ugh! Aargh!’
‘Mister, are you sure you going to be OK?’ The pilot looked across at the slim, ruddy-complexioned man with the clean-shaven head. A scar that ran from the top of his head down to his left ear still made the pilot uncomfortable a day after he had first seen it back in the Congo rain forest. During their stopover in the Andes to refuel, he almost stirred up the courage to ask, but a steely look in the eye of his passenger had convinced him not to ask about the circumstances. Even in the low glow of the cockpit instrumentation, the ominous scar was noticeable and sent a small shiver down his spine.
At least I found out where ‘scar head’ is from, the pilot chuckled to himself, while nervously glancing at the South African.
‘Just fly the bloody plane and get us to Miami,’ the slim man said in a clipped Afrikaans accent.
The plane took another sudden dip as it hit an air pocket.
‘Ugh! Aragh!’ The South African dropped his head between his legs and buried it into a barf bag. After a few moments he raised his head. ‘Why the hell is it so rough?’ he asked weakly. ‘The flight across the Antarctic Ocean wasn’t like this.’
‘It’s that damn hurricane. I think they call it Wrong Way Lenny. We are flying in its wake.’
The South African looked at his watch, ‘We’ve been flying for over three hours now and we would normally see shoreline lights by now. Where the hell are we?’
The chubby pilot tapped a few dials on the instrumentation panel, and looked around. The South African looked around also. The darkness around them was thick.
‘I think …’
‘You think? You have got to be joking mate!’
‘We are heading north, but we had to alter course because of the hurricane. It was blocking our path, so I took a more easterly course for a while.’
‘And?’
‘And I am trying to get my bearings now. I believe we are somewhere between Jamaica and Puerto Rico.’
‘You believe!’
‘Hey, my Mama never grow no fool!’ The pilot glared at the South African. ‘By my rough calculations we must be somewhere in the vicinity of Jamaica, but since I don’t see any lights, we must be between those islands, otherwise I would have expected to see lights.’ If the lighting was better in the cockpit, the pilot’s red complexion would have given away how angry he was at being challenged by his passenger. After all, he had twenty years experience, and if it weren’t for his weight problem, he would probably still be flying jets for the US Air Force.
‘Hey, what is that ahead of us?’ The South African was staring through the windscreen.
The pilot refocused his attention ahead. What is that? Instinctively he lent forward, as did the South African, as they both peered out the windscreen to determine what they were seeing.
‘Oh my God!’ The pilot flung himself back in his seat and pulled back violently on the steering wheel, simultaneously increasing the throttle. ‘Come on! Come on!’ he shouted. Beads of sweat appeared suddenly, and his shirt collar was visibly wet in seconds.
The South African was thrown back in his seat. The barf bag slipped from his hand and crashed into the back wall of the cockpit, splashing vomit across the door.
‘What is it? What is it?’ he screamed.
‘It’s a mountain, gawddarn it!’
The engines screamed as the plane tried to ascend at the rate the pilot demanded of it, complaining as it climbed every foot. Both men waited. The foliage on the mountainside suddenly became very clear and distinctive in the flying lights from the plane as it got closer and closer to the mountain. If they were religious men they would have started praying at this point. The seconds passed interminably, until finally the mountain was no longer visible through the windscreen, and all that could be seen was the darkness of the angry night sky. After a few seconds the pilot pushed the steering wheel forward, reduced the throttle, levelled the plane and started laughing.
‘Why the hell are you laughing?’
‘Cause gawddarn it,’ the pilot wiped his forehead with the sleeve of his short-sleeved shirt, ‘we just cheated death my friend.’ He punched the steering wheel. ‘Looks like we are over Jamaica, but there are no lights. I guess the hurricane knocked them out.’ He continued to laugh.
‘What about other tall structures or hills?’ the South African asked, looking around nervously.
‘No chance! We just cleared the south face of the Blue Mountains. Nothing higher than this mountain on the island.’
The South African adjusted his position in his seat, pulled his handkerchief from his back pocket and mopped his brow. The cockpit smelt raw from the vomit that dripped down the back wall and door. He thought about opening the cockpit door, because the smell was beginning to make him feel more nauseous than the rough ride.
‘What the hell is that?’
‘What?’ asked the pilot absentmindedly, busy checking his instrumentation.
‘That!’ the South African declared, pointing emphatically ahead. A beam of light seemed to be hovering in mid-air, and swaying from side to side. ‘Is it a UFO?’
‘Of course not! You believe in those things?’
‘I believe in what I can see. And I see a light hovering in mid-air!’
The pilot began mumbling.
‘What was that? What did you say?’
‘Huh?’ The pilot turned to the South African with a distant look in his eyes.
‘I asked you what you said. Do you know what that is?’
‘I was going through all the possibilities and I can’t figure it out. It looks like a dangling streetlight, but we are much too high up for that. I’ll climb above it to be safe.’ The pilot pulled lightly back on the steering wheel and saw the light descend below the dashboard. They both relaxed and sat back in their seats, only to be violently thrown forward as the radio tower ripped off the wing of the aircraft. The pilot fought gallantly to bring the plane under control, but this time the plane summarily ignored his efforts and within seconds after the collision, the plane crashed into the Blue Mountains.