Mac leaned back in the seat. The plane's autopilot was taking care of everything—he'd go back to manual when he was closer to Cape Suzzete and correct for drift there. He had to admit, even if he wasn't a fighter pilot, the plane was good—an example of the new fighter designs that were rolling off the assembly lines on the mainland. The only problem with the plane was that it had no internal cargo space—so his clothes, books, etc, were in the ventral cargo pod, where a fuel pod or bomb rack would normally go. He'd just have to remember to not jettison it, or his next month's pay would go to replacing every uniform he had.
Molly hauled back on the yoke as hard as she could, but the Sea Duck was still turning to the right. Baloo shifted slightly, and suddenly the 'Duck was flying straight, if at a lower level. Molly looked out, just as the last of the sun vanished from the horizon, plunging the plane into darkness. Below, on the ocean, there were no lights—Molly had a sudden, horrified realization that she couldn't even see the ocean.
She was shivering in fear. She looked up at Baloo, but the gray bear was only a silent bulk against the stars—the lights of the cabin were out, and only the lights of the dials gave any illumination. Molly fumbled and managed to turn the radio on and turn it to the channel that Baloo had told her too.
"Is anyone there? Help!" She cried out, trying to keep her voice from breaking into sobs.
"Is anyone there? Help!" Mac bolted upright at the sound from the radio. Yep, it came from the emergency channel. It sounded young for a pilot as well.
"This is Kilo Lima Charlie, what is your emergency? Over." He said.
"Baloo's sick, 'an I'm the only one in the plane! He's real sick!…" there was a pause, and evidently the pilot—kid Mac was certain now, remembered, "over."
"Okay." Mac said, discarding the first several things he would have said to a pilot. "What happened to him? Over."
"He got real bad indigestion, and then his lips turned blue and he told me to call on this channel. Over." Mac, thought. Indigestion wouldn't keep a pilot from at least calling for help, and blue lips…heart attack. Almost certainly.
"How old are you? What's your name? Over" Mac asked.
"Molly Cunningham, I'm eight, and we have to do something for Baloo!" She didn't say over, but Mac was too busy turning pale to chide her. Eight years old. Christ. She probably couldn't even reach the pedals. As it was, Mac thanked several lucky stars that she was as clear headed as she had been.
"OK, Molly." Mac said, pitching his voice low. If he tried to talk over her, she'd just get louder until she was screaming into the mike. He'd seen it before—but pitch his voice low and she'd stay low trying to hear him. He'd been considering trying to talk her in, but right now, if they could get the pilot awake. "Do you have an autopilot—something Baloo used to fly the plane when he didn't want to? Over."
"Oh, yeah!" Molly said, "Mom made him install it after she saw him use the crowbar last time. Over."
"Okay, I need you to check two things. First of all, how high are you? Then how much gas do you have? Over."
"Mmmm… The altimeter says 5,000 feet. The fuel gage says 300 gallons." Molly said, "Baloo" her voice trembled "filled up at Louie's."
"Good. Now, can you reach the autopilot?"
"Uh-huh."
"Have you seen Baloo turn it on?"
"Yes." Mac nodded.
"Does it have an altitude dial?"
"Yes!"
"What's it at?"
"6,000 feet and when are we going to help Baloo!"
"Just as soon as we finish this. Turn it on." Molly did so, and she felt the Sea Duck stabilize, as the yoke grew still in her hand.
"Okay." Mac said when she told him, "Now, we're going to help Baloo."
C'mon guy, come out o f it so you can land that plane.
"Get the breathing mask and put it around his neck. Molly nodded in the cockpit and got the mask. Mom had also insisted they install these, and she'd shown Molly what they did.
"Shouldn't I put it on his face?"
"No." Mac said, "the oxygen will help him, and if it's on his face, he might get confused." No need to tell the kid about people drowning in their own vomit and other such wonders.
"Okay." Molly said.
"Good kid! Now turn up the dial, full blast, give him as much as it'll put out."
"Okay!" Molly waited, and felt her trembling start up again. Baloo didn't look quite so bad, and he was still breathing, but he didn't wake, up, not even when Molly shook him.
"He's not awake!" The barely suppressed wail in her voice made Mac wince.
"He might just need some time—but right now, we need to find out where you are."
"I don't know!" Now the wail was not suppressed, "Kit knows how to navigate, but he isn't here!" And neither did Mac, he realized. The signal strength meant the plane could be anywhere in a three hundred mile radius, and his plane didn't carry Direction Finding gear—in any case, even if he did have DF, he'd need at least one more plane to get a bearing and distance, and no matter how much fuel the plane had, they were working on a deadline. If she had gotten turned around and was flying back out to sea… Not to mention that the pilot was facing a deadline in the most literal term of the word.
"Can you read a compass?" Mac asked. He could almost see the jerky nod.
"Yes! It says… 224." Molly said. Mac quickly checked his chart—yeah they were heading in the right direction, but Cape Suzzete wasn't that big of a target, and he had no idea how far they'd drifted. He needed more help for this.
"Does Louie's have a radio?" Mac asked.
"Sure!" Molly said.
"Okay. Molly, don't touch the radio dial, but I'm going to have to talk to Louie—I can still hear you if something happens, this job is a dual frequency model, but if you talk you'll override the signal. Alright?"
"Yes-over." Molly remembered and if her voice trembled she was in control.
"Good kid." Mac quickly spun the other dial down to another frequency.
"This is Kilo Lima Charlie Calling Louie's. Mayday, Mayday, Mayday…."
At Louie's, the party was getting into full swing, when one of his helpers came running up to him.
"Boss! Someone on the radio for you—says' it's an emergency!" Louie loped over to the radio, losing no time, and turned pale when the voice told him what was going on.
"…Baloo appears to have had a heart attack—according to Molly he's alive but unconscious." Mac continued, leaving out what every adult knew—that a child might convince herself he was still breathing rather than face the other alternative. "They're heading 224, but I don't know how far they may have drifted—I need some help plotting where they started from, and where you are—I'm not from around here." The sound of the band had died out as the news about Baloo had spread through the bar, and now a table was cleared, plates and drinks clattering to the floor as Wiley Poole and several other pilots, freelancers and Khan air alike spread out a map.
"We're getting it." Louie said, loosing his accent. Behind him, the voices were raised.
"Okay, he left when—about 30 minutes ago?"
"The Sea Duck can do two-fifty easy."
"Not with the kid on board—Baloo would go slower."
"One-seventy five?" A compass described an arc. "Alright—Baloo's good—he doesn't correct at the end, he makes certain he's on the right bearing at the start—figure a five degree arc." Another pilot pointed to a position on the map. "If he lost it here, the plane wandered—say 10 minutes before the autopilot was put on." Another line was drawn. They nodded at each other.
While that was continuing, Mac asked Louie about Molly.
"Louie—if Baloo doesn't come out of it, we're going to have to bring her down—with Molly at the controls. How is she?"
"Short-stuff?" Louie asked. "She's the best, Mac—she won't let you down…but she can't reach the pedals." That brought a sound of disbelief from Mac.
"If Baloo passed out, they would have gone into a spin—she had to have been able to reach the pedals to recover it."
"Don't know what to say…" Louie was cut off as a pilot hustled over.
"Okay Mac—we think the plane's between these points," he said, rattling off a series of coordinates. Everyone in the room was silent. The coordinates were the best they could give, but if Baloo had been disoriented before the heart attack had knocked him out, or if he'd decided to take another route, or if any one of a hundred other chances, he could be hundreds of miles away from that point. Amateurs wouldn't understand—the Sea Duck was a seaplane after all, but to land on the water took greater skill than landing on the land did—you had to gauge the waves, so you landed on easy smooth water, not the wrong side of a wave, impacting the plane with hull shattering force. Molly couldn't do it—if they ran out of fuel, or even had to land on the water with fuel, the chances of her survival were nearly non-existent.
Getting into their planes wouldn't help—they were hopelessly far away from the action, as could be seen by the fact that Molly's mayday hadn't reached them. They would be called out if the Sea Duck dropped off the air, for the search for the place where the plane went down. Louie gripped his hands together, stilling the tremor, and got back onto the radio.
"I'll send the message through the relay—any planes coming out of Cape Suzzette will be looking for her."
"Thanks. Mac Out."
Molly was in the cockpit, waiting for Mac to get back to her. She couldn't hear the conversation between him and Louie. Except for the drone of the engines, and an occasional groan or sigh from Baloo, the plane was silent. Below her, the ocean was dark, a formless threat, above her the stars blazed down in lordly array. Molly looked up, trying to keep from crying and saw the stars that made the Southern Cross. Daddy had spoken about that once, she remembered, and abruptly, with diamond clarity, she remembered.
She was cuddled in Daddy's arm, looking up at the sky. Mommy was walking by Daddy, looking up at the sky.
"See that? Mommy looked up.
"The stars?" She asked.
"Yes." He said, and lifted Molly.
"See those, Golden Bear?" Molly giggled and nodded. "That's the Southern Cross—it was put there for a reason. When sailors got lost upon the waters, and they feared they'd never make it to their destination, all they had to do was look up, and it would show them the way." Daddy smiled, "And they would know they weren't alone."
"David." Mommy laughed.
"Don't believe me?" Daddy said. "I like to think that's the case—the stars have been looking down on us a long, long time, Rebecca…I think they're friendly sorts, looking out for us in the only way they can…letting us know that we're not forsaken, that they'll point the way." Mommy smiled, leaning into him.
"That's my David…who says a district attorney can't be a philosopher." Daddy laughed and pulled her close.
"Not me, at least—I would never contradict the most beautiful woman in the world." They both laughed, pulling Molly into their warm embrace, safe and protected.
She could see the Southern Cross, Molly realized. She smiled. She was still scared, but Daddy was right, they did look down on her, and she got the feeling that they and Daddy were looking out for her, pointing the way.
"Molly, this is Mac. Over" The radio spoke, and Molly grabbed the mike.
"Mac!"
"I think we know where you are, but it's going to take a little while for me to get to you, and I need you to turn on every light, landing lights, everything—okay?" Molly was flipping switches even as Mac spoke, watching as the interior lights came on, then the headlights, the running lights, everything.
"They're on!"
"OK…hang on, Molly, I'll be heading your way—and we'll keep talking." Mac said, "How's Baloo?" Molly needed no encouragement.
"He's breathing, but he hasn't woken up!" Mac continued leading her with questions, listening to see if the signal strength would drop off. As fast as his plane was, it wasn't fast enough. Mac sighed.
"Oh well, I didn't need the money anyway." He said, as he pulled a lever, and the cargo pod dropped into the dark ocean, with his uniforms, books, everything in it. "Maybe the fish will like them." The plane leaped ahead, roaring through the dark sky.
Mac turned off his lights—Molly might have been able to see them, but they probably weren't as bright as a cargo planes, and in any case, he needed his night vision to see her. A flicker caught his attention. Was it…
"Molly—I'm going to turn on all my lights now, tell me if you see anything."
"I-yes! I see it!"
"Is it getting closer?"
"Yes!" Mac breathed a sigh of relief. A few minutes later, and he was flying just above and to the right of the yellow airplane, holding station on it. He could see in the lighted cockpit, a large gray bear and the small yellow bear cub hanging onto the control yoke.
"OK." Mac said, "Molly, I'm going to stick by you, but you have to turn now, slowly to 254 degrees. Watch the compass."
In the Sea Duck, Molly nodded and biting her lip, turned the plane slowly. Finally, the compass came to 254.
"Aren't we going to Cape Suzzette?"
"No. We're going to a military base—they have doctors there that can help Baloo." Mac said reassuringly. And better crash teams in case you crack up on landing.
Back at Higher For Hire, Rebecca entered the room, Kit in tow.
"Thanks for the dinner, Miz Cunningham." Becky smiled,
"I know what type of food Baloo likes, Kit, and-" The phone rang. Becky got a sour expression on her face. "I hope it isn't another client—you would think they would understand that we're not a 24 hour business and-" She picked the phone up and Kit started as he saw her face drain of color.
"I understand…yes, we'll stand by here."
"Miz Cunningham?" Kit asked as she put the phone down. "Is it Molly?"
"No Kit." Rebecca said in a very calm voice, "Baloo's…had an accident."
"…So you're getting over a case of polio?" Mac continued, "Pretty impressive."
"I hate it." Molly said, "I wish it was all over."
"I can understand. I never had anything as bad as Polio, but I've been in the body and fender shop a few times myself." Mac paused, "Er, in the hospital."
"Are you coming to live in Cape Suzzette?" Mac nodded in his cockpit. Good. The kid was as calm as she could be. Damned level headed too, which was a good thing, given what was going to happen in the next few minutes.
"Yep—my bosses found some work for me. Your cliff guns need fixing."
"Hmph. They never keep out people." Mac grinned. Take that, Colonel Grog. But now it was time—he was in range of the military base. If he'd told Louie where they were going, he was certain the base would have been notified—with enough time to risk some stuffed shirt deciding he didn't want to risk a crack-up on his base, and order them to some other, less well prepared, landing location. Now, there wasn't a choice.
Marsdon Air Base was quiet. No planes landing or taking off for the next several hours, and so the crew in the tower were reading books, talking, or dozing, when the call came in.
"This is Kilo Lima Charlie. I'm escorting a seaplane that has had a major in flight emergency and is currently without a trained pilot. I'm declaring an Emergency and request you clear your main runway for landing." Books flew in random directions as the crew headed to the microphones. The shift leader, a lean coyote in the uniform of a captain picked up the mike.
"This is Marsdon Air Control—what's the nature of your emergency and why cannot the other plane talk?"
"The other plane's pilot has had a heart attack, and currently the only one flying it is an eight year old girl." Mac paused, "So I figured we'd better get the plan in place before we tell her what to do. You need me to repeat the message? Over." The captain had paled, but he came back gamely.
"Negative, can you see the airbase?"
"No. I think we're on track for it, but if you could turn on some lights…"
"I'll do better." The captain turned to the crew.
"Turn on every light, searchlights, runway lights, the whole thing—we'll turn them off when the planes get closer so we don't confuse the kid, but they need to find us." With that, he turned and mashed his hand down on the red button that would bring the base to alert.
With that, the lights came up, even as the howl of klaxons echoed across the no-longer sleeping base.
"OK. We're getting ready—what's the kid like."
"Pretty calm—but she's eight and she can't reach the pedals…"
"And that means there's damn all chance of her landing the plane." The captain finished.
"Pretty much it—you're the nearest base with foam and catch barriers…" Captain Higgens nodded. The foam could cover the runway, snuffing out any sparks that might catch the high octane fuel alight, and the catch barriers—really a series of nets spread across the runway would catch a plane that had lost its brakes—or one who's pilot couldn't reach the pedals.
"What's her fuel load."
"Hang-on." Mac turned to the Guard frequency. "Molly, read the fuel dial again, please?"
"OK—200 gallons." She said. "Can we land? Baloo needs help!"
"Soon." Mac said. Then, to Higgens, "200 gallons. She'll have less when she gets to you."
"Good." Neither man needed any help to imagine the plane hitting the ground and rolling, as the fuel from shattered tanks sprayed out to ignite, foam or no, into a blazing holocaust. "She knows you—can you guide her in?" Higgens asked.
"I think so—she just has to stay on the line of the main runway…"
"Right—I'll be on the frequency for the final approach."
Molly waited, and saw the blazing point on the coast far ahead. Then, Mac was back on the radio.
"OK Molly, that's the base where we're going to—they have a hospital and everything for Baloo, but first we have to land."
"How-how am I going to stop?" Molly asked, suddenly realizing that she couldn't reach the pedals.
"You won't have to—we're setting up some big nets—like king-sized butterfly nets, and they'll do that—you just have to make certain that you come in slow and level." Mac grinned, "And that won't be a problem. Now, you're going to have to take the autopilot off—be careful. You don't want to over correct." He continued in a voice calm as if he was suggesting lunch, while his hands tightened around the stick as he thought of just every way things could go bad. The girl was almost down.
Unfortunately, most plane crashes occurred during landing.
Meanwhile, the base was like an anti-hill that had been kicked over. The main runway was being covered in white foam, while the catch barriers were being erected—five of them, each one designed the slow the plane rather than completely stop it, so that the nets would gradually slow it rather than risking a catastrophic stop.
On the sides of the runway, the fire and medical vehicles had been moved out, with firefighters, looking inhuman in their asbestos protective clothing, waiting by the high pressure hoses of their vehicles.
"Molly." Mac said. "The airbase commander is going to talk to you—but you have to do what he says immediately—you can't hesitate, even if you think its wrong, or dumb. Understand?"
"Yes." Molly said, shivering.
"OK—before that, we need to lower your flaps—you see the lever I told you about?"
"Yes…"
"Pull it back, slowly." Mack watched as the Sea Duck's flaps lowered, increasing the resistance of the airplane. Yep, she was slowing.
"OK—that means you're going slower—you can't do anything until we get closer to the ground, so remember, Captain Higgens is going to talk to you, and you need to listen to him, and do what he says, right away, for Baloo's sake. OK?"
"I understand…" Molly said.
"She's yours, captain."
"Thanks—Molly." Higgens started, "This is Captain Higgens." He had thought to try to calm her down, but the Marine had warned him that the kid had a good BS detector, and so he needed to be honest. "We're going to try and bring you down, so you need to lower your landing wheels." Molly nodded.
"I am." She said. Baloo had let her do that before.
"They're down." Mac said from his vantage.
"Now, you need to come down directly in the middle of the runway—it's the only one with lights on. See it?"
"Yeah…" Molly said. "But it's covered…"
"That's foam—it'll keep the sparks down so-" Higgens bit his lip, but Molly picked up on it.
"So the Sea Duck won't catch on fire?" She asked.
"Yes." Higgens said, kicking himself. Mac was right about the kid. "You have to come in low, so the barriers will catch you, but once you do, you can't try and turn the plane—do you understand? No matter what happens, you have to keep flying straight."
"I understand." Molly said, trying to keep a shiver out of her voice.
"Good. No time like the present." Higgens said. "Follow Mac's plane and he'll loop you around to get ready to land." Molly looked as Mac's plane waggled its wings at her and made a slow turn.
"He doesn't think I'm going to land, does he?" Molly asked.
"He's worried." Mac agreed, "Wouldn't you be if an eight year old wanted to land on your nice new runway?" Molly felt herself smile at the image. Mac continued, "So we just have to make certain we don't put any dents in it. Molly, the Sea Duck is gonna buck the first time it hits the foam, and then again when it hits the barrier—don't flinch, that's normal. Are you strapped in?"
"Kinda."
"No Kinda's—strap yourself in as good as you can—you don't want to get thumped when the plane hits the ground." Mac waited.
"I am—it's hard to reach the controls, but I can."
"Good kid. OK—you're lined up on the runway. Remember, do what Higgens' says, and do it that instant, 'kay?"
"Alright." Molly said, taking a deep breath. She could do this.
Higgens had the mike in his hands, as he spoke to the kid.
"Okay, start your descent…er, start going down, slowly… "
"You're drifting—turn a little bit to the right…good. Keep going down…"
"Now…you're going to hit the runway don't turn….she'll try to buck, but don't let her turn… You'll hit the runway in five, four…three…two…one-hold her!"
The wheels of the Sea Duck touched the ground and Molly gave a cry as the plane started to whipsaw all over the runway, sending foam cascading up and over the wings, all of her strength wasn't enough to hold it, and the plane started to slide to the right-
Baloo didn't say anything, but the pressure eased from the yoke, and Molly, eyes wide noticed how one of the gray bears feet had pressed down on the rudder pedals, bringing the 'duck back onto the straight course.
"Ba-" She started- WHAP! The first catch barrier grabbed the plane, wrapping around the props and wings. Molly screamed, her voice in tune with the squeal of failing bearings as the right prop halted, caught in the web of the first barrier.
WHAP! The second barrier enshrouded the Sea Duck, and the craft gave a lurch as the left pontoon ripped off.
In his plane, Mac tensed, the plane was still moving fast, but there were still three more barriers—and it was slowing up.
WHAP! Now the right tire shredded, rubber flying across the runway, and sparks spraying out before being doused by the foam. But the plane was going much slower.
WHAP! The fourth barrier caught the seaplane, caught it, stretched, and held. Molly squeaked as she was pulled forward and then back into the seat as the planet finally came to a halt. Meanwhile, outside the window she could see the red lights of what looked like every emergency vehicle in the world coming to her, as behind them, on another runway, Mac's plane touched down.
"Baloo?" Molly said, hopefully. They were one the ground now, maybe he would wake up? No. Other than the pressing of the pedals, he was still unconscious. Or maybe even dying. Molly started to reach out and touch him, when his door was flung open and the medical team pulled him out, using cutters on the straps, not even bothering to undo them the right way.
"Hey!" Molly said, trying to get out of her own tight harness. But by the time she'd undone the straps, Baloo was already on a gurney, being wheeled to the ambulance waiting on the side of the runway.
"Wait!" She shouted, as the team, without even talking to her, slammed Baloo into the ambulance and took off across the tarmac, the lights flashing. Molly charged after them, almost slipping in the foam, ignoring the curious gazes of the fire fighters, or the fact that Mac's plane had come to a halt.
Mac saw the small figure dart across the field after the ambulance. That wouldn't do—the hospital was just over a mile away, and in any case, an active airfield was no place for a kid to be wandering—he had no idea if any other planes were coming in tonight. With a cheerfully ruthless application of Major-fu, he dispossessed a Lieutenant of his jeep.
Molly ran as fast as she could, but the ambulance easily outdistanced her, vanishing into the complex. Molly staggered, tripped, and went sprawling, getting up again, just in time to see the vehicle's taillights disappear behind a building. Molly bit her lip and started to stich. She couldn't do anything now—Baloo was gone, and he might be dying, and she'd broken the Sea Duck and-
"Eeep!" Molly gave a surprised scream as Mac drove by, and without a pause, scooped her up in one hand, flipping her over him, and then down into the seat next to him.
"Buckle up!" He said, and Molly recognized the voice of the man on the radio. Molly did, but didn't say anything as Mac drove over to the hospital, hopping out of the jeep even as Molly got out of her side.
Mac strode into the lobby, looking for the desk. There it was, with a private filling out forms.
"What's the status on the pilot?" Mac asked shortly. The private looked down at the kid, up at Mac and spoke.
"They've got him in emergency one—filled him up with adrenalin and he's breathing on his own, but he's not conscious."
"Adrenalin?" Molly asked.
"It's a drug—they inject it into, ah you," Mac said, "and it starts your heart working faster."
"And then what?"
"Well, we wait—Louie said he'd call your mom, so she'll be here pretty soon."
"But Baloo!" Molly said, her hands fluttering, "What are we going to do for him?"
"Let the doctors do their work. They don't like people looking over their shoulder." Molly sagged and rubbed her eyes with her fists, an angry gesture betrayed by her trembling form.
"This isn't right—we wouldn't have stopped at Louie's if I hadn't been on board, and he wouldn't have had the heart attack and the Sea Duck is busted, and Baloo may die and it's all my fault!" That last came out in a croaking choked wail. She turned and flumped down into the seat pushing her face against the wall. Mac looked over at the private who took the hint and himself down the corridor to another office, leaving them in the empty hallway. Mac looked at the shaking figure of the child, reached a hand out, then pulled it back and sat down next to her.
"Um…" Mac said, "That's true, but you need to see the whole picture, Molly." He paused, "Baloo was gonna have a heart attack sooner or later—and what if you hadn't gone with him, and Kit had stayed home to?"
"I…" Molly said, but Mac continued.
"He would be dead now, Molly—Baloo would have gone unconscious like he did, only there would be nobody to call for help, or keep the plane in the air—nobody would even have thought to look for him until tomorrow at the earliest." He shrugged, "So yeah, you can think that he went on this trip because of you, and this is all your fault…or think that you happened to be in the right place at the right time to save his life."
"But… what if Baloo dies?" Mac shook his head.
"Don't borrow trouble." Mac looked down at her, "Because it won't do any good. You can sit her and think about all the bad things that can happen…" he snapped his fingers, "Like landing the Sea Duck…. When you started coming down, did you think about crashing, or landing?"
"Landing." Molly said.
"Same thing here."
"But I can't do anything."
"True…but I think you've done a lot for one night—those doctors needed to have Baloo brought to them, and you did that. Now…" Mac shrugged, "You need to rest, because they may need to ask you questions, and in that case you need to be able to answer." The badger looked down at her, and nodded. "And I think the first thing for that is to go get some food."
"Food?" Molly squeaked.
"Yep, the hospital commissary is just right behind that door." Molly was still trembling, and Mac handed her a tissue paper so she could wipe her eyes, but she was better.
"Hospital food is bad."
"No…hospital food just isn't good. This is military hospital food, which is bad."
"Oh." Mac paused,
"How did you keep the plane from going off the runway—it looked like you were going to lose it their for a moment."
"Baloo helped me. He didn't say anything but he pushed the pedals." Mac nodded.
The Kid must have been imagining it… Then he looked again at her, But on the other hand, there's no way she could use the pedals strapped in. Mac nodded.
"I bet he did at that." He said. "Well, lets get something to eat, and wait for your family." Molly looked up and Mac grinned. "Louie called 'em." Molly looked worried.
"Mom's going to yell at Baloo…she's been trying to get him to eat better."
"Well, maybe he needs a little yelling at."
"No. That's dumb… Baloo never does things when you yell at him." Molly said with finality. Mac smiled. The kid was something else. More importantly, she was calming down… like Mac had intended.
To be concluded: (Really, next part IS the end).