As they finally parked, Clark was first to exit the car; he already had everything he needed. He had his recorder, paper and pen. Lois took her time. Looking back, Clark saw she was still raiding through most of her stuff.
Cursing to herself, she waved her hand around her messy foliage of papers.
"Uh, Lois?" Clark said, wondering if she needed help.
"Got it!" Lois exclaimed as she held her things in her arms like a baby.
Much to Clark's surprise, Lois was already walking fast towards the airfield and wasn't waiting on anything. Catching up with her, Clark looked all around him and thought under his breath that he was even more thankful that he didn't take a flight to Metropolis. It was only packed because of the demonstration, but the smaller airfield was going to be worse to get through.
The two followed a group of people, who were all making their way to the building that heralded the airfield. The airfield had been cleared of any private jets or mini-helicopters, save for security vehicles.
Clark and Lois kept up with each other among the crowd of people who had been gathered. They reached the main doors that led to the outside of the building that saw an entire tarmac. Out on the asphalt was the Constitution, mighty and strong where it stood.
Clark wasn't given much time before he was tugged by Lois, who insisted they move along; they had to get to their designation. Outside where they opened the doors was where the sun had been waiting to greet them. The immediate exposure to the outside sent a burst of attacking sunshine in Lois' eyes. While cursing under her breath that she forgot her damn sunglasses, she let out a groan. "How much longer do they plan on having me walking?" she asked out loud as if no one was there to hear that.
Clark, of course, was nowhere near bothered having to walk all that distance. The sun's warmth felt good too, though he knew perfectly well that it wasn't just the vitamin D giving him the positive feeling.
The group walked more and soon enough, the Constitution was made visible, much to the fascination of the onlookers. The aircraft had a grand structure, very much like how Clark looked it up in articles and on television. It was said to have been built to match the seating capacity of the large Boeing 747-400, which could occupy over six hundred people. The shuttle had was large as described. The craft's texture was unlike any other commercial aircraft. It was built with the same kind of titanium metal that was used for N.A.S.A. shuttles. Looking ahead, Clark and Lois saw several people walking up the ramp and into the main cabin along with several government officials.
"Ready for your first day, Smallville?" Lois asked.
"Yeah," Clark answered confidently.
The group was guided into a wide open room. A large screen was mounted on the back of a stage that had been pulled out for the beginning announcement. Several crewmembers were assembling the video equipment needed for the live footage. As of now, the screen just displayed a full-screen PowerPoint slide intro of the entire program. In front of the stage laid dozens of rows and columns of chairs that were prepped for their respective guests and observers. Some had already been sat while others behind them were only now getting to their either assigned or designated seats.
Of course, Lois got herself and Clark into the first row near the middle where the podium was looking directly at them. Minutes passed, and soon, nearly every chair had been occupied.
The female speaker stepped out onto the podium and checked the microphone.
After her introduction to the guests, she began a speech on how far science has gotten them into this moment, where traveling has now reached a new strategy where it will be faster, and if successful, should be a whole revolution for air traffic let alone the entire aircraft industry itself, should today's demonstration prove successful. Completing the beginning speech, the speaker then announced the names of the pilots, who then walked on stage, which were welcomed with an applause. They saluted out into the crowd and were proceeded off to their assigned destination in the chairs that were resting on the stage.
The female speaker then discussed how the Constitution will be accompanied by the Raptors while also introducing their names and ranks. The smaller fighter jets would not only act as escorts but also a speed test of keeping up with the maximum speed of the new and larger plane.
As soon as the Q/A session occurred, Lois was first to shoot her hand in the air, as Clark would've easily figured out on his own. Remembering all the years of knowing what it took to know everything about getting a story, Clark tried as best as he could to jot down what Lois had been asking and answers she was receiving. He was impressed with her energy and her use of questions. Keeping up with her questions and answers wasn't easy.
"Once the aircraft hits the stratosphere," the speaker said, "the insertion boosters will ignite, sending the craft into—"
"I'm sorry," Lois said quickly before raising her hand. "Did you say, 'insertion boosters'?"
"Yes, Ms. Lane. Please hold any more questions until the end, please."
Clark could tell that the speaker was getting agitated with Lois' relentless questioning. The speaker's face was seemingly telling herself that it won't be long and no more questions until later. Clark silently wished that she would ease up.
Finishing the announcement, the speaker told Lois in the most gracious way possible that there will be more time for questions once the flight has been completed for debrief. Once Clark had the information down, Lois shot a wink at him. Man, if she didn't calm herself, she was going to get them thrown out.
Afterward, the speaker formally dismissed herself and allowed the pilots to board the Constitution. Photographers stirred with their flashes while Lois stood back with her arms folded as if she was a critic, anticipating quite a show. Seconds followed, and the speaker then announced that the aircraft will be supervised by four Lockheed Martin F-22 Raptor fighter jets that will be flying in a close, but safe proximity.
"Attention," came the voice on the loudspeaker that nearly started everyone. "The Constitution will launch in five minutes. If there are any spectators out on the field, we'll have to ask you to remove yourself from the premises and follow security back into the building until after the launch. I repeat—the Constitution will launch in five minutes."
Excitement and anticipation started growing among the spectators. On the monitor screens above them, they saw surveillance footage from the interior cabin of the Constitution, where several volunteers have been sitting. They've been strapped in by their seatbelts. Some were leaning back, hoping that this would be a relaxing demonstration. The other screen was displaying the shuttle's interior, where the flight commanders were sitting. They were already flipping switches and adjusting their equipment.
Five minutes had indeed passed, though an extra sixty seconds threw a lot of people off as they held their breath for any potential glitches.
The loudspeaker's voice came on again. "The Constitution will launch in sixty seconds. We ask you to stay clear beyond the security barrier at this time."
Seconds ticked by, and the engines began to groan. The chatter immediately died. Everyone directed their focus on the Constitution, who's engines groaned louder until the ground began to vibrate with its stir.
Clark looked at the monitor that focused on the passengers. The cabin was shaking. Some people were holding onto their armrests while several looked around them with sheer eagerness on their faces.
The engines continued rumbling from the distance as the spectators observed, waiting for the entire craft to start moving. Some were wondering if this as natural. This was becoming uneasy; this had been so different from all the other commercial planes.
At long last, the Constitution moved. Permeating his heightened hearing through the groaning of the engines, Clark could hear the massive wheels it roll along, crushing the gravel below. As the movement became more obvious, cameras began clicking and talking brewed. Adrenaline spiked among the crowd as the Constitution was beginning to pick up speed and the engine grew louder.
The monitors showed that the passengers were still in the same position as seen before the run started. Soon enough, the wheels left the black ground and the plane had ascended. The spectators then shifted their focus onto the monitors. Everyone on the screens had remained the same, except for the footage that displayed the pilots onboard the Constitution.
Clark's heightened hearing picked up radio chatter that sounded through the monitors that focused on the pilots of the shuttle.
"T-minus sixty seconds until ignition," Clark heard the radio say.
"Roger that. Body signs are normal, and readings are steady. We are ready to go."
Clark's hearing then detected an incongruity. He heard a radio hissing rapidly. Only it didn't sound like a standard procedure being given in an oral fashion. It sounded more like an erratic chatter. It was a different sound than regular feedback. The faint sound of loud voices met his ears. The loud voices began shouting erratically. Too many voices to make out exactly what they were saying, though the tone was definitely restless.
Someone's voice was faintly telling them to "wait!".
Another faint radio voice was heard. "Raptor Three, respond. One of your engine notifications is on. Everything okay? Respond."
The pilot of Raptor Three shot his face at the alarm that blared. One of his engines was stalling. This wasn't uncommon, but a time like this could be deadly. The Constitution was set to go into a speeding sonic boom in less than a minute. If he couldn't pull out in time, he would be too close to the craft.
Five seconds.
The jet wouldn't allow him to maneuver away. The engine wouldn't stir. He was unresponsive and a sitting duck.
He reached for the radio without hesitation. "Wait! Stop the countdown! I have a stalling engine! Restart the countdown!"
The countdown reached zero.
The captain could hear some sort of radio chatter just as his hand reached for the thruster. He pulled it back and the Constitution rumbled.
On the monitor, the spectators saw that every passenger on the Constitution was having their hands on their armrests, preparing for the expectation. A rumbling jerk followed, and they fastened themselves.
Clark couldn't shake the uneasiness. More sounds of faint radio chatter sputtered. Whatever it was, it didn't sound like everything was normal.
The air traffic control's main floor was monitoring the flight's pattern. Many operators were fingering their monitors and consoles, trying to figure out the problem. Raptor Three's position was too close to the Constitution. Any more distance reduced, and he would collide alongside the craft.
The director took notice and adjusted the radio channel. "Raptor Three, you are moving too close to the Constitution. Do you read? Acknowledge."
The pilot's GUI scope only helped with his vision as it was set to view with the ground below, unaffected by gravity. His arms tightened, hoping to fight the stubbornness of the stick. "Consitituion," he exclaimed. "This is Raptor Three. I'm in a jet wash. Abort. Abort now!"
"Clear all nonessential personnel," the director on the intercom before turning his attention back on the main floor. He deeply hoped that something like this would never happen. They would happen, but something like this on his watch could cost him his job, or worse—someone's life or lives. "Raptors, I need you to clear the area. I'm ordering a complete evacuation of everyone within a ten-mile radius. Do it now."
Raptor Three's live feed was spiraling like mad. So much motion occurred until it was hard to tell where exactly he was. The view of the Constitution from his point of view became murky. People starting exclaiming with questions. Soon, shouts of panic arose. If a plane was out of control at that speed, it could potentially impact the Constitution.
Clark could hear yells and shouts on the radio. His hearing slowly sank into a miscellaneous distorted buzz as fear coated him along with everyone else around him.
Lois found herself at a loss of words. Her notepad and pen were now lowered at her sides, allowing herself to take in the situation. She had witnessed several tragedies in her previous days. She was hoping there wouldn't be one on this day.
Raptor Three fought the joystick's jerking movements. The jet's motion hardened the controls and a workaround was turning to more impossible.
"Abort!" he panicked.
Baring and grinding his jaws together, he hardened his hands on the stick. With a loud grunt, he pulled hard enough that he thought he could've snapped the stick off.
The jet's spiral slowed down.
Raptor Three's view stabilized. Feeling the panic complete its rush through him, his eyes widened once more. The jet's nose was a handful of yards away from making a head-on course at one of the Constitution's wings. Cursing, Raptor Three jolted the steering stick upward in a desperate move to avoid collision. He steered himself upward while angling a little to the left to avoid the wing—
A violent shove shook the pilot forward as the low rumbling sound of metal crunching boomed.
Alarms within the cockpit blared, delivering perspiration in the pilot's uniform. Quickly regaining his petrification, he checked his console, which immediately displayed a current diagnostic of the jet. The tailfin had been cut off while a chunk of his left wing had also been clipped.
The jet then turned downward and began its slow, followed by a quick descent.
"This is Raptor Three," the pilot panicked. He had to eject, but the message had to be spread first. "Constitution has been hit. I repeat—Constitution has been hit. The left wing has been damaged. Alert emergency responders now!"
With his next instinct, Raptor Three pulled the ejection lever. As the cockpit broke open, the fire beneath his seat rocketed and he shot out of the jet. As his parachute flew out and air unrolled it, the jet continued its fall far down below him.
On the monitor, the passengers were being propelled back. Screams erupted in the cabin as oxygen masks fell out of their compartments for everyone to grab onto. Several passengers fell out of their seats and smacked against other chairs.
"Left wing has been damaged!" the radio screeched from what Clark could hear. "We've sustained damage! We need emergency responders for possible crash landing!"
The reporters and spectators were stirring. Exclamations of "oh, my God!" resonated.
The female speaker who helplessly watched the monitor couldn't find the words. Her eyes couldn't fathom what she was witnessing. All those people on the plane were doomed, and people would be expecting a word of caution from her. Her anxiety wouldn't allow her to find the words. She was only supposed to give an announcement.
Among the frightened commotion, Clark breathed heavily at what he was seeing. Numbness sapped away any feeling in his fingers. He began to think about the people on the plane that were high above ground and far away from any form of help.
That is, except for one possibility.
This was the day Jonathan talked about when he was a kid. How important it was for him to be discovered by the rest of the world. How important that the House of El stood for what was right. At the same time, once he does this, there'll be no going back like he was told decades ago. There was also the prospect that someone might get hurt like with Pete. Only, this was far different. Hundreds and thousands of lives were on the line.
So early . . .
One secret was not worth anyone's life.
As everyone noisily glued their eyes to the monitors while also dialing phone numbers for emergency, Clark used the opportunity to back himself away from the crowd. It was fairly simple as everyone was already standing from their chairs, too occupied stirring in a panicking uproar and already dialing for emergency services. Making his way through the hallways, several people were scrambling by him, walking fast. Fortunately, security guards were too occupied to take notice of him.
Clark reached the emergency door that led to the outside, but it was occupied by one security guard who was listening to his walkie-talkie to not let anyone out. Cursing to himself, Clark turned around and headed back to the main entrance.
The main entrance was also scattering with several people. Security guards and personnel were shifting themselves hastily to get to their stations, but the front door was not guarded. Watching the guards, making sure they weren't watching, he slid himself through the door.
Clark ran away from the building and he then looked upward. The Constitution was barely visible from where he was standing. The rumbling from the plane, however, was loud, so it would be at least easy to find. It rang through his ears, and he swore he could hear the panic and fear onboard the cabin.
He glanced all around him and saw several security guards from a distance, looking upward while speaking on their radios, letting them know that they need assistance for a potential disaster.
One of them had glanced at Clark. "Hey!" he shouted as he started approaching him, pointing a finger.
Clark's heart skipped a beat. It was now or never.
The guard reached for his firearm. "Stop right th—!"
Without thinking, he removed his glasses and tucked them into his pocket. He then looked up and launched himself into the air at a blinding speed like a bullet fired from a gun, hoping that he was too far away for the guard to make out any of his physical features.
The guard stopped moving and froze, unmoving his pointing finger and gun reaching pose. Looking up, his eyes broadened as his mouth dropped wide open. "What the f—?!"
Okay, Clark thought anxiously. First person to see me fly. Wouldn't say the best reaction so far.
Like all the other times he had practiced since his childhood, Clark held his arms out in front of him for balance as the hard wind slapped against his face. He tightened his muscles, increasing his speed. It nearly startled him as he marveled at what was probably the fastest he was going, according to his experience. All other times were for practice or a night travel, but this was an emergency.
The sound of the roaring engine was growing louder. The black speck that he assumed was the plane was growing in size. The Constitution's left wing was badly ripped. Smoke and flames were drawn in a straight line from the openly damaged portion.
Metallic groaning and crunching then sounded. The entire left wing began to wobble. By every second, the wing shook more violently.
Clark soared faster. A large crack was forming, dividing the wing and the rest of the craft. He was getting closer. If he could just reach it before—
The Constitution's left wing detached and broke off.
Clark's enhanced hearing could pick up a faint sound that heavily implied gasps and cries from the helplessly watching crowd below.
Quickly thinking, he angled himself to where the wing was heading right into him. He veered his arms right into the center of the falling piece, only the piece was rotating uncontrollably. There was no time to simply let it down, otherwise the Constitution could make a collision. Barely feeling the impact, the wing scattered into smaller less lethal pieces with a metallic banging crunch.
Several of the Constitution's passengers were thrown forward from their seats. Panic and screams filled the cabin while people scrambled to hold onto their oxygen masks for dear life.
The captain's console interface displayed a layout of the entire plane. The lower left half of the left wing was flashing red along with a text that depicted a dislocation. The captain scrambled his fingers on the console to look up the aerial map where they were now. They were just beyond Metropolis' city limit, and ahead of them was the interstate. The captain huffed. The interstate wouldn't be as populated, but there would still be potential casualties if this entire plane were to crash land there. Everywhere else was impossible at this rate.
"Constitution?" the flight director cried on his headset. "Respond!"
"The left wing has been damaged," the pilot spoke, calming himself down. "Raptor Three has parachuted. Our left wing has been broken off. We're going down. We need help now."
"Captain," one operator exclaimed while pressing his headset. "Can you hear me? You've got a bogey heading towards you."
"What?"
"Bogey heading right for you. North side, coming in fast."
The captain hastily wrestled with the console and the interface displaying the ship's radar maximized itself above all other menus. An unidentified single dot made itself into existence. It was moving fast across the screen.
The operator stared at the unidentified aircraft's unbelievable speed on his screen. It was traveling even faster than the Constitution's earlier projected velocity.
"Jesus," he silently exclaimed.
The fighter jet pilots each checked their radars. Something was approaching. Its position was moving across their screen an irregular pace. This was a much faster speed than any other enemy jet in their experience.
The Constitution was starting to glide downward. Within the cabin, Clark's ears could definitely identify the screams.
Mimicking the plane's direction, Clark soared fast until he was now underneath the massive airliner. Feeling the adrenaline and taking several breaths, he raised his hands above him and was now standing in midair, high above the world. His palms then met the hull and lightly tightened the tips of his fingers to anchor themselves on the metallic surface.
Steady, he told himself. A sudden halt at this speed could kill everyone onboard.
He could feel the plane's hefty swiftness as he connected himself with it; he was nearly thrown forward along with it. He raised his knees for more leverage from his body, tightening his muscles, trying to be the new force for the plane. Clenching his teeth, he strained his muscles to soften the plane's descent.
Seconds passed, and he started to feel the plane's fall begin to slow down. The angle the nose was facing was now slowly turning upward back to a stance that had no slope and ran parallel against the ground.
He then flexed his arms to try and change the aircraft's path by trying to make it slightly tilt on one side. He kept his body firm and pressed his fingers against the metal surface to make it as gradual as possible, but the plane's velocity was fighting against him.
"Come on, come on. . ." he strained to himself, tightening his face. Sweat formed at his forehead. He couldn't harden his hands anymore. If he tried any harder, the plane would break apart. A soreness bulged beneath the skin of his arms.
This was unlike anything he had held before. It wasn't like lifting a couch or a car. An airplane with a much larger mass, carrying hundreds of people added much more weight than anything else he endured. Clark tightened his fingers a little more until they made dents into the metallic hull.
Soon, the plane was beginning to angle itself on its right side. Clark felt the mass above him alternate and have a different feel that one side was feeling heavier than the other. Realizing it was working, he eased his fingers.
"Constitution, what's going on up there?" the operator asked.
"I don't know," the captain answered, swiveling his head around, eyeing the console readings and what was in front of him. The dot that indicated the bogey's position as right on top of him. He could also sense that the entire plane was tilted. "We're slowing down and we're changing course. Something's controlling us. Raptors, do you have a visual on anything?"
The director and operator exchanged confused looks. "Cap, that bogey is right where you are."
"We don't see anything out here!" he exclaimed unnervingly, turning his head to find nothing but hazy clouds.
"Constitution, this is Raptor Two," said the pilot's voice. "We're coming around you now."
The Constitution was indeed heading back towards where the plane was at almost the same speed when they separated-
"Raptor Two, do you see anything out there?" the director said.
"Coming up on it now," the pilot answered as he observed the commercial flight.
The Raptor jet approached the plane and the pilot's eyes lit up. The plane was no longer nosediving as it was projected to. Its hull was now almost at a flat angle that ran parallel with the ground below.
"Wait a minute," Raptor Two said as his naked eye caught something on the hull.
His eyebrows narrowed even further. It was small and barely stood out along with the rest of the large aircraft. "It's . . . Oh, my God! It's a man!" he exclaimed.
The director pressed his headset and furrowed his brows. "Raptor Two, say that again, please?"
"It's a man! He's . . . he's holding the plane," his voice trailed away. A man holding a plane in midair? What the hell was going on?
Clark saw that the Raptors were flying by him as they made a large wave of breezy air that brushed past him. He supposed that would've been the moment someone might have gotten a look at him. That made his stomach feel heavy. There were bigger priorities now. Nevertheless, he tried ducking his head to use his arms to hide behind. He continued making his slow and steady turn. By the second, the motion of the plane being moved was getting easier and easier. A couple of seconds followed, and Clark had the plane turned around completely, and it faced the direction from where it took off.
A high altitude would give him the advantage to find the airport much quicker than relying on many signs within the city limits or the expressways. It was very easy to spot high from above as well as the distinction of the large tarmacs.
"Sir," the operator said as he carefully studied his screen. He wasn't sure how to say this to his boss, but it was happening, and these monitors wouldn't lie. "The Constitution's moving back."
"What?" the director asked incredulously.
"Sir, it's, um. . . it's heading back towards the airfield."
The director's mouth gaped as he saw on the larger screen that oversaw the entire control room. The operator was indeed correct. The flight's path was now going in reverse. It was moving back to its launching site of the smaller airfields of Metropolis International Airport. Whoever was controlling the plane was making this happen somehow.
"Captain?" the director called as he pressed his headset. "Captain are you there? Respond."
"I'm here," the captain's voice said. "We've slowed down, and our altitude has stopped falling. Who's controlling us? Who's below us?"
The director couldn't answer that. Instead, he turned to one of his assistants. "Get in touch with the fighters. If they ever get the chance without collateral damage, I want whatever's controlling it to be brought down by any means," he uttered as the assistant nodded before dismissing himself.
Clark eased his grip on the massive aircraft above him. The speed of moving along while holding it was becoming more adaptable. He looked below him and saw how far away he was from the earth, just like he did on his practicing nights back home. Just like how he felt back home, it was time to reach back on the surface.
He relaxed himself and he and the plane started dropping at a plodding tread. His fingers relaxed as he focused his eyesight back to where he first flew up.
As that thought occurred to him, he just remembered something—Lois! She must be wondering where the hell he's been for the past five minutes! And he's never been good at improvising a cover story . . .
Lois looked around her, searching for Clark as she watched the news along with the other spectators in mouth gaped captivation. Where the hell has he been for the past five minutes? He better has a damn good reason why he's not here. He's missing everything! And first day on the job? Really?
Clark started tensing his muscles to propel the aircraft forward as he began adjusting his altitude to a lower. Thankfully, the force from the Constitution was barely noticeable, and manipulating the plane's trajectory was much easier than it was earlier. He could make out the airfield where the Constitution took off and it looked easy enough to place the aircraft back onto a large airfield. Still holding onto the underside of the plane, he continued himself across the wide-open city of Metropolis, which by now, would definitely notice him.
As he neared the airfield, he could already notice many police cars huddled outside the main terminal and saw hundreds of people looking upward. Security guards were unable to lead people back inside. The plane was no longer crashing, and an unnatural incident of a "man" carrying a plane with his bare hands all the way back here was incredible. Nobody knew what to do.
No Lois in sight. Though, he was beyond certain to see someone like her first on the scene for something like this.
Clark lowered himself further and further and he was now at a perfect forty-five-degree angle from the long asphalt where it all once started. Several officers were spotted, but they at least kept most people back; it had been such an ordeal to maintain control. They were holding their radios giving or receiving orders and had their hands placed on their firearms. Clark withdrew his head, hoping that nobody could make out his physical features. If he was discovered, then everything would be undone.
Remembering all of his training back home on how to slow himself down while dropping altitude, he relaxed himself slowly as he continued holding the plane high above his head, without any warning signs of fatigue. Though carrying a plane full of people was different. It also didn't help much that
Easy . . . easy . . . About fifty more feet to go.
As he lowered, Clark discovered that holding something massive above him wasn't all too different from flying regularly. He found that it had to do more with motor skills and coordination rather than just flexing muscles. Maybe that would be something else to practice from time to time when no one was looking.
Clark prepared his legs as the ground came more and more into a clear view. The officers now had their firearms pointed and aimed him. Clark tried nudging his head behind one of his arms to conceal himself. He felt he still wasn't quite ready for anyone to know the name of the man who can do this.
At long last, Clark's feet found a surface. He bent his knees and maintained his grip on the aircraft, careful enough to not tip it to any side.
"Whatever you are!" one of the officers cried. "Put down that plane! There's no need for those people to die!"
Clark released a heavily panted scoff. What did they think he was doing?
Clark slightly eased his arms on the plane, leaving it to steadily tilt on its front side. When the front end of the plane tapped on the ground, he tightened his grip again and shifted himself to where he could lower the other end. He kept his head ducked to avoid any kind of identification. As he positioned himself out from underneath the aircraft, he used all his might to carefully lower the plane until it hit the ground with a muffled scraped of metal meeting concrete. Releasing a sigh of relief, Clark's eyes popped open as a gasping chill stabbed him. He could feel the hair on his nape prickle like tiny needles.
A massive crowd stood in place. Many of them were still exclaiming about the safety of the passengers while the vast majority of them were staring wide-eyed and several mouths were dropped. Clark could feel the color of his body drain from him and an icy sensation coursed through him.
Now, that the people were safe, it was time to get back to Lois, who would, no doubt, be furious with him after all this. As he veered back over, he looked back at the airport from high above, slightly murky from the clouds separating him and the ground. From his perspective, the lot outside of the airport hadn't been busy as everyone else was too occupied to get into the terminal at this point. That was fortunate. He also saw that police cars were pouring near the main terminal's entrance. That was unfortunate.
Clark darted his eyes to the side of the entire complex, where some wildlife acted as the outer shell of the airport. Clark grimaced and felt his heart sink, knowing that this great distance would take even more time for him to return where he was supposed to be. He stretched himself and darted downwards in a blinding fast motion to that location.
His descent ended in a gradual stop as his feet met the ground where he was coated by heavy branches. After a couple of deep breaths of regaining composure, he reached into his pocket and got his glasses out again. He fixed his wind-blown hair as best as he could before stepping out of the bushes.
He walked as fast as he could without relying on how fast he really could go. Nobody was taking notice to him at least. Thanking silently to himself, he started heading back to the smaller airfield's facility.
Lois scribbled down on her notepad madly as she looked out the window and saw that the plane was being evacuated. Emergency vehicles surrounded the area while responders were outside checking on the exited passengers for potential injuries. Gurneys were brought out, but the paramedics didn't seem to be incredibly distraught. That told her that there didn't seem to be any deaths or life-threatening injuries.
Meanwhile, the rest of the spectators in the room were watching and asking questions about what just happened. Some had wondered if the "flying man" was part of the project in case something went wrong, to which, of course, the speaker didn't know how to answer that professionally.
Clark returned to the main room where he had left. As he had figured, people were taking a curious notice to the outside, where the passengers were being accompanied by medical personnel. The reporters were kept from exiting out onto the tarmac while security guards allowed paramedics to pass through if they needed to get by.
Searching the crowd, Clark found Lois. Unlike the rest of the erratic reporters, she was seemingly having a word with the female speaker from earlier. The poor speaker was faltering and had no choice but to expediently excuse herself from the area.
"Lois!" Clark exclaimed.
She turned her head at her name and was surprised to see her new partner after a period of absence. Her expression then turned to anger. "Where the hell have you been? There was a whole spectacle and you missed it! The plane almost crashed and there's a "flying man"—that's what they're calling it—and it brought the plane back, saving all those people!"
Clark faked panting. "I'm . . . I'm so sorry, Lois," he breathed.
Lois tilted her head and studied him. "Are you okay, Smallville?"
"Yeah, yeah," he stammered. "I just . . . I just got a little . . . nervous when I saw everything going wrong."
Lois squinted. "So, where'd you go? You were gone for the whole thing."
"I, uh, I went to the bathroom," he forced. ". . . had to vomit."
"Vomit?" Lois asked clenching her brows.
Crap. She wasn't buying it.
"Y-yeah," Clark said. "I just-I-I just had an experience of flying; you know? And-and seeing that again just, you know, got me worked up."
He cursed under his breath. That was the best he could come up with?
Lois' squinted at him. This guy's way too soft in this town. This city will chew him up and spit him out. And someone like him was too afraid to get a story like this? Who does that?
"Okay," she said, still trying to process what he just said, "But listen. Please let me know where you are next time. And another thing? You really missed out on something, Smallville."
Clark grimaced.
"I'll cover for you this one time but understand this: this is what the job is all about. You've got to be there. No matter how ugly it gets, you've got to capture what happens. Be in the moment. You can't let anything else hold you back. That's how you get people to know you."
Clark lowered his head and nodded sincerely. "Sorry."
"Forget it," she said in a tone that did make Clark feel more comfortable. "Look, just own it, okay?"
"Yeah," Clark said quickly. "So, uh, did you get anything about the 'flying man'?"
"Not much," Lois responded. Just the reports we've heard from air traffic control and eyewitnesses out on the field."
"What about the people from the plane?" Clark asked. "Are they okay?"
"Some minor injuries, but that's about it," Lois said.
"Well, why don't we start asking questions?" Clark brought up fast.
Lois smiled. "Thought you'd never asked."
Clark and Lois dissipated from each other and took their time from each person asking multiple questions. For Lois, it was easy; she must've written at least three or four pages of her little notebook after asking many detailed questions from fellow spectators as well as several security officers, who could only answer what they saw—an unidentified man just carried a plane back to the ground.
For Clark, he tried to act normal as much as he could while still thinking back on the plane. He asked around about what they saw. The most asked question he kept asking was "did you get an I.D. on the flying man?" Luckily, the answers received were that no one could identify the "flying man". Some were even wondering if it was a man or human at all. Some were sure it was human because it was wearing humanistic looking clothes. One even said that it looked like Clark himself.
By the time he met up with Lois again, they compared each other's answers.
"You stuck to the spectators?" Lois asked.
The question seemed to have bothered Clark in a way that made him feel like he wasn't doing enough.
"Yeah," he answered quickly sounding professional. "Some said that it might have been human. Just don't know how it could pull off something like this. What about you?"
She scoffed. "I asked several security guards," she boasted.
"What'd they say?" Clark asked trying to conceal his nervousness.
"Eh," she shrugged, "pretty much the same thing your witnesses were saying. They saw the same thing we did. Or everyone but you. Uh, no offense."
"None taken," Clark forced a grin.
"Alright," Lois said, "let's get back to base. Perry's going to have kittens about what we've seen. He's been looking for stuff like this for a freakin' decade."
The two made their way out of the entire crowd which felt like it took almost an hour. Clark felt the anxiety kick in once more when he realized that there were much more people around than ever. He was aware that he would be getting indirect attention, but there was a difference between knowing and feeling. All it took was one slip, and everyone would be swarming around him like earlier. It was only going to get more complicated from now on.