Chapter Twelve
Death Valley
Kit scanned the desert outside the windshield, looking for the starting line of the Death Valley Rally.
They were hundreds of miles away from Raceville. The landscape below was the most desolate he'd ever seen. Here and there a spare rock formation or hill popped up. But mostly, there was just pure white sand as far as the eye could see. It reminded Kit of being in the middle of the ocean.
Except that out here, there wasn't anything alive.
Sitting at the controls of the Sea Duck, Baloo looked bored. "Any sign of the camp yet?" he said.
Kit shook his head. "Not yet. I'll keep looking, though."
Baloo yawned loudly. "Man, there's absolutely nothin' out here, huh?" He patted the gyrocompass on the dashboard. "Sure hope this thing's workin' right. Wouldn't be fun to get lost out here." He smirked. "Say, why does this place have to be called Death Valley, anyway?"
"What do you mean?"
"Why can't these racing sites ever have nice names? Like Pizza Valley, or Marshmallow Canyon, or-"
"Death Valley!" Kit exclaimed.
Baloo frowned. "I don't think you're gettin' my point, kiddo."
"No, I mean I think we're here! Look!" Kit pointed outside.
Baloo looked and saw a billboard-like sign in front of the Sea Duck. It was hanging in the air, suspended by balloons. On the sign was an arrow pointing straight ahead, and some text. It read:
WELCOME TO DEATH VALLEY
FREE PARKING 5 MILES
Baloo instantly felt more awake. "Hot diggity! We made it!"
He flew in the direction of the sign. They soon came up on an ancient, dried-up riverbed in the desert below. Next to it was a tiny encampment. It was the first sign of civilization they had seen in more than an hour. As they got closer, more details came into view. The encampment consisted of six or seven tents set up in the sand. A big white circular tent stood in the center, surrounded by a cluster of smaller multicolored tents. A short distance away, three rows of planes sat parked next to a set of bleachers. It looked like there was already a small crowd in the seats.
"Looks like the party started without us," Kit said.
Baloo was scanning the ground, a worried expression on his face.
"What's the matter?" Kit said.
"There's something missing from that camp, Kit."
"What?"
"A place to land!"
"What?!" Kit looked down. Baloo was right. There was no landing strip in sight. "But there's planes already down there! There's gotta be a way to..." Kit's voice trailed off as his gaze fell on the dry riverbed next to the camp. There was an old, faded white stripe painted across the bed. All around it were dozens of impressions of fresh skid marks...and some metal debris that looked suspiciously like airplane parts.
He felt sick all of a sudden. "...land," he said weakly.
Baloo tightened his grip on the steering wheel. "Hang on to your hat, li'l britches! This is gonna be a rough one!" He squinted at the ground, carefully lining up his glide path with the riverbed. Then he reached to his left and extended the landing gear.
Kit looked on worriedly. "Are you sure you should be using the landing gear? Maybe we should land on the pontoons."
Baloo squinted at the ground. It looked stable enough to him. "Nah. We'll be fine," he said dismissively. He decreased the throttle, then took a deep breath. "Here goes nothin'!"
He pushed the stick forward. The Sea Duck tilted downwards and headed straight towards the barren landscape. Kit gripped the armrests of his seat tightly as they hurtled toward earth. The riverbed rushed up towards them. They saw dead cacti and shrubbery on both sides of the riverbank. The ground was desiccated and full of cracks.
The plane landed in the middle of the riverbed, right before the white stripe. The touchdown was as light as a feather.
"Perfect!" Baloo gloated. "See? What'd I tell ya?"
Softer than the surface of an actual runway, the sandy riverbed yielded easily to the Sea Duck's wheels. The front landing gear, and half of her nose, plowed into the ground.
"Whoaaaaaaa!" Baloo yelped.
"Yaaaahhhhhh!" Kit shouted.
The Duck's momentum carried her forward. She plowed through the sand, digging a huge trench and sending up a huge cloud of dust and debris as she went. Everything in the plane shook. The door to the cargo hold popped open. Trash and knickknacks rolled out from underneath the seats. Kit's teeth rattled so hard he thought he was at the dentist.
The plane dug so deeply into the sand Baloo thought they were going to strike oil. "Come on, baby! Papa Bear says stop!" he pleaded as he hit the brakes.
They skidded for a few hundred more feet. Then, finally, they came to a stop. The dust cleared. The Duck was sitting in the middle of the riverbank. She was covered in sand, needed a new paint job...but she was still in one piece.
Kit peeked through his hands covering his eyes. "Is it over?" he squeaked.
"Any landing you can walk away from," Baloo said. He looked outside at the sand standing halfway up to the windshield. "Or dig away from."
Kit pointed outside, towards the rear of the plane. "There's the camp," he said. They had overshot it. It was a half-mile behind them down the riverbank. Baloo backed the plane out of the sand, then started taxing back towards it.
"Boy, if that was just the landing, I wonder what the actual race is like," Kit said.
Baloo grinned confidently. "Dunno. But I can't wait to find out. Let's see what this place has in store for us."
Inside the camp, a line of pilots was forming. There were already fifty people in line, and more were joining every minute. They were all waiting outside a green canvas tent.
The door of the tent was closed. A sign outside read:
ALLWRIGHT INSURANCE COMPANY
Buy Your Pieces Monkey Protection Plan Here!
From within the tent, a shifty, beady pair of eyes peered outside, then quickly withdrew.
Inside the tent, Frankie turned to his employer, Griffith. "Fifty-three people out there right now, boss," he declared proudly.
Griffith was sitting at a makeshift table in the center of the tent, hard at work. He was not happy to be interrupted. But he was never one to lose his composure. He forced a smile, then slowly put his pen down and looked up from the fake insurance documents he was working on. "Frankie. Can't you see I'm not ready yet?"
"But boss-"
"Those pilots can wait fifteen minutes," Griffith said smoothly. "Furthermore, I'm aware of how many there are. I don't need an update every time someone new gets in line."
Frankie looked hurt. "Sorry boss. I just thought you'd be happy we got so many customers. It's more than double what we got last race!"
"I understand. But there are more important things to be done right now."
Frankie looked perplexed. "But boss, I thought we were here to sell fake insurance! What could be more important than a bunch of customers outside?"
Griffith smiled thinly. He picked up the paper from the table and held it up next to his face. "Do you know what this is, Frankie?"
"Sure I do. It's one of those fake insurance documents you give the customers!"
Griffith sighed. "You make it sound so pedestrian, Frankie. Technically you are correct. However, it's so much more than that. This" -he gestured at the paper- "is a work of art."
Frankie squinted. "Don't look so artsy to me."
"That's because you can't appreciate a masterpiece when you see it. These documents take a lot of hard work to get right. They need to look just like real insurance documents, or someone might catch on to us. And then business won't be so good anymore. You take my meaning?"
"Oh yeah. That makes sense."
"You see, Frankie, deception is a fine art. It's no different from painting or pottery. It takes dedication and practice. I've been doing this for almost twenty years, and every minute I've dedicated to becoming an expert at it. It's why I'm the best in the world at what I do." Griffith puffed out his chest like a peacock.
"Yeah!" Frankie agreed enthusiastically. "You're the best, all right!"
"It's why this place has been a gold mine for us." Griffith reached under the table and pulled out a duffel bag. It was stuffed to the seams with cash. Frankie's eyes lit up greedily. He reached for the duffel bag, but Griffith yanked it away at the last minute, leaving his henchman grasping at empty air.
Griffith's smile vanished. "And it's also why I'm in charge," he said sternly. "Which brings me to my next point. You have a job to do outside. So why are you still here?"
Frankie made a whiny face. "Come on, boss. Business is booming. Do we really have to do a plane every single day? It's hotter than a monkey's uncle outside!"
Griffith's smile reappeared, like a predator eyeing its prey. "You been to school, Frankie? Have you ever studied economics before?"
"Nope! I dropped out in sixth grade!" Frankie declared proudly.
Griffith smirked. "Of course. I thought that might be the case. Let me give you a quick lesson." He stood up from his chair and stood next to the table. "Economics is about supply and demand. I have the supply right here." He gestured to the pile of fake insurance documents next to him. "Now...where do you suppose the demand is coming from?" He fell silent and crossed his arms in front of him, waiting for the answer.
Frankie racked his brain, trying to think. He thought for almost a full minute. Then, the answer came to him.
"Uh...me?"
He looked up to see Griffith's well-manicured paw flying in from out of nowhere. Before he could react, it slapped him in the face. "Ow!" he cried, rubbing his sore cheek.
Griffith was standing next to him, glowering. "Yes, you dolt!" He cleared his throat. "Now, get out there and do what you're supposed to do. Please."
"Alright, alright already!" Reluctantly, Frankie lifted the tent door and stepped outside.
Griffith stared after him, then promptly sat back down and resumed his work.
Baloo found a spot in the parking area right between a Thembrian Yak and a smaller, blue biplane. He and Kit slowly got out of their seats. They were both weary from the long flight.
As they stepped out of the Sea Duck, Kit immediately perked up. "Whoa! Check out all the fancy flyers!" he exclaimed. He swept his gaze around the parking area, admiring the planes of all different shapes and sizes. "There's a P94-Thunderquack...and an SAT-2400!"
Baloo looked around. It certainly seemed that the average plane in the parking area was newer and speedier than what they were used to competing against. "Looks like all the big boys are runnin' this race. That fat jackpot must have brought 'em out."
Kit's eyes were still glowing as he pointed around the parking lot. "Omigosh! There's an Airtram Bold Eagle! And there's a...uh-oh." His voice trailed off suddenly.
"What is it?" Baloo asked. Then he turned around and saw it too.
Parked a couple of spots away from them was a familiar-looking black racing plane. The very sight of it sent bad memories running through both of them. Before they could back away, the cockpit glass of the plane opened and its pilot got out. He spotted Baloo and Kit immediately. His eyes narrowed. "Well, well. If it isn't the village fat man." he said quietly.
"Jarrett," Baloo muttered. He didn't say it like a greeting.
Jarrett stomped menacingly towards them. The wolverine pulled up in front of them, his massive frame casting a long shadow on the sand. "I'd just turn around now if I were you," he seethed. "This course is too tough for the likes of you."
Baloo stood up to his full height, looking Jarrett directly in the eye to show he wasn't afraid of him. "What's the matter? Afraid I might beat ya again?"
Jarrett snorted derisively. "So you got lucky a few times when we first went up against each other. Big deal. You've come in last in every race for the last week. I'm more afraid of stubbing my left big toe than losing to you!"
Baloo gritted his teeth. "Me and Kit did have some hiccups, it's true. But don't worry about us, we're gonna be fine. And don't be surprised when we pass ya on the course."
"Ha! You'll be lucky to find your way to the finish line. This ain't the deserts around Raceville. There's no landmarks. No track markings. No one to help you if you get lost." Jarrett smiled smugly. "Your plane's twenty years old. I'm not sure it even has navigational equipment. So like I said, just turn around now and go home."
Baloo leaned closer to Jarrett. "Listen pal, it just so happens that my plane does have a navigation system. And it's probably better than the one you got, too!"
"Oh, really? What is it?"
Baloo grinned scornfully. "A brand-new Googleschlocker gyrocompass."
The smirk disappeared from Jarrett's face. "Eh?"
Baloo stood back and crossed his arms, rather pleased at the wolverine's reaction. "Don't have much to say anymore now, do ya?"
Jarrett quickly recovered from his flabbergasted state. He took a aggressive step towards Baloo. "Listen here, Balloon. I'm warning you. This race is mine. I came close to winning last year, and nothing's gonna stop me this year. Not you, or the other racers, or your stupid gyrocompass!"
Baloo narrowed his eyes. "We'll see about that. May the best pilot win."
"Here's a hint. It ain't gonna be you." Jarrett reared his head back. Baloo put his hands up defensively, expecting Jarrett to take a swing at him. Instead, the wolverine spat on the ground, right at Baloo's feet. "See you in the loser's circle, Balloon." He made a final rude gesture, then walked off.
Baloo stared after him, daggers in his eyes. He was so mad his head was spinning.
"You okay, Baloo?" Kit said.
"Boy, I'd like to clip that guy's wings. What he needs is a good kick to the-"
"Easy, Papa Bear. He's just trying to rile you up before the race."
"Is he? Well, it's workin'."
Kit smiled. "I've got a better idea. Let's get him where it really hurts."
Baloo took a deep breath and tried to relax. "Yeah. In the race results," he agreed.
They left the parking area and entered the main camp.
Inside, they saw a big white central tent, surrounded by some smaller tents of various colors. The entrances labeled with helpful signs: "Information," "Refreshments," "Souvenirs." A large sign in the middle of the camp read:
Welcome to Death Valley!
All Racers Proceed To Main Tent for Race Check-In
"Which one's the main tent?" Kit said.
"I guess it's that big one over there," Baloo said, pointing to the central white tent.
"Then why is the line over there?" Kit pointed to an enormous line of people. It was evident from their clothing and accessories, that they were all pilots. They were all queued up outside a small green tent, waiting for something.
Baloo's jaw dropped. "Good gravy! That looks worse the line to the bathroom at Louie's on Taco Night!"
"What are they all waiting for?"
"Dunno. Let's ask 'em."
They walked to the back of the line. Baloo tapped the shoulder of the last person waiting. He was an older, crochety-looking boar wearing a cattleman's hat and cowboy boots. He could have easily passed for a cowboy, with the exception of his flight jacket which identified him as a pilot. The boar turned around. "Yeah? Whatcha want?" he said. His voice was heavy with the local Raceville drawl.
"Uh...pardon us. We were just wondering what this line is for."
The boar shrugged his broad shoulders. "What else? In-shurns."
"Gesundheit," Baloo and Kit chorused.
The boar rolled his eyes. "I'm not sick, ya durn yahoos. I mean that's what this here line's fer." He pointed to the sign next the entrance of the green tent.
Baloo squinted to read it. "'Allwright Insurance Company'," he read aloud. "'Get your pieces monkey protection plan here.'"
Kit wrinkled his brow. "What's a pieces monkey protection plan?"
The boar looked at them disparagingly. "Don't tell me you guys is illiterate or somethin'. Haven't you heard about the pieces monkeys runnin' around Raceville? Done been in all the papers."
"Hey, even I'm not that stupid. Of course we know about them," Baloo bristled. "Every pilot in Raceville's been talkin' about it."
"Well, a pieces monkey protection plan is jus' what it sounds like," the boar explained. "It's in-shurns. One of 'em critters wrecks yer plane, yer protected. All of your repairs get paid fer."
Baloo's eyes lit up. "Really?" He stroked his chin, thinking.
"What are you thinking, Baloo?" Kit said.
"I'm thinkin' somethin' like that might come in real handy right now," Baloo replied. "The Sea Duck ain't insured against pieces monkeys. If something happened to it…" He turned back to the boar. "Lemme ask you something. How much does that insurance cost?"
The boar grinned. "This insurance guy's got a great deal goin' right now. He's offerin' lifetime coverage for a thousand bucks."
Baloo's jaw dropped. "Really?" He couldn't believe it. At Higher for Hire, his insurance rates had been more like a thousand every year. "That's a crazy deal! I might actually have to talk to this guy."
Kit looked fretfully at the long line. "Does that mean we have to wait in line?"
Baloo shook his head. "I didn't mean right now. If we started waiting in line the race'd be over by the time we got there. Let's just take this insurance guy's name down. Then we can talk to him when we get back to Raceville." He stared at the sign next to the entrance of the tent, trying to memorize the name on it. "Allwright Insurance. Remember that, Kit."
Kit closed his eyes. "Allwright Insurance. Got it."
They bid the boar farewell, then headed off to find the place they were supposed to be.
Frankie the weasel trudged through the rows of planes in the parking area. Dozens of aircraft of all shapes and sizes surrounded him. He tried to stay in their shadows and out of the hot desert sun. But he was still hot, for a different reason. His pride was still smarting from the scolding Griffith had given him earlier.
"Supply and demand...hmph!" he grumbled aloud. "Deception's an art...hmph! Griffith thinks he's so smart…"
The leather briefcase he was lugging was heavy. He put it down onto the sand and wiped his brow. "Anyone could do what he does. Learn some fancy words and lie to a bunch of people? Yeah, that's reeeeal tough. I'd like to see him try to do what I do once in a while! See how he likes it."
It was time to get down to business. Frankie started scoping out the area. To his right, he saw a small racing plane. Its pilot was perched on top of it, hammering away at the engine, fixing some minor flaw.
Frankie picked up the briefcase and moved to his left, away from where anyone might see him.
He walked for a little bit, then stopped and looked around. There were several larger planes around him. Right next to him there was a big, bulky Thembrian Yak. A couple of planes over, a massive DC-66. And next to that one, a yellow Conwing L-16.
He stood there for a moment, not sure which of the planes to choose. Any of the three would work.
Finally, he shrugged. "Eeeny," he said, pointing at the Yak. "Meeny...miney…" He continued his ritual, alternating his pointing finger between the planes. When he had finished his rhyme, he was pointing directly at the Conwing.
Frankie rubbed his hands together. "Let's sell some insurance," he said. He double-checked his briefcase and started heading towards the plane.
One hour later
The parking area of the Death Valley Rally was abuzz with activity as the pilots got ready to start the race. Some pilots ran across the sand to their planes, while others scrambled to finish their last-minute tune ups.
In the Sea Duck, Baloo sat behind the controls, nervously twiddling his thumbs.
At last, he heard the race official's voice boom over the loudspeakers, filling the entire encampment: "Ihhht's time for the Death Valleyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy Rallyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy! Racers, get over to that startin' line!"
Baloo looked over at Kit. He had his head down, studying the map of the racecourse. "Ready, li'l britches?" Baloo said.
Kit looked up and flashed him a thumbs-up sign. "Ready, Papa Bear!"
Baloo reached up and hit the ignition switch above the dashboard. The propellers of the Sea Duck hummed and spun to life, kicking up a cloud of sand.
All around them, there was a tremendous buzzing as fifty other racers did the same. It sounded like a gigantic swarm of angry bees. Like a sand-swept caravan, they all started making their way from the parking area to the ancient, dried-up riverbed.
There was a small wooden podium next to the bleachers. A stout pig in a cheap suit and a giant cowboy hat took the stage. He started speaking into the microphone, though his voice was almost loud enough to be heard in the bleachers without it.
"Howdy! How y'all doing?" he shouted to the crowd.
Everyone hooted, hollered, and stomped their feet.
"Yeah! That's what I like to hear! I'm Pig T. Barnum, the race official!" the pig crowed. "Now we got a heckuva show for you today. Should be bigger n' better than last year, even! But first," -his expression grew somber- "let's have a moment of silence for the racers who didn't make it to the finish line last year."
He bowed his head, took off his hat, and held it to his chest. After pausing for barely two seconds, he put it back on, grinning like a wolf. "Yeah, that's long enough. Sheesh, I hate awkward silences. I wanna see these fellas race, how 'bout y'all?"
"Yes!" the crowd roared in agreement.
Pig T. Barnum reached for something beneath the podium. His hands emerged cradling an oversized double-barreled shotgun. He swung it around (causing several spectators in the front row to run for cover), then pointed it in the air. "Yeeee-haaaah!" he cried. "What d'ya folks say, let's get this thang started!"
The crowd let out an enormous cheer.
Pig T. Barnum took a deep breath. With all the volume he could possibly muster, he shouted: "Raaaaacerrrrrrs! On your marks! ...Geehhhhht sehhhhht! GOOOOOOOO!"
He fired the shotgun; the recoil was so powerful it sent him head over heels. The crowd roared as the planes started their takeoff rolls.
Baloo's ears popped as the Sea Duck lifted into the air.
Around him, he saw planes of all shapes and sizes taking off. To his left, the sleek silver Airtram Bold Eagle soared into the sky like a bird of prey. To his right, the massive, ugly Thembrian Yak lumbered into view, almost pushing the other racers out of its path. And out of the corner of his eye, he saw Jarrett's black plane weaving between planes, furiously fighting for position. The racers all headed into the sky together like a tightly-packed flock of birds.
Baloo dodged and weaved, trying to avoid everyone else. "It's like a can of sardines in here!" he grunted.
As soon as he finished speaking, two racing planes collided right in front of them with a mighty crash. They force of the impact fused them together like a lump of clay. The other racers scrambled to get out of the way as the wreckage spun out of control. It quickly started spiraling toward the desert below, trailing smoke. Two parachutes bailed out from the wreckage.
Kit watched worriedly as the chutes slowly began to descend toward earth. "What's gonna happen to those guys? They're gonna land right in the middle of the desert!"
"Uhhhh...I'm sure the race officials'll send someone to pick 'em up," Baloo stammered. In truth, he wasn't too sure about that. "Never mind them. Where are we headed?"
Kit looked at his map. "The first checkpoint is...Sandwich Plains."
Baloo licked his chops. "Really? Maybe this race won't be so bad after all."
"Why?"
"Cuz, any place that's named after food is all right with me!"
Kit rolled his eyes. "Right. You're gonna head east, ninety degrees. Should be about ten miles out."
Baloo flashed a thumbs-up sign. "Right-o!" He followed Kit's instructions and turned east.
Around them, fifty other racers made the exact same adjustment. They all turned at the same time, as if they were in formation. As they reached cruising altitude, the tight pack of racers began to separate from each other. As the space between the racers increased, so did their aggressiveness. With startling speed, a gray racing plane streaked past the Sea Duck on the right. Seconds later, a red biplane did the same on the right.
"Yikes! Looks like we gotta get a move on!" Baloo said. He yanked on the throttle. The engines whined. The propellers' buzzing pitched up a full octave. The Sea Duck seemed to almost pause to take a breath, then blasted forward like a bloodhound going after its prey. Gradually and steadily, they started making up the ground on the racers that had passed them.
They passed by the red biplane, then the gray racing plane. As he zoomed by the latter, Baloo waved smugly to its pilot. "Sorry! Just passin' through!"
"Baloo, look out!" Kit cried.
Baloo faced forward just in time to see the enormous backside of the Thembrian Yak filling his windshield. "Whoooooaaa baby!" He swerved to the left just in time, the right wing of the Sea Duck barely avoiding scraping against the Yak's fuselage. "How'd that thing manage to get a lead on us?"
"I don't know," Kit said. "But I don't think he's too happy you passed him!"
Baloo looked out his rear-view mirror. The Yak was heading towards them at full throttle, trying to reclaim its lead on the Sea Duck.
"Oh, no you don't!" Baloo taunted. He increased his own throttle, expecting to leave the bulky, boxy plane in the dust. To his surprise, the Yak kept up effortlessly. It quickly made up the distance between them, then moved back in front of the Sea Duck.
"What the-" Baloo gawked in surprise. "No plane that big should move that fast!"
"I'll bet it has custom engines," Kit said.
"I don't care what it has," Baloo declared, tightening his grip on the steering wheel. "I am not losing to some overgrown snowplow!"
He shifted the Sea Duck to the right to pass the Yak. Before he could, however, the Yak suddenly shifted in front of him, blocking his path. He moved to the left. But the big plane, surprisingly nimble, moved in front of him again. Its giant frame filled his field of vision.
Baloo caught a glimpse of the Yak's pilot in its rear-view mirror. The warthog was smiling at the Sea Duck and snickering. "Thembrians," Baloo said. "Go figure."
"I don't think he wants us to go ahead of him, Baloo."
Baloo furrowed his brow in frustration. "Must be friends with Colonel Spigot." He racked his brain, trying to think of some way to fly around the massive obstacle. Then he spied a blue triplane coming up from behind, on their left side.
"I got an idea," he announced. "When I tell ya, hold on tight to somethin'!"
"What are you going to do?"
"Jus' gotta wait until the right moment…" Baloo waited patiently and let the triplane pass him. He waited until it was almost alongside the Yak.
"Now!" he shouted. In one swift motion, he turned the steering wheel to the left as far as it would go.
Kit yelped as the Sea Duck lurched left. The Yak tried to move in front of them, but quickly stopped, being blocked by the triplane. Baloo rolled the Sea Duck all the way onto her side, putting her wings perpendicular to the ground. As soon as he was clear of the triplane, he gunned the throttle. The Sea Duck's engines growled ferociously. With a burst of speed, she blew past the Yak and the triplane, leaving them both in the dust.
Baloo pumped his fist in the air. "Ha ha! Ducks one, yaks zero!"
Kit retrieved his baseball cap from the floor and placed it back on his head. "Whew! Nice moves, Papa Bear!"
"Yeah, and let's hope I got some more of 'em in me, 'cause look at what's up ahead!" Baloo pointed out the windshield.
On the horizon, there was a mass of thick, brownish clouds over the surface of the desert. They were as tall as skyscrapers, and they stretched as far as their eyes could see. On the ground, just in front of the clouds, was a tall, elongated rock formation. It resembled an old crone with her arms outstretched, daring the racers to pass her.
"According to the map, that should be Sandwich Plains," Kit said.
"What're all those clouds? Thunderheads?"
"They're too low. Also, we're in the middle of the desert," Kit replied. His nose twitched suddenly. "Ah-ah...AH-CHOOOOO!"
"Gesundheit."
"Thanks." Kit hastily wiped his nose with his shirt sleeve. "I think I know what those clouds are now...it's dust! As in, a giant dust storm!"
Baloo looked in awe at the size of the tempest. "And I thought our room at the hotel was messy!" A realization came to him. "Hold on, Kit. Lemme see that map for a sec." He grabbed it out of Kit's hands, then squinted at it. "I thought so. That doesn't say Sandwich Plains, Kit It's Sand Witch Plains!"
"Oops..."
Baloo gritted his teeth. "Check the gyrocompass. We're gonna need it in there."
"Already on it," Kit said, examining the device.
Ahead of them, the first of the racers reached the gigantic cloud. It was the speedy, shiny Bold Eagle. As the plane passed into the dust, she vanished completely from sight, like she had been spirited away to a different realm. One by one, the racers ahead of them followed suit, each of them getting swallowed up by the shroud.
As the Sea Duck flew closer and closer to the cloud, it got bigger and bigger. The sky changed from blue, to brown, to black. All they could see was clouds. It was like the nose of the Sea Duck was on fire.
"Here goes nothin'!" Baloo yelled.
"As they flew into the cloud, the sun disappeared. So did everything else. Baloo flicked on the headlights. All they did was reflect off the dust everywhere. He couldn't see even twenty feet through the stuff. He saw none of the other racers, but he could hear them. And they sounded too close for comfort.
"Kit, could use some directions about now!" he yelled. "I can't see anything in this slop!"
Kit looked at the map, his hands steady. "Just listen to me, and do what I tell you," he said calmly. "Change your altitude to fifteen hundred feet."
"All right." Baloo took a deep breath. Slowly, he pulled the steering wheel back. The altimeter started ticking upward. He kept their climb slow and steady, keeping his eyes and ears peeled like a hawk for any planes around them. After a minute of tense flying, they reached altitude.
"Okay," Kit said. "Now when I tell you, change your heading to northeast forty-five degrees." He paused two beats. "Do it...now!"
Baloo turned the steering wheel. The gyrocompass's needle slowly meandered as the plane changed bearings. He waited patiently until it was pointed in the right direction. "All right. We're locked in to-"
"Heads up!" Kit shouted.
A purple plane with an oversized nose suddenly burst out of the haze, right in front of them. It was the P-94 Thunderquack. She was flying left to right, its passenger-side door squarely in front of their windshield.
"Yikes!" With all the force he could muster, Baloo yanked the steering wheel to the left. The Sea Duck swerved sharply. The tip of her right wing just barely missed the tail of the Thunderquack as it passed by harmlessly. "Sunday flyer!" he shouted angrily, looking back out the window. But the Thunderquack was gone, already vanished back into the dust.
Kit wiped his brow. "Whew. That was close!"
"I'll say! We gotta get out this cloud, Kit! If we stay in here much longer we're gonna bite the-" Baloo's voice trailed off.
"Dust?" Kit finished.
Baloo groaned. "Ya didn't have to say it."
"Sorry."
"Just tell me how to get outta here, will ya?"
Kit turned back to his map. "Make for heading east ninety degrees. Then go about a mile. That should take us out of these plains. So hopefully things should clear up then."
"I can't wait! Let's get out of here!" Baloo turned the steering wheel cautiously. He kept a close eye on the gyrocompass, watching it until it hit his desired target. He flew steadily forward, covering a mile in less than thirty seconds.
Almost on cue, they saw sunlight beginning to peek through the haze. Patches of blue sky started to appear between the clouds.
"Man, what a be-yew-tiful sight that is!" Baloo gushed.
The clouds disappeared all at once, almost as if they had never been there. Once again they saw the desert stretched out below them, as vast and forbidding as ever.
Kit exhaled gratefully. For once, he actually felt relieved to see it. "Whew! Boy, feels good to be outta there."
"Uhhh, Kit...where is everybody?" Baloo said slowly.
"Huh?" Kit sat up in his seat and looked out his window.
The sky around them was bright, cloudless - and empty. There wasn't a single other racer in sight.
"Kit, I thought we talked about this, " Baloo said sternly. "Did you mess up your directions again?"
"No way!" Kit said indignantly. "The directions I gave you are the fastest way to get to the next checkpoint. I'm sure of it!" He looked at the dashboard. "Look, the gyrocompass even says so! We're right where we're supposed to be!" He pointed confidently to the device.
"Well then, where is everybody?"
Kit shrugged. "I dunno. It is kinda weird that nobody's here," he admitted. "Maybe they're just taking a slower route."
Baloo sighed. "Kit…I need you to be honest with me. This race is important. Are you absolutely, posi-toot-ly, one thousand percent sure about these directions?"
Kit nodded his head vigorously. "A million percent sure! Just keep going and we should meet up with the other racers."
Baloo gritted his teeth, smiled, and thought of all the times when Kit's navigation skills had saved their collective behinds. "All right. Just checking. I trust you, li'l britches."
He pushed the throttle to maximum. The Sea Duck rocketed through the desert, following the path its navigator had laid out for it.
Baloo flew and flew and flew. But with each passing mile, he felt his confidence in Kit wearing down. Ten minutes had already passed. He wasn't seeing any of the other racers ahead of them, behind them, or anywhere else. He was beginning to feel very uneasy.
"Uh, Kit…" he began.
Beside him, Kit was looking at the gyrocompass on the dashboard, and the racecourse map on his lap. His expression was just as disquieted as Baloo's was. "This is all wrong," he murmured. "We should have hit that checkpoint five minutes ago." He spread out his arms at the desert around them. "But there's nothing here."
"And there hasn't been anyone out here the whole time," Baloo pointed out.
"Yeah, that too." Kit sighed. "I hate to say it. But we can't be headed in the right direction."
"I knew it!" Baloo groaned. Realizing that the race was totally lost, he eased up on the throttle. The engines, grateful for a reprieve from the stress they'd been put through for the last twenty minutes, grew quieter. "Well...looks like it's gonna be another last place for us, kiddo."
Kit looked at his map with a baffled expression. "I just don't understand what could have happened. The gyrocompass says we're going in the right direction…" His voice trailed off. "Wait a second. I've got an idea."
As Baloo watched, Kit reached into his pocket and pulled out his handheld compass. He held it next to the gyrocompass on the dashboard. He looked at the two devices, comparing them to each other.
"Uh-oh," he said quietly.
"What?"
"I think the gyrocompass is busted," Kit said. With a grim expression, he held up his handheld compass next to the gyrocompass. The needles of the two devices were pointing in wildly different directions.
Baloo's eyes widened. "But that doohickey was working fine when we flew out here!"
"Well, it's not working fine anymore. We've been going the wrong way!"
Baloo punched the dashboard in frustration. "What a time for that thing to go bad! We never even stood a chance of winning this stupid race!"
"We've got bigger problems," Kit said quietly. "We don't know where we've been going the last ten minutes."
Baloo's stomach dropped like he was doing a swan dive. Kit was right. Without a working gyrocompass, they had no idea where they were. And, because they weren't sure what route they had actually taken to get there, there was no reliable way for them to turn back.
"You mean...we're lost out here?"
Kit nodded grimly. "In the middle of the desert."
Baloo threw up his hands. "What else can go wrong?"
Suddenly, their world went orange.
KA-BAAAAMMMMM! The whole cockpit shook as a tremendous explosion erupted right next to the Sea Duck. Fire and debris spewed out. The plane lurched to the right from the force, tilting the flight deck and almost putting them upside down.
The steering wheel of the Sea Duck shook like a bucking bronco. Baloo scrambled to get control of it. "Holy horizontal stabilizers! What was that?!" he cried.
"Baloo, look!" Kit pointed out the pilot's side window. The left engine was on fire. Flames shot out of the charred engine housing. The propeller was a twisted, broken mess.
Baloo inhaled sharply. "That's the engine we banged up! Looks like we never fixed it up all the way!"
Kit drew back in his seat, recoiling from the fire like it was going to leap into the cockpit. "What are we going to do?"
"Only thing we can do! Land this thing, pronto!"
"Land? Here?" Kit looked worriedly down at the desert below. There was nothing around for miles.
"We ain't got a choice, kiddo. Now run to the back and grab the fire extinguisher - we gotta put that fire out before it spreads!"
Kit nodded. He unbuckled his seat belt, threw open the door to the cargo hold, and sprinted inside. He ran to the cabinet where fire extinguisher was, and opened it. Unfortunately, there was no fire extinguisher inside. It had been replaced by a rather extensive collection of empty soda pop bottles.
Kit sighed and and rifling through the piles of junk in the hold, looking for the missing extinguisher. "Let's see…tiki masks...fishing rods...snowshoes...oh, here it is!" He reached into the junk and pulled out the fire extinguisher triumphantly. It had been wedged right between a stack of Flyboy magazines and a set of hockey equipment.
With the extinguisher in hand, he started to run back to the cockpit. Then he noticed something unusual, and froze in his tracks.
On the wall, next to one of the pilot-side windows, there was something that hadn't been there before. Three long parallel scratches. They ran from the window almost to the doorframe of the side door.
Kit walked over to the scratches. He leaned over and ran his finger down one of them. It was very deep, etched into the metal. He hadn't seen anything like the scratches before in real life. But he was almost sure of what they were. He had seen pictures in the newspaper that looked almost identical.
Pieces monkey claw marks.
"Baloo!" he shouted. "We got a pro-"
KA-BOOOOMMMMM! Another explosion thundered in Kit's ears. A bright flash seared his eyes. The blast had come from right side of the Sea Duck this time. The plane rocked to the left, tossing the items in the cargo hold around like a ship in a tempest. Kit fell to his knees, the wind knocked out of him. The extinguisher dropped to the floor, rolled toward the back of the plane, and disappeared from sight.
In the cockpit, Baloo found himself looking at the ceiling. He sat up from his broken seat and looked in horror at the right engine. Like the left engine, it was now also on fire. Black smoke poured out from both sides of the plane.
"Kiiiittttt!" Baloo yelled towards the cargo hold. "You all right?"
Kit's voice rang out. He sounded shaken, but unhurt. "Baloooooo! I'm okay!"
"Engines are out, Kit! I don't know if I can keep 'er steady!"
As Baloo spoke, the nose of the plane began to tilt toward the ground. He felt a sickening feeling as the plane started to drop. He glanced at the airspeed indicator. It was deep in the red.
At first, Baloo thought he would be able to pull them out of it. The Sea Duck was falling slowly, almost gently. But like a boulder just starting to roll down a hillside, she was unstoppable. They started falling faster, and faster...and faster. Baloo desperately pulled the steering wheel back as hard as he could, trying to stem their dive as they plummeted toward the ground. But it was no use. No matter how hard he tried, he could not stop their almost vertical descent.
"Hold on, Kit! We're goin' down!" Baloo shouted. He clutched the steering wheel and screamed as the sand below rushed up at him.