Chapter 4
Mesa. The Spanish word for “table.” Why they had come to call their favorite ridgeline retreat The Mesa, Heather couldn’t remember. The high finger of land that extended out between two deep canyons bore no resemblance to a table, or even the top of one.
In most respects, it was similar to hundreds of other places in this red rock region of the New Mexico highlands, a place where it appeared the land had split and cracked on three sides, falling away into steep canyons hundreds of feet deep, carved from the rock by the effects of water and wind over the millennia.
Their mountain bikes had carried them to this remote hideaway they’d visited on dozens of other weekends. But it was not rock climbing or hunting for mythical, lost gold mines that brought them to The Mesa this first Saturday of the school year. It was the contents of the large box strapped to Mark’s bike.
After Heather slid to a stop and dropped her kickstand, she pulled off her bike helmet and slung it over her handlebars, glad to feel the fresh air blowing through her hair. Mark already had the box unstrapped and was lovingly carrying it out beyond the trees into the clearing.
Here, the ridgetop was flat and treeless for a quarter mile before dropping away steeply into the canyon beyond. It reminded Heather of the fingernail on a giant hairy finger pointing southwest. Perhaps Cortez himself had used it as a guidepost back to Mexico.
“Here, give me a hand with this,” said Mark, unwrapping the packaging that cradled his prized airplane.
It was a beautifully painted model of a Piper Cub aircraft, complete with engine and remote control. They had built other model aircraft before, but this was the most detailed kit to date. It took them most of the summer to build, and so far they had only flown it in the park near their house. This would be its true maiden voyage outside that protected training ground.
As Mark held the small funnel, Heather filled the fuel tank, careful not to spill any of the fuel on the ground.
Jennifer moved up beside them, fumbling with the control unit and a small handheld TV. It had been her idea to attach the tiny micro-camera to the aircraft, a camera that broadcast a short-range color signal that could be picked up on a selectable frequency by the TV. True, the picture was not high resolution and required line of sight between the camera and the receiver, but it was still a fun addition to the project.
Heather had routed the signal through her PDA. That way they could save a couple of minutes of the video on a CompactFlash memory card and replay it later. Their fathers had helped too, with little hints here and there to get the teens past sticking points. But, for the most part, this was their own work.
Getting the thumbs-up from Jennifer, Mark turned toward Heather. “How’s the wind speed?”
She held up the small anemometer, its four little half ping-pong ball cups whirling in the gentle breeze. “Holding steady at four knots. Looking good.”
“Okay then, here we go.” Mark spun the small propeller, and the engine coughed to life on his second attempt.
Jennifer moved the throttle control, and the engine revved up and down as she played with it, the sound cutting through the quiet rim country like a bright flashlight in a cave. She moved more controls, getting the thumbs-up from Mark as he checked to see that the control surfaces on their aircraft responded correctly to the commands.
“How’s the video feed?” Jennifer yelled above the whine of the engine.
Heather grinned. “Looks good, at least when Mark keeps his face out of it.”
Mark shook his head. “Very funny. Are we ready?”
Jennifer held up five fingers, lowering them one at a time as she counted backward out loud. The engine gunned as Mark released the small plane, sending it shooting out and up. Jennifer brought it banking around in a circle above them, gradually getting a feel for the thing, before putting it through some climbs and dives.
After a couple of minutes, Mark moved up beside her. “My turn, Doc.”
Jennifer arched an eyebrow at her brother, but handed him the control box, keeping the long antennae out and away from his body.
She moved over by Heather. “How’s the video?”
Heather shrugged. “The signal is strong and clear, but the way you guys are looping the airplane around, all it’s doing is making me airsick. Here, you take the TV for a minute and see if you can make out anything.”
Jennifer eagerly took the small set from Heather. “Hey, Mark. How about flying it flat and level for a bit so I can see how useful this is going to be?”
“Now we’re getting somewhere,” said Jennifer, staring down at the screen. “Keep going straight out for a bit. Oh cool. We just passed out over the rim.”
“Not too far now,” Heather cautioned.
Suddenly the small plane jerked sideways and down.
“Oh crap,” Mark said. “A gust of wind has it.”
He struggled to regain control of the small plane, his thumbs working the twin joysticks on the control rapidly. For a moment, it seemed that would work. Then, just as the red Piper Cub tried to climb back over the ridgetop, it spun wildly, plummeting out of sight.
“Damn it,” Mark yelled, setting down the control and running toward the rim, Heather close on his heels.
Reaching the spot where their airplane disappeared, Mark and Heather halted. Luckily, at this point along the rim, the slope, though steep, was not a cliff face like it was farther to their right. On the bad side, the steep slope was covered in thick, thorny brush. Scanning it from the top of the ridge, they could see no sign of the place where their pet project had impacted.
“Christ,” Mark moaned. “We might never find it down in that.”
“We’ll find it,” said Heather, although her heart sank. “It won’t be fun though.”
Jennifer arrived, clutching the video unit. “Hey, guys, take a look at this. I have the last thirty seconds of the crash on playback.”
Mark and Heather crowded behind Jennifer, peering over each shoulder as she pushed the play button on the PDA. The video spun wildly, then steadied momentarily. Jennifer paused the playback.
“You see that spot?” she asked, pointing to a lone pine tree amidst thick brush. “Can you recognize that tree anywhere down there?”
Mark walked back to the edge and scanned the slope below. “Yeah. I think I see it.”
“Okay. Now watch the end of the video. I’ll play it in slow motion.”
Stepping through the remaining few seconds of the video frame by frame, they watched as the view spun back and forth between sky and ground. The last several frames of video showed the plane falling into the brush, perhaps a hundred feet up the slope from the pine tree.
“What is that?” Heather asked, pointing at the dark screen.
Mark squinted down at the screen. “What? That’s just darkness after the crash.”
“No. There. That pale red glow at the corner.” Heather pointed to the upper-left corner of the screen.
Jennifer adjusted her glasses, leaning closer to the small screen. “I don’t know. It must be some sort of artifact of the impact. The camera must have shorted out.”
Mark stood. “Well, I guess there’s no use procrastinating. I’ll climb down and get it.”
Glancing down the slope toward the thorn brush, Jennifer shook her head. “Not fun.”
“You sure you don’t want to flip for who goes?” Heather asked.
Mark laughed. “Nice of you to offer, but no. I’ll go. After all, I was the pilot when it crashed. Besides, how manly would I look if I made you two get all scratched and cut up? I couldn’t deal with the humiliation.”
“Okay then,” said Heather. “Pay the price for machismo. We won’t argue.”
Mark climbed down the rocky crest of the rim and into the brush beyond, working his way as far as possible along a narrow goat trail before plunging into the thorn brush below. The girls watched from above as he pushed forward, thrashing his way into the bushes, cursing, occasionally pausing to pull out a thorn.
As he neared the identified crash site, Mark gave a startled yell and pitched forward, disappearing from view. From their vantage point, high above, Jennifer and Heather had a clear view of the slope. Of Mark, however, there was no sign.
“Mark! Are you all right?”
As Jennifer continued to yell, Heather made up her mind, moving rapidly over the rocky edge, toward where she had last seen Mark.
“Wait,” Jennifer yelled, scrambling toward her with the video unit in her hand. “Look at this.”
“Jen, we don’t have time to look at more of the recording.”
“It’s not the recorded part. This is a live shot from the camera.”
“What?”
“The camera is still sending. I didn’t notice it because it was mostly dark. Look at this, though.”
Heather’s mouth dropped open. There in the darkness on the screen lay Mark’s prone form, his skin dimly illuminated by a red glow.