Dino-Soar

The sound of the airport tannoy coming to life – bingbingBONG! – reverberated around the terminal.

Tony Dittman closed his eyes and inhaled between his clenched teeth. For the love of God, what was it now? Further delays? Say it wasn’t so. He hoped they were about to say they’d discovered time travel, and there would be no delays for anyone ever again. If Tony didn’t board a plane in the next ninety minutes, he wouldn’t be able to get to the hotel until noon. His interview was at 12:30. He’d never make it on time, meaning all his hard work would go down the drain. Nobody would hire a man who couldn’t arrive at his dream job interview on time. Upper management over at Hats for Dogs was cut-throat. They had to be to thrive in the fast-paced world of doggy wedding attire. Tony clenched his fists, his nails digging into the palms of his hands. ‘Please, please,’ he murmured to himself.

There was a crackle and a slam as the person on the other end fiddled with the microphone. A woman’s voice came through, midsentence. ‘—n shove this bloody job right up his— Oh.’ There was the clearing of a throat. ‘Ladies and gentlemen,’ said the woman, adopting a sultry tone. ‘I regret to inform you that flight 99931 has been cancelled. This cancellation is due to a rift in space and time opening up above our airport, somewhere in the clouds.’

Tony groaned and swore, along with the rest of the terminal. He slumped into the uncomfortable chair that violated cruel and unusual punishment laws.

‘Here at In Plane Sight, we care about our customers’ safety,’ continued the tannoy lady. ‘Until our expert timeologists have assessed the threat, we have grounded all flights. To apologise, all passengers on flight 99931 can report to the front desk. There, you’ll receive a free – asterisk, asterisk, asterisk – drinks voucher. Thank you for your understanding, and have a pleasant day!’

Inside his chest, his heart mixed a strange cocktail of emotions, shaken, not stirred. Sadness mixed with fury – all those years of studying doggy fashion had gone to waste. Ought he quit and pursue rocket surgery or brain science, like his brothers? But he wanted to succeed, and this was the way he best knew how. Tony was picking up his bag to go and get his free drink voucher – asterisk, asterisk, asterisk. He stopped mid-movement, a commotion by the desk catching his attention.

A greying man in a salmon polo shirt and cargo shorts was getting irate. ‘…but you can’t just cancel our flight like that! We’re important people. We’ve got places to do, things to be. I demand that this flight go ahead. I’m a pilot myself,’ he said, puffing his chest out. ‘And I know a thing or two about flying. These conditions –’ he pointed to the swirling clouds outside ‘– are perfect!’

Tony’s eyebrows knitted together. A pilot? Perfect conditions? He shouldered his backpack and approached the scene.

The woman behind the counter had a name badge with a sticker covering the name. It read: ‘Hi! My name’s BUGGER OFF! How can I help you today?’ She was motioning for Polo Shirt to calm down. ‘Please, sir, there’s nothing I can do. It’s too great a risk, and the airline is unwilling to take that risk for insurance purposes. Oh, and for patient satisfaction, of course!’

Ah, so there it was. This unrest was about money. No doubt some bigwig in some corporate room was crunching numbers somewhere. Tony drew up alongside Polo Shirt and gave him a nudge with his elbow. ‘Y’know, I bet they just cancelled it because not enough seats were booked. We’d be costing them money.’

Polo Shirt nodded as Bugger Off rolled her eyes. ‘Hey, yeah!’ he agreed. ‘I bet this is all just a scheme from Big Plane to drive ticket prices sky high! Well, these two fellas ain’t falling for it!’

Tony slapped him on the back. ‘Damn straight.’

Bugger Off sighed. ‘It’s not that I don’t want to help you – although, having said that, that is definitely the case. It’s that the airline isn’t willing to risk its planes until it knows what it’s dealing with. Now, if you had your own plane to fly, that would be a different matter. But you don’t. So, if you’ll pl—’

‘Aha!’ said Tony. ‘So it’s not a legal grounding of flights, then. It’s because you don’t want to. Well, if we had our own aircraft, we wouldn’t be having this conversation!’

Bugger Off rolled her eyes again. ‘Well, obviously. Why would you be inside an airport if you weren’t catching one of our flights?’

‘Huh?’

Polo Shirt resumed the lead, motioning for Tony to hang back. ‘Now, listen, Ms, ah, Off? I believe we got off on the wrong foot there. Now, none of your fights are happening, fair enough. But you raised an interesting point. If we were in charge of the flight, we could do as we damn well please. Which leads me to my question: do you have airplanes to rent here?’

Tony’s eyebrows shot up. Now, there was a good idea. He might still make his Hats for Dogs interview if they took off within the hour.

Bugger Off paused. ‘Well… yes. But you have to sign waivers and put down a deposit in case of damage,’ she said, peering at the churning skies. ‘If that rift is indeed dangerous, you may end up hurt. Or worse still, end up paying a lot in repair fees.’

Tony chewed his inner lip.

‘Never mind that,’ said Polo Shirt. ‘I’m an expert, I can handle a bit of wind.’

‘How much?’ asked Tony.

She told them, and Polo Shirt recoiled. ‘How much? Oh, forget that, then! It’s only my daughter’s wedding! It’s not like it’s the World Cup, or something.’

Tony stepped forward, opening his wallet and pulling out his cards. ‘Woah, woah, woah! I can cover most of that, if we split it, say, seventy-thirty?’

Polo Shirt did the mental math. ‘Are you sure? That’s a lot of money. You must need to get on this plane more than I do.’

In truth, it was all Tony’s life savings. But once he brought in Hats for Dogs money, he’d replenish those savings with no sweat. All he had to do was get to that damn interview. ‘Woulnd’t offer it if I wasn’t. I’m Tony, by the way.’

Polo Shirt shook his hand. ‘Ulric Gildon.’

Tony smiled at Bugger Off. He tapped his credit card on the desk. ‘One plane to rent, please, my good lady!’

She rolled her eyes again – if she did that any more, she’d run the risk of detaching her retinas. ‘Whatever. It’s your funeral. And, more importantly, it’s your bill.’

Tony and Ulric paid the rent for the small plane and ran out to the hangar with their bags, drenched in sweat. ‘So, have you flown one of these planes before, Ulric?’

Overhead, the violent clouds frothed and twirled like sea foam around a whirlpool. The plane on the tarmac was a Cessna 150. ‘Um, this exact plane? No, I can’t say that I have. I tend to fly things that are a bit smaller.’

Tony’s relieved smile faltered. ‘Ulric, it’s a two-seater. I didn’t think planes could get much smaller than that, could they?’

Ulrice flashed an uneasy smile as they secured their bags. ‘Model airplanes. I’m the club president. We have over five members. But don’t worry –’ he slapped the Cessna’s side ‘– I know exactly what I’m doing.’

Tony’d blood ran cold. Model airplanes? Oh, Jesus. What had he gotten himself into? He ought to back out. But what then? He wouldn’t land his dream Hats for Dogs role, that was for sure. And he’d have no way of restoring his lost savings. Tony swallowed, producing an audible click in his throat. He gave a weak smile. ‘Sure, Ulric. Whatever you say, buddy.’

Ulric clapped his hands and laughed, sounding unhinged. ‘Grand! We’re gonna be just fine, Terry, just you wait. I’m a fast learner, and I know roughly what I’m doing. It’s like riding a bike. But one with wings and engines.’

Tony didn’t correct him. He grimaced and grabbed the side handles in a white-knuckle grip. ‘Up, up, and away,’ he said in a timid, childlike voice.

Ulric started the plane without trouble, backing it onto the runway. Ahead, the tarmac stretched off, empty save for them. Above, the bilious sky loomed, hungry and primordial. ‘Hold on!’ cried Ulric over the propellers’ buzz.

Tony did, feeling like a helpless victim strapped into the world’s craziest carnival ride.

The tiny Cessna bounced down the tarmac, picking up speed faster and faster. The scream of the wind and the screech of the engines blotted out all other sounds. The black-grey road beneath the flimsy plane wheels blurred past. In the airport, faces pressed to the glass as Ulric flung them at the sky like a bird with suicidal tendencies. ‘Ya-HOO!’

Tony was unaware of the moaning emanating from his throat. The sound of their escape from the earth’s clutches made his skull vibrate to the same frequency. He squeezed his eyes closed, gripping the handles even tighter. He tried not to vomit as his stomach remained there on the tarmac whilst the rest of him hurtled skyward.

The Cessna rose and rose and rose, the only thing in the sky, a tiny red speck aimed for the ceiling of clouds. It rocked side to side, and at one delirious moment, it spun completely. But Ulric wrangled it back under control like a drunk man riding a bull.

Tony’s heart played a nightclub’s throbbing bass inside his temples. With his body tensed and clenched like an animal backed into a corner, he cracked open his eyes. He let out a little squeak.

The world was gone. All was rippling clouds and flickering lightning.

They’d died somewhere during takeoff. Ulric had ploughed their little plane into the ground. They were en route to Heaven, no doubt to get a scolding from God for playing so fast and loose with their lives.

But then the Cessna’s nose pierced through the veil, and they exploded into the sky above the clouds. Ulric laughed and screamed like a maniac. ‘WE DID IT! WE ACTUALLY DID IT! I CAN’T BELIEVE IT!’

Tony blinked, dumbstruck. An idiotic smile crept onto his face – clouds, only that and nothing more. He laughed and turned to Ulric, but whatever he was going to say died in his throat. His smile faded, like paint dripping from an art piece.

The rift in space and time throbbed beside them, a bolt of lightning caught in place. It flickered between yellow and blue, emitting a smell like burnt ozone. Somewhere, over the Cessna’s whine, something called out.

Tony’s gut – recuperating after the turbulence – rolled over, sending an acid bubble up the tubes. Whatever had made that sound was massive. What was more, it seemed like other things were beginning to reply. The airline had been right to ground the planes after all. Had the sound of their engines woken up something beyond that interdimensional rip? ‘Uh, Ulric? Maybe we oughtta—’

Ulric waved him away, eyes wide, cold sweat on his face. ‘Yeah, yeah, I’m on it. Just lemme—’

Tony screamed.

Ulric dipped the Cessna’s nose to dive back through the clouds. He then tugged back on the controls to avoid hitting the massive leathery brown bird in their path. ‘OHMYGOD,’ he gasped.

Only it was no bird, Tony realised. It was a pterodactyl, and its wingspan matched their own.

More winged dinosaurs came into view above, below, and around them. Pterodactyls, quetzalocoaltuses, pteranodons, and others.

He whimpered. He had no name for some of these creatures. He locked eyes with the pterodactyl beneath them, trying to plead for his life with his eyes.

But in those black reptilian orbs, no sympathy resided. The giant leathery bird, who’d come to reclaim the skies as its own once more, turned and smiled at them. Inside its beak, rows of razor-sharp teeth waited to rip into human flesh.

Tony had time to wonder whether the afterlife needed canine fashionistas.

And then the prehistoric kings and queens of the heavens attacked.