Free Breakup by Dana Stabenow Page A

Bingley was barfing down the back of his neck at the time.
    Kate drove up with the Bakers and the bereaved husband in time to see the red and white two-seater pull sharply to the left, losing its center of gravity just long enough to lean over and catch the ground with the tip of the left wing. Newton and inertia took care of the rest as the plane completed a snap roll so perfect it would have brought tears to the eyes of a n Air Force flight instructor if only it hadn't been performed at zero altitude.
    In short, the plane flipped over and pancaked flat on its back. Under the beneficent rays of the spring sun, the surface of the airstrip had been reduced to a foot of packed snow, submerged beneath an inch of water, providing a marvelous surface for a nice long gliding slide. Five-zero Papa slid very well indeed, on a direct line heading for Mandy's truck as it pulled to a halt in front of the post office. It was a combination skid and spin; in fact 50 Papa was going around on its back like a slow top for the second time, the ripping sound of tearing wing fabric clearly audible to the stupefied witnesses in the cab of Mandy's truck, just as the plane ran into them. Kate looked down, fascinated, as one wing slid smoothly between the front and back tires, and looked up just in time to see the wheel of one landing gear hit the top of the driver's- side door with a solid thud that shook the cab and rattled the passengers in it, although not as much as the grizzly had done earlier.
    The window bowed inward but did not break. There was the unmistakable groan of bending metal, though. Kate, a little lightheaded, thought that Mandy might not notice the dented bumper and the clawed finish and the need for a front-end alignment on her brand new truck after all.
    Her second thought was to wonder how full the Super Cub's tanks were, one of which was at present resting directly beneath her ass.
    Foolishly, she grabbed for the handle and shoved. The door, the right gear of the plane jammed solidly against it, unsurprisingly did not budge. "Out!" she roared. "Out! OUT! OUT!" Mr. Baker fumbled with the passenger door and stumbled to the ground. Kate, not standing on ceremony, shoved Mrs. Baker and the husband out after him and scrambled out herself to run around the truck. She sniffed, tense. No smell of gasoline.
    She went around to the Cub's right side and squatted to fold up the door. A smell hit her in the face like a blow, powerfu l enough to knock her on her butt. It wasn't gasoline, it was vomit. She took a couple of deep, gasping breaths, muffled her face with a sleeve and spoke through it. "George, are you okay?"
    George looked at her, still suspended upside down in his seat harness, bits of brown something spattered across the back of his head and neck. "I hate breakup," he said.
    "Never a dull moment," Kate agreed.
    A rustle and the snap of a buckle came from the seat behind him. "No!" George said. "Ben, don't-"
    But Ben did, releasing the buckle on his seat belt. He fell heavily on his head and shoulders against the ceiling of the fuselage. A cry of pain and some futile thrashing around followed, after which George contributed some acerbic commentary, because he now could not slide his seat back to get out. Matters did not improve when Ben threw up again.
    "AUGGHHH!" said George. He braced his feet up against the dash, reached for the lever and shoved with all his might. The seat slid back and hit Befi in the butt. Ben tumbled backwards in a corkscrew somersault into the pile of U.S. Postal Service mail sacks that had been piled on the floor in back of his seat and were now piled on the ceiling. It was too much for him and he threw up for the third time.
    George braced himself on one arm, popped his harness buckle and was outside and on his feet a moment later. Thin-lipped and furious, he addressed the area in language suitable to the situation. George was an ex-helicopter pilot who had learned his trade under fire in Vietnam and