Free Into the Abyss by Carol Shaben Page B

went to get a weather update and check on passengers for the flight back to Edmonton. When he returned, Erik knew from the look on his face that something was wrong.
    “We’re fully booked,” Jim said.
    “You’re bumping me?”
How the hell was he going to get back?
    Jim was apologetic, telling Erik that another Wapiti pilot, Ed Seier, was flying to Edmonton later that afternoon, and Erik could catch a ride with him. Seier was tight with the bosses and the other pilots kept their complaints to themselves when he was around. Erik groaned. He had no doubt that Seier would mention his unauthorized side trip to the Wellses.
    Mercifully, by the time Erik flew his own repaired plane back to Grande Prairie that night, Dale and Delbert had both gone home. The next day he was scheduled to begin another six-day run of flying, this time on the p.m. sked. Erik was certain he was about to become the latest member of the “89 Day Club,” what Wapiti pilots dubbed the company’spractice of terminating pilots before their ninetieth day of employment to avoid having to provide two weeks’ notice and holiday pay. He lay in bed sick with worry until exhaustion overtook him and he eventually fell asleep.
    A heavy weight of dread filled Erik as he arrived for work on Thursday—whether at the prospect of seeing Dale or flying, he couldn’t be sure. A high-pressure system had moved in and settled in a wide band stretching north from Montana through Edmonton and up to Fort Smith, which meant there would be no escaping the weather.
    Tonight would be the first time he’d have to rely on his instruments to get into the uncontrolled airports in High Prairie and Fairview. The thought of trying to land in these conditions made Erik nervous. He believed that Dale would want him to take a shot at getting in, no matter the weather, and the best Erik could hope was that Dale would assign a co-pilot on the flight.
    That is, if Erik still had a job.
    As if the thought summoned the man, Dale entered the hangar.
    “Kawa will be your co-pilot tonight,” he said. “And another thing …”
    Erik held his breath, but instead of firing him, Dale asked Erik to pick up a set of propellers in Edmonton and bring them back that evening. Relief swept over him. Without waiting for Dale to say more, Erik hurried outside to prep his flight.
    Erik was happy to have Andy Kawa with him. After landing in Edmonton at 6:20, the two pilots worked flat out to turn the flight around and get airborne within the allotted half-hour. Erik left Kawa to look after the passengers while he went in search of the props. When he returned Kawa had good news: there were no passengers bound for High Prairie or Fairview. Erik loaded the propellers into the plane’s wing lockers, boarded his passengers and prepared to depart.
    The cloud ceiling had dropped to below 900 feet by the time the plane took off. The temperature hovered just below freezing, and heavy, sodden snowflakes clung to the windshield before the wipers pushed the slushy mess away. Erik gained altitude and was soon above the cloud and into clear air, where he remained until Peace River Air Traffic Control gave him clearance to begin his descent into the airport. The plane stumbled out of the cloud at 800 feet and when it landed, Erik was ten minutes behind schedule. As he deplaned, he discovered why. The leading edges of the wings were coated with thick, uneven crusts of ice. The sight of it shocked him. He hadn’t expected that level of icing to form in less than an hour. Erik climbedback into the cockpit and flipped the switch for the wing de-icer boots, but nothing happened.
    Asking Kawa to look after the passengers so he could figure out how to de-ice the wings, Erik hurried to the terminal and minutes later returned with a broom. It wasn’t sophisticated, but if there was something he’d learned flying in the Arctic, it was to use the resources one had at hand. Standing in front of the wing, he banged the broom