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After a glacial thought process, Madden clicked his jaw and studied the ground.
“We could make Heart Rock pullout if we start descending now,” I murmured.
“Descend?” one of the guests said. “Already?”
“No way, man,” another grumbled. “We paid a lot of money for this!”
Madden hesitated so long, I nearly reached over and pulled the cord that dumped hot air from the top of the balloon. We had to land — and soon.
“Your safety is our top priority,” I said in my flattest,you will not argue with mevoice. “As for money, Desert Skies will refund proportionally for any flight under an hour.”
Five of the guests grumbled, but the sixth — Nate? — gaped at the black clouds steamrolling toward us. “Maybe it’s better not to get caught in that.”
“Nah. It would be cool,” another declared, taking pictures. “Can we get closer?”
How he expected us to do that without a motor, I had no clue.Whyhe would want to was even harder to fathom.
I signaled to Madden, who started dumping air. Whew.
“Heading for Heart Rock pullout,” I informed the ground crew over the radio. Then I cursed, because it was too late. The wind was sweeping us along faster and faster. “Correction…” I glanced around.
“Nolan Point,” Madden threw in.
Good to know he’d turned on that brain cell of his. “Nolan Point,” I echoed, making sure the ground crew heard.
The question was, would they find that rarely used clearing? I searched for the dusty white van and nearly cheered when I saw that it had already U-turned and set off in the correct direction.
Boy, that Nash was nearly as good at reading the wind as I was. Not bad for a wolf shifter. I supposed he’d learned in his years as a pilot.
The clouds were compacting and growing even darker. Not just gray but charcoal streaked with bluish-purple, all of it churning in an angry mass that consumed the landscape.
“Wow. Have you ever seen anything like it?” one of the guests asked.
“Reminds me of that dust storm that hit Phoenix a while back,” another answered. “What did they call it? A haboob?”
Three of the guys laughed, but I just gulped. If only they knew.
But the face I pictured at the reins of this storm was Harlon’s, not my father’s. Was Harlon back in Sedona? Was he even capable of conjuring a storm of such power?
Well, I would have to figure that out later. Right now, I had a balloon to land — the sooner, the better.
Having finally gotten the memo, Madden continued dumping hot air in bursts to bring us to lower altitude.
“Uh, where’s Nolan Point?” asked the one guest who’d caught on.
I pointed grimly. It was right under us, but the wind was sweeping us onward.
“No problem, though,” I assured him. “We can land anywhere — on a road, even on private property. We just need a flat area clear of obstructions.”
He nodded slowly, and I saw him grip one of the basket’s handles. Smart man, because when we did land, it wouldn’t be gentle.
Whoosh!The wind gusted to what felt like Mach 1, sweeping us ever faster over the landscape.
“Whoa.” One of the guests watched the scrub rush under us. “Aren’t we going a little fast?”
“No problem,” Madden bluffed. “The west fork of Red Canyon Road will be perfect.”
Perfect would not have been my word choice, but it did make sense. We just had to make sure we were well clear of the power lines before making our final descent.
