“Good idea.” He watched the altimeter, his speed. They had dropped to two thousand again, with plenty of room, he hoped, for a glide path into the field.

He coasted as far as he could, leveled, again nosed down to pick up speed, then pulled back on the yoke to level off again, lengthening his glide.

The ground came closer, and he debated dropping onto the highway or following the crow’s path straight on, over the Knik Arm. But they could end up in the freezing water, Nash’s plane at the bottom of the sound.

The woman in the back wouldn’t be the only one with hypothermia.

He decided on the straight route and dropped to a thousand feet.

“You could land on Big Lake.” She pointed out the window to the frozen lake below them.

“We’re too high, and the angle is too steep.”

He got on the radio and identified himself to the Merrill tower, apprising them of the situation.

“Okay, we got a runway,” he said to her, his eye on the altimeter. Oh, this would be close.

He flew over the port of Anchorage, with the long docks and the ocean-going ships, the container shipyard, the many buildings, like round disks, that held oil from the Tesoro Pipeline.

A light came on and, with it, a beeping.

“Dodge—”

“It’s the stall warning. But I’ve run out of air, so just hold on. We’ll make it.”

They passed the fuel tanks, dipping down over a small neighborhood, and passed eight hundred feet as they glided over the railroad yards. Seven fifty over an industrial center, and six by the time he overlooked the correctional facility, with its high walls and wires.

Echo was glued to the window, probably willing them to stay in the air.

She sucked in a breath as they dropped to five hundred over the highway. He was really losing speed fast, the stall warning still beeping. But there, just a thousand feet ahead, was Merrill Field.

He nosed down, picked up just enough speed, and flew over the gas station at two hundred, narrowly missing the high electrical wires.

He radioed again, and the tower had him on their radar. “You’re clear for landing, N-89740.” He nosed down again for the tarmac, a nice smooth ribbon of black.

He pulled up just as the wheels touched down. He flipped up the flaps to slow them down and applied the brakes.

They rolled to an easy, pretty stop.

Echo’s fists were white on the door handle. She looked over at him, her eyes wide. “Are we alive?”

He smiled, nodding, his body buzzing with adrenaline. Very, very alive.

And then she threw her arms around him, holding on to his neck. “Please let’s never do that again.”

Goose jumped between them and licked his face.