Old Bones by Gwen Molnar Page B

“I used to get in your dad’s hair with that old Kaydet. But there was one day he and I brought medicine to a dying Dene. Just like Wop May and Vic Horner had done about fifty years before. We were friends that day.”
    â€œSo that is you in the picture with him?” Casey asked.
    â€œYeah. Like I said, we were good friends that day.”
    They flew in silence for a while. Casey could see the juncture of the secondary road and the highway. On the highway, Casey spotted what he was sure was the car.
    â€œMad Dog,” he shouted. “That beige job just ahead. I think that’s it.”
    â€œWe’ve gotta be perfectly sure,” Mad Dog shouted. “I’ll go right down beside it and you take a look in the window.”
    Casey couldn’t believe a plane could get that low; he could see tiny cracks in the concrete.
    â€œIt’s them! It’s them!” he shouted. An arm with a gun at the end of it came out the car window and fired: twice. One bullet tore into the top right wing of the plane, just missing Casey. Mad Dog pulled up the nose of the plane and made a slow circle above the car. He passed the radio up to Casey.
    â€œCasey,” he shouted. “I’m going down again, right over the car. When I don’t see any other cars on the road, I’ll pass over the car real low to shake up the driver, and when I shout, you drop the radio on the road in the path of the car. They’re bound to swerve and maybe even leave the road. Don’t drop it till I shout. When I say ‘Now!’ let ’er rip.”
    The car under them was swinging from side to side on the four-lane stretch of highway; Mad Dog was following a little behind. Casey could see another car, a van, approaching the thieves’ car from the opposite direction. Mad Dog’d have to wait till it passed. He chose his moment, lifted the left wing so Casey would have a clear view, swooped over the car, and shouted “NOW!”
    Already leaning out, Casey dropped the radio in front of the car. The radio smashed into a million pieces and the car just rolled over it.
    â€œOops!” Mad Dog shouted as he upped the nose of the plane and let the car get ahead again.
    â€œGot anything else I can try?” Casey shouted.
    â€œGrab that flare down there,” Mad Dog pointed behind his seat. “I’m not sure what’ll happen if it’s dropped, but if it goes off, it’ll sure distract them.”
    When Mad Dog signalled, Casey dropped the flare. It didn’t go off; it didn’t break up; it just rolled harmlessly to the side of the road. Mad Dog tilted the plane up again.
    â€œAre we out of options?” Casey looked over at Mad Dog and was surprised to see him smiling.
    â€œNot quite,” he said, reaching for a metal cylinder, “this here’s a fire extinguisher. Unscrew the cap and when I fly low over the car again, spray it on the windshield.”
    Casey readied himself, and when Mad Dog was in position pressed the spray nozzle. Thick white foam flew back all over him, missing his face by a hair.
    â€œAim lower,” Mad Dog shouted, getting into position again.
    This time, Casey, with Mad Dog flying sidewise, and just over the car, leaned as far down as he could, and pressed the button again. The thick white foam covered the windshield, and the car swerved into the ditch. Casey looked back. The car was nosed into a large wooden sign.
    â€œAll right!” Mad Dog yelled gleefully as he turned the plane south, gunned the motor, and headed toward Drumheller. “That’ll put ’em out of action for now.”
    Casey could feel the plane picking up speed.
    â€œI’ll be at my airstrip in a few minutes,” Mad Dog said. “My van’s at the end of the runway and we’ll be back at Mountie headquarters in about ten minutes.”
    â€œAwesome,” muttered Casey as they streaked toward Drumheller.