CHAPTER 75
Mayday at Red Canyon
NOLAN
Red Canyon narrowed the sky.
The final launch field lay on a high plateau. Beyond it, the land broke into sandstone walls, dry riverbeds, and sparse ranch country. The scoring target sat northwest near a broad recovery valley. The winning layer was expected above nine hundred feet.
Every team received the same warning: once inside the canyon corridor, suitable landing sites decreased sharply. Pilots had to commit early to the upper route or descend before the final mesa.
First Light launched sixth.
Avery tracked Windline. Sam coordinated from the chase truck. Kira had staged a second vehicle near the southern access road. Priya monitored the clinic-linked stations installed two days earlier.
At seven hundred feet, they caught the northwest flow.
“Target confidence eighty-one,” Avery said.
Nolan watched three balloons ahead. One climbed toward the winning layer. Another descended toward the recovery valley. A red-and-white balloon named Kestrel held altitude slightly below First Light.
They crossed the final mesa.
The canyon opened beneath them.
Windline chimed. “Upper flow strengthening,” Avery said. “If we climb two hundred, we could reach the centerline.”
Nolan looked at the landing fields. “Recovery valley remains clear.”
“Sam confirms road access.”
He added heat.
First Light began to rise.
Kestrel descended unexpectedly.
At first Nolan assumed the pilot was choosing an early landing. Then the balloon dropped faster, venting unevenly. Its envelope rotated. The basket struck a rocky shelf, bounced, and disappeared behind a low ridge.
The radio cracked.
“Mayday, mayday, Kestrel. Hard landing Red Canyon south shelf. Two injured. Propane odor. Coordinates—”
The transmission broke.
Nolan’s body moved into emergency clarity.
“Sam, First Light has visual. We are closest airborne.”
“Copy. Emergency services notified. Ground access uncertain.”
Avery’s screen displayed two routes at once. Above them, the fast northwest layer led toward the final target. Below, a weak southeast flow could carry them toward a broad shelf a mile from Kestrel.
“Winning layer at one thousand,” Avery said, voice flat with shock.
“I see it.”
“Lower layer could put us near the east wash.”
“Landing?”
“Rocky but possible. No mapped lines. Access route from south may be blocked by the dry river cut.”
Nolan looked toward the target. Two balloons climbed into the winning current.
Then he looked at the smoke of dust rising behind the ridge where Kestrel had vanished.
There was no decision.
“Descending,” he said.
Avery vented their competition display and switched Windline to emergency terrain mode.
“Sam, we are leaving the target line.”
“Understood. Kira is rerouting. County rescue estimates forty-five minutes by north track.”
First Light dropped out of the winning wind.
The target moved away above them.
Nolan did not look back.