Suddenly he looked up, and saw a glider, and a prone figure, all in orange. The wing was the same color as the pilot. He came from above, and behind the mountain, but there was no place higher where he could have come from.
James stood still, and watched the approaching man. What was this? More tricks? The flyer was wearing a mask, and it wasn't clear why he needed one. The cloth circled his eyes, like the Moth's, but left the mustache uncovered. He soared over the satellite dish, stalled, catching the sunlight and holding it hostage for a moment so that all he saw was a paunchy figure against an orange triangle, and then fell into a dive toward James. That was when he grabbed something on the bar, and James saw that it was armed like a fighter plane. But was it armed with paint bullets, or something else?
The Owl opened fire, hitting the grass as he pulled up out of the dive. They weren't paint pellets that tore into the ground as they approached his feet. James did what he instinctively knew was right ... turned and ran. The Owl stopped firing. He must have pulled out, and was following at a parallel to the ground. Why didn't he fire? Must be because his gun didn't tilt, James thought. Not like they did in the arcade, where his back would have been an excellent target ... then something grabbed him by the underarms, and lifted him clear off the mountain.
There were hooks under his armpits, carrying him quickly over the abyss of the downward slope. This was why he didn't shoot me, James thought, holding onto the Owl's talons. He had another plan. For the moment, there was no point getting out of the grip he was in, unless he wanted to fall about a hundred feet and break a leg or two.
The glider wasn't losing altitude, he thought. The Owl was over him, but out of sight because of his prone position. James didn't hear the exploding gunfire anymore, but he heard the hum of something else - the pilot's backpack. That was why the glider didn't fall, unless he was catching something from the side of the mountain, but James didn't think so. This aircraft was jet propelled, he thought, looking at his feet dangling over empty space. It explained how the Owl got his height over the mountain the first time James spotted him. And now they were turning. It was possible that the updraft was aiding them, because the Owl was turning and climbing at the same time, as if by nature. He was heading around, according to some plan.
But James still didn't know what his plan was. The mountain had mostly forest on top, and they were headed for the dish. The Owl didn't shoot him, and neither did he drop him.
This could be the end. They were high up, and the engine was off, so they glided silently over the forest. James tried to see his captor, but could only make out his chin and mustache. The rest was orange. They were still heading for the dish.
And then, when they were over it, they stalled. The Owl pulled up and fired his backpack full blast, so that they hovered for a second, and then the hooks came loose and James plummetted toward the dish. It broke his fall. After that, the rest of the way down wasn't so lucky.
He slid across the dish and tumbled over the lip, had just time to look down and see an electrical generator. He crashed belly first onto the coils, and felt the current into his every vein and artery. They were supposed to be protected, but the rubber had worn thin, too many seasons had come and gone, and as he thrashed around on the grid, he fell on a syringe, it went into his stomach and stayed there helplessly. This is how the first computer crashed, he thought, before losing consciousness. The first computer bug was named after a moth ....
He stared at the dish as his body lost its life. What am I going to do about this needle sticking into my stomach, he thought.
The syringe had been in the dish once, like him, and now its contents were coating his blood vessels and turning them into receivers. He was receiving data from the huge dish, voices of people talking over the phone, and many files and numbers. The syringe was actually making him interactive. He heard so many voices, calm voices, and one above them, telling him to get up. At some point his cell phone fell out of his pocket.
The loudest voice was his own, telling him he wasn't dead if he got up.
He needed something to put over his hands, and he found his mask in his back pocket still. One hand would have to do.
He covered his hand with his mask and put it on the coil, and rose up. The needle in his stomach might have saved him. He walked over the coils, slowly, trying to feel anything at all. His body was numb, and filled with transmissions. And one was closer than the others, and it said, "This is Owl to Minute command. I'm on the far side of the mountain, about a third of the way down, twenty feet off the ground in a tree. I need assistance. Repeat, I need assistance."
"What about Mothman?" asked the command center.
"Fried. I saw him fall out of the dish. I'll check, of course, as soon as you get me down."
"I'm on my way on foot. I'll be about fifteen minutes. Where did you say you were?"
"In a stand of pines on the other side of the mountain."
"I'll go around and start at the bottom."
James made it to the fence, finally. He felt the same as Frankenstein must have felt after waking up for the first time. He hung onto the fence for a minute. It was calming to squeeze the metal wires and not feel any current there. He looked at the mask, and wondered if it was only his imagination, or did he just hear an entire telephone conversation?
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