B23C12/13 - Swoop

I counted up the floors to twenty-three. We swept around the building to the city side. It is especially thrilling flying around tall buildings. Something about being outside a skyscraper really reminds the human part of you how high up you are. You can imagine humans suddenly outside and picture their helpless terror as they fall, and . . . well, like I said, it reminds you.

(...)

<Oh, man! She's going for a cab!> I yelled as the hotel doorman waved for a taxi.

<Traffic's pretty bad. Maybe we can stay with her,> Rachel said.

<Not by staying in the air, we can't,> I said grimly.

<You have a plan?>

<Rachel, I have a plan even you will think is insane,> I said. <See that cop car? Going the same general direction as the cab? See the lights on top?>

Rachel laughed. <Okay, that actually is insane. Let's do it!>

We dove, hurtling down out of the sky. What I had in mind wasn't exactly subtle. It was dangerous and would make heads turn as we raced through the city streets.

But it could possibly work.

The red lights atop the police car were mounted on a raised bar. There was a light at either end, and a couple of feet of open bar between.

The cab headed east down a major boulevard. So did the police car. They were only doing twenty miles an hour in the traffic, but hawks and eagles can't just fly long distances in a straight line. We need to turn, to ride the thermals upward. Even at twenty miles an hour the cab could lose us.

Down we swooped, turning height into speed.

Down, down, me slightly in front.

<Rachel, line up behind me, but watch the turbulence from my wings!>

She lined up behind me and we swept down from twenty-something floors up to just above street level, executing a smooth glide path that an airline pilot would have been proud of.

<Keep up your speed!>

<We're going faster than them, we'll overshoot,> Rachel cried.

<Are you telling me how to fly?>

<No, sir!> Rachel yelled in that giddy way she gets whenever she's an inch away from utter disaster. <Hah HAH!>

The cop car moved horizontally. We came down at an angle. The two lines would meet . . . now!

<Flare!> I swept my wings forward, killed just a hint of my airspeed, opened my talons, spread them wide, and . . . yes! Snagged the crossbar and held on.

Rachel grabbed with one talon but missed with the other. She folded her wings and the wind current slammed her back.

<Keep your profile!> I cried. <Open your wings. Surf, don't ride.>

Somehow she made sense of my gibbering. She lunged with her other talon and caught the bar. She muscled her body forward into a flying profile. She spread her massive wings.

And off we went. A red-tailed hawk and a bald eagle riding the roof of a cop car, wings open, beaks forward, talons straining to take the pressure.

<Now this doesn't look too strange!> Rachel laughed, still high from the rush of danger.