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The plane is a Cessna 172, the same model I first learned to fly in. I
scan the runway area, spotting a single guard, clad in the same black and
green uniform as the men inside the facility, standing about 100 yards
away. He seems to be pacing back and forth, but hasn't detected my
presence.
Once his back is turned, I make a mad dash for the plane. I make it about halfway and duck behind a few crates, panting. Leaning against the box, I take my makeup mirror out of my purse and use it to check the guard's position, while not revealing my own. Once I'm sure he's walking in the other direction, I get back on my feet and rush the rest of the way. Thankfully, the door isn't locked. I jump in and close it, quietly, keeping my head down. "Now or never", I tell myself, starting the ignition. This immediatley draws the guard's attention. He moves my way, weapon raised. There's no time for the usual pre-flight check. I guide the plane out onto the runway. The desert wind is blowing swirling sand clouds across the tarmac, slowing the guard's advance but also making it hard for me to see. I start to accelerate the aircraft down the runway. More guards emerge from the building. I hear the sounds of gunfire. The Cessna's thin fuselage won't stop these bullets. If one of them hits the fuel tank, I'm done for! I pull up on the throttle and feel the plane start to rise off the ground. Finally I am airborne, I've gotten away. Rising to 5000 feet, i am able to better survey the desert landscape. To the west seems to be a river. I can make out some rough vegetation growing along its banks. The sun is in the eastern sky and it's hard to look in that direction. If only I had my aviator's sunglasses! North, I see sand dunes, and what appears to be pyramid-like ruins of some kind. To the south, the desert terrain becomes more rocky, and I can dimly make out mountains in the distance. I check my fuel gauge. Only half full. Which way shall I go?
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