We Are Not Eaten by Yaks by C. Alexander London Page B

less pleasant-tasting going in reverse. He wanted to look brave for his father, so he took deep breaths and kept himself from throwing up. His father, meanwhile, had already been handcuffed to the duty-free shopping cart. He looked pale and his eyes darted frantically, trying to think of a way to save his family from a thirty-eight-thousand-foot fall. His glasses slid down on his nose and he could not get them up again.
    This was not the first disaster Oliver and Celia had faced with their father, but it was perhaps the worst. River rapids could be navigated. Wild horses could be calmed. Angry cannibals could be persuaded to go vegetarian for health reasons. There was no arguing with a thirty-eight-thousand-foot fall.
    â€œYou’re really going to kill us for causing a disturbance?” Dr. Navel asked the air marshal. Some of the other passengers on the plane looked concerned, but no one seemed to want to interfere. Many people didn’t seem concerned at all. They kept staring at their glossy magazines, paperback novels or miniature television screens. Oh, how the twins longed to be back in front of the television at home!
    â€œI’m not going to kill you,” the air marshal said. “I am just going to remove you from the plane. What happens after that is up to you . . . and gravity.”
    ÊºThis is crazy,ʺ Dr. Navel said to the stewardess.
    â€œYou should not have poked me,” she replied coldly, and dragged the duty-free shopping cart—and Dr. Navel with it—through the door to the tail of the plane. The air marshal shoved the twins after them.
    â€œYou can’t do this!” Dr. Navel shouted.
    â€œOh, yes, I can,” said the air marshal, and he knocked Dr. Navel on the head. Dr. Navel crumpled to the floor, unconscious. The marshal took off Dr. Navel’s handcuffs, untied the children’s hands, and, without a word, he and the stewardess left, locking the door that led back to the airplane cabin.
    â€œWhat happens now?” Celia asked.
    â€œThey are going to open the tail and the pressure will suck us out and we’ll fall,” Oliver said. “I saw this in a movie.”
    Suddenly, the door opened again, and the stewardess was back.
    â€œExcuse me,” she said, smiling like she was interrupting their nap. “Don’t forget your carry-on bag.” She set Celia and Oliver’s small backpack on the floor and left the tail again, locking the door behind her. Celia and Oliver just stared at the door. Oliver ran over and pounded on it a few times, but nothing happened.
    â€œWe’re in trouble.” He leaned against the door and sighed.
    â€œWe need parachutes,” Celia said, tugging her brother out of his slouch. “Fast.”
    They scurried around the back of the plane and found a big square of yellow plastic with a string on it.
    â€œWhat’s this?” Oliver pulled at the string. Suddenly, there was a whoosh of sound, and the square unfolded and started to fill with air. It knocked Oliver over as it took its shape: a life raft.
    â€œThat’s great,” Celia said. “If only we were on a boat.”
    Oliver ran over to the duty-free cart that the stewardess had left behind and pulled out a heavy canvas poncho with the airline’s logo on it.
    â€œThey’re selling these for twenty-three ninety-five,” he said. “That’s a good deal.”
    â€œWhat are you doing? This isn’t the Home Shopping Channel, Oliver! We’re about to die!”
    â€œI have an idea,” Oliver told his sister excitedly. He pulled out three more of the canvas ponchos and started tying them together by their hoods. Celia saw what he was up to and started to help him. When they ran out of ponchos, they started tying plastic garbage bags to the ponchos. Within a minute, they had a giant canvas and plastic quilt that sort of looked like a parachute.
    â€œI know the movie this idea is from,” Celia