He had fallen onto the cargo plane’s fuselage as it was herded through the Iron Vulture’sopen beak. He braced himself as it skidded into the hangar and, brakes squealing, shuddered to a stop.

Head reeling, heart pounding, Kit said as loud as he could, “Cargo plane’s here. Come and get it.”

His announcement as well as the sound of the cargo plane’s engines acted as a signal that drew the rest of the pirate crew from all corners of the Vultureto share in the action.

A moment later, the CT-37s lowered into the hangar via hydraulic lifts. Karnage nimbly hopped out of his black and red plane and strutted over to his latest capture, proud as a peacock.

Kit slid off of the plane to join the pirates who were now surrounding the plane. As he did so, he couldn’t help noticing that the gold SK insignia on the door was riddled with holes.

He also noticed the panther pilot anxiously peering out the port cockpit window at the pirates, who were heavily armed with crowbars, guns, and nasty dispositions.

“Ah-ha! The catch of the day,” Karnage crowed. He grinned up at the cockpit, showing all of his pointed teeth. He loved to torture his prey as a cat does a mouse. Rapping on the cockpit door, he sang, “Knock, knock.”

Petrified, the pilot rolled down the window. “W-who’s th-there?”

“Don Karnage.”

“Don K-Karnage who?”

“Do you mean to tell me you have not heard of the greatest plundering wonder of all time?” the pirate captain said in mock-indignation. “Open up the door and we will get antiquated.”

The panther pilot reluctantly opened the door and threw up his hands in surrender.

Karnage paused a moment, as if waiting for something. Then, he looked back at his minions and sighed before barking, “Don’t just stand there like the estupideidiots you are! You know what to do! Ransack the sacks! Confiscate the crates! Plunder that plane!”

Yelling, the pirates rushed inside the plane through the open door, knocking the pilot down.

Karnage climbed into the plane and loomed over the pilot, sneering, as the pirates cracked open the crates in the cargo hold with crowbars.

“Captain, there’s nothing here but some old books,” Mad Dog whined.

“Yeah, der worthless,” Dumptruck added.

Karnage stepped over the pilot and entered the cargo hold where the illiterate pirates were frowning at the titles on the books and magazines. The only pirate not disappointed was Kit, who was engrossed in the latest edition of Flyboy Magazine.

“Dis one doesn’t even have pictures.” Dumptruck disdainfully tossed the book aside.

“This one does.” Mad Dog held up the most recent edition of Fortune 5000magazine. “But I can’t tell what it says.”

Karnage snatched the magazine from Mad Dog. “Give me that, you very ugly pirate!” He read aloud: “‘Shere Khan named Fortune 5000'sworld’s wealthiest man for the ninth consecutive year?’ Ishould be the richest man in the world! Me, me!” Furious, he ripped the magazine to shreds. He then whirled around to where the pilot was lying like a terrified slug on the cockpit floor and stuck the point of his sword in the pilot’s neck. “You! Pilot! Who does this plane belong to?”

The pilot, his eyes affixed on the sword, stammered, “S-S-Shere K-Khan.”

Karnage grinned with glee. “Hee-hee! This is some money that he’ll never see. Take the books!”

“Und the magazines, too, Captain?”

“The magazines, the books, everything! We will have a glorious bonfire.”

Cheering, the pirates opened the back hatch and piled out of the plane with their booty.

Mad Dog staggered under the weight of one crate. “Now all we need to steal are some weenies.”

“Und marshmallows,” Dumptruck added, carrying six crates with ease.

Gibber muttered something into Hal’s ear as he handed him a crate.

Hal replied, “Yeah, we should make s’mores.”

The panther pilot was shocked when one of the pirates - a boy clutching a magazine - surreptitiously slipped a quarter into his hand.

After the last pirate had left the plane, Karnage, his dashing form framed by the cargo hold doorway, ordered the pilot, “Go back and tell your wealthiest man in the world boss that I, Don Karnage, will make him the poorest man by stealing all his cargo from him. Now make like the birdy and flee!” With a dramatic flourish of his sword, he hopped out of the plane.

The cargo plane, its back hatch still open, made a hasty U-turn and an even hastier exit from the Iron Vulture.

Iron Vulture
That Night

A dim light shone from under Kit’s pillow where he was reading his new magazine by flashlight. Turning a page, the boy shivered. The chilly dampness of an unusually cold November night had penetrated and permeated the metal frame of the huge flying fortress, turning it into a gigantic refrigerator. To top it all off, his blanket had been stolen by his comrades.

Even if he hadn’t been enthralled in his magazine, he still couldn’t have slept. The snoring of his three roommates - Mad Dog, Dumptruck, and Hacksaw - was enough to wake Rip Van Winkle. The nasal wheezing of Mad Dog. The ear-piercing whistling of Hacksaw. The rumbling, bed-shaking snores of Dumptruck. Individually, they were unbearable. Together, they were maddening.

“Howard Huge’s latest model, the Cabin-Cruiser 107 features a new, creative design...”

Wheeze.

Whistle.

SNOOOOOORE.

Kit pulled his pillow closer around his ears. “The Cabin-Cruiser 107 features a new, creative design in that...”

Wheeze.

Whistle.

SNOOOOOORE.

With a sigh of exasperation, Kit popped open the vent cover above his bed. He shoved his flashlight and magazine between his pillow and pillow slip, tossed his pillow into the vent, and crawled in after it.

Blindly, he crawled along the dark shaft, pulling his pillow behind him and silently counting the vent branches.

One left. One right. Two left. Three left. Two right...

When he felt the air getting warmer, he knew that he was getting closer to the furnace room.

Kit had been with the air pirates for eleven months and yet he truly didn’t feel like he belonged with them. Sure, he put on a tough facade whenever he was around them to avoid being stomped on or shot at, but there wasn’t one of them with whom he could have an intelligent conversation. Intelligence seemed to bypass the air pirates with the exception of the captain.

Don Karnage. At one time, Kit thought that he had found a father figure in him, someone who would care about him. He quickly discovered that that wasn’t true. Karnage blew hot and cold. His moods shifted faster than the wind. One minute, Kit was his prized protege, the next, he could find himself locked in the brig with moldy bread and rats for company. All Karnage truly cared about was himself. His one goal in life was to go down in history as the pirate who had robbed an entire city, then the world. His second goal was to be considered the most handsome pirate in history.

Kit, having been a street urchin before hooking up with the pirates, was used to self-centered grown-ups, but what he couldn’t stomach was the way Karnage and the other pirates treated pilots whose planes they hijacked. They rarely let anybody go, because freed captives could inform authorities about Pirate Island’s location, details about the Iron Vulture, and other piratical secrets. Kind-hearted Kit paused in crawling, shut his eyes, and clamped his hands over his ears in an attempt to block out those horrific images and sounds, seared into his memory. He shook his head, and with a look of determination that made his eyes appear unnaturally old in his young face, started to move through the duct system.

Every moment he spent with the pirates was like walking a very precarious tightrope. He always had to be vigilant, always had to pretend to be tough, even when his insides quaked with fear. Sometimes he wondered what would happen if he slipped off the tightrope. Would he end up like all of those pilots - tortured until he begged for death?

But he didn’t allow himself to think about that. Any regrets that he had about accepting Karnage’s offer to join the pirates wouldn’t help his current situation. He would just have to do what he’d been doing all of his life: keep moving forward and see where fate led him.

Finally, he turned into a little alcove. This was his special hiding place, his refuge whenever Karnage was especially angry at him or when he wanted to escape the noise and chaos of the air pirates. Where he could let down his guard for a while and just be Kit.

Here, he had stored his boyish treasures: extra batteries for his flashlight, candy bars and apples swiped from the kitchen, and a few much-thumbedFlyboy Magazines. He reached into his pillow slip for his magazine and his flashlight. The flashlight emitted a soft, almost home-like glow as he propped his pillow against the vent wall and leaned against it. It wasn’t exactly comfortable, but at least it was warm and quiet.

He picked up his new magazine and turned to the article that he had been reading: a feature about Howard Huge’s new airplane, the Cabin-Cruiser 107.

Kit silently read: ‘When asked about why the emergency exit was under a passenger seat, Howard Huge replied, “Because it’s too hard climbing through the luggage compartment.” Following the harsh criticism that the Cabin-Cruiser 107 received from the aviation community, the eccentric Howard Huge had been dismissed from his position as designer.’

“I’m not surprised. What a nut,” Kit murmured, turning the page.

The next article’s headline read: “Pilot Oscar Wiggerstomper

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