Scorpion Trail [antikvár]

One Sunday 13th March Scotland The breeze flicked at the collar of his coat. The Highland airstrip was little more than a grass field with a windsock. A single-engined Cessna stood in front of a club house. Sheep grazed beyond the perimeter fence. The foreboding that gripped Alex was irrational and sudden. The risks hadn't worried him before. This sport was safe. Statistics proved it. So why the sense of panic, the feeling that some thread binding his world together had suddenly snapped? The club secretary was used to dealing with worried parents. He'd claimed that the Sky Trainer 'chutes had been used two million times and never failed. Then he'd shown Alex last month's beginners alighting on the grass as if they were gulls. 'You see? Nothing to worry about.' However, as the pilot strode towards the little Cessna, followed by the instructor and three orange-suited students, Alex had to fight the urge to shout 'stop!' Jodie, last to board, turned to wave. Trying to reassure himself, or his stepfather? Still time to stop him. He could run forward and . . . Hysteria, that's what they would put it down to. They'd restrain him gently, take him to the club house and settle him with a cup of tea so the boy could get on with his life. Alex tried a grin but couldn't move his muscles. Arms 1