He had run indoors and stayed there, alone. Instantly, obediently, Jonas had dropped his bike on its side on the path behind his family's dwelling. IMMEDIATELY, the rasping voice through the speakers had said, LEAVE YOUR BICYCLES WHERE THEY ARE. Then all of the citizens had been ordered to go into the nearest building and stay there. Jonas, looking around anxiously, had seen others-adults as well as children-stop what they were doing and wait, confused, for an explanation of the frightening event. It was not a squat, fat-bellied cargo plane but a needle-nosed single-pilot jet. Occasionally, when supplies were delivered by cargo planes to the landing field across the river, the children rode their bicycles to the riverbank and watched, intrigued, the unloading and then the takeoff directed to the west, always away from the community.īut the aircraft a year ago had been different.

He had never seen aircraft so close, for it was against the rules for Pilots to fly over the community.

Then one more time, a moment later, from the opposite direction, the same plane.Īt first, he had been only fascinated. Squinting toward the sky, he had seen the sleek jet, almost a blur at its high speed, go past, and a second later heard the blast of sound that followed. Frightened was the way he had felt a year ago when an unidentified aircraft had overflown the community twice. Frightened meant that deep, sickening feeling of something terrible about to happen. It was almost December, and Jonas was beginning to be frightened.

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