XIV.
The radio cackled again. Mike Jackson was talking.

"Okay, Josh, you're about five miles away from the runway, and I think it's time to get you through the landing process. I take it you're ready. First off, how much fuel do you have?"

"Yes. I have about two little green bars left." I was sweating. I couldn't believe it. I saw the New York skyline, as if nothing had happened. The Empire State Building, the Chrysler Building, I could even see the Statue of Liberty. Now all I had to do was land the plane. I was certain I could do it. It wasn't like I had a choice. Rammstein sat there, staring into space, oblivious to any danger we might be in.

"Okay, that isn't much, so I'll skip the pass over the airport and go straight for the landing. First, you need to lower your speed. You do this by pulling back the throttle. It's the lever to the right of the yoke."

"The yoke is the steering wheel, right?"

"Exactly." I took the throttle, and pulled it down.

"How far do I pull it down?"

"A quarter of the way should work." Mike said. My heart was racing. The nose of the plane began to drop. "Once the nose drops about four inches below the horizon, you'll be good." I waited. It didn't take very long.

"I'm about four inches." I felt funny saying that.

"Good, good. To the right of the throttle you'll find the landing gear switch. Pull the lever and deploy the landing gear." I did as he said, and I heard a low hum as the landing gear came down. By now I could see the runway. "Now then, pull back on the throttle some more. Don't let the nose go more than six inches below the horizon. You'll be about a hundred feet above the runway when you are directly over it. The rear wheels will touch first." I waited.

Keeping it going was pretty easy. The nose did dip a little more than six inches, but it soon went back up to about five and a half. This is it, I thought. There was no room for error. This was the point of no return. I had endured so much. The Grammy riot, the nuclear bombs, Kim leaving, the drive across Michigan, Dylan's death, now it would be seen whether or not I passed the test. And I was fucking determined to pass. The plane steadily descended. The runway got larger and larger.

"Joshua Hill," Mike Jackson said, "You are cleared to land at runway 19 of La Guardia Airport." It sounded like the typical intercom announcements you hear on flights. My altimeter read lower and lower. A thousand feet, it read. Then nine hundred. Eight hundred. Seven hundred. I was getting there. I was going about a hundred miles an hour.

Just as I hit a hundred feet above the ground, I realized I was over the runway. I looked outside, and saw the terminal and the control towers. Then I felt the landing gear touch the runway. It was bumpy. I pulled back more on the throttle, eventually bringing it all the way to me. I took the yoke, and pulled that toward me as well. It was rough, and I was pushed forward. I hit the brake pedals, and the plane slowed. I was going about sixty-five miles an hour, and slowing down quickly.

It took less than a minute before the Learjet 35A came to a complete stop. The second the plane stopped, I grabbed Rammstein, who meowed happily at me, and kicked open the emergency exit. Dylan's body lay nearby. I took a travel blanket, and covered his body with it. The inflatable slide deployed when the door opened, and I slid down it. It was a heavenly feeling when my feet finally touched the ground again. I looked around outside. It was still like twilight. I saw two men run up to me.

"Josh, we need to get you inside the terminal. The fallout's had a break, but it'll start again soon. Get to the car." I took Rammstein and the three (four?) of us went to the car, a Honda Civic. They drove me across the runway into the terminal.

There was a bunch of people in the terminal. I estimated that there were over a thousand. They came in all ages and races and genders. Most of them were probably stranded travelers. I was led upstairs into the main office, where Mike Jackson was waiting for me.

"Good morning, Josh." He greeted me.

"'Morning."

"You are Jiggy-Fly, I take it. The rapper?"

"Yep." I wasn't up for getting the third degree right now; I just landed an airplane.

"My son always liked your music. Sit down, please. I have a lot to tell you. Most of the people you saw were stranded travelers or New Yorkers who thought this would be the best place to take shelter from the fallout. We got a good deal because of Boston getting destroyed."

"You'll have that. I take it you can accommodate an extra person and cat."

"Indeed we can. We managed to raid a pet shop and took a lot of cat food. There's a bunch of other cats and dogs here." Rammstein was purring happily at this.

"Good. Now I just want to ask, what am I to do here? Am I going to stay here, and if so, for how long?"

"The fallout will be coming down for a few more days, then who knows? It could be a nuclear winter. It could be nothing. A bunch of bombs did go off, at least a thousand. We have a meteorologist here, and he said that we'll probably be experiencing nuclear winter before long. So be prepared for bone-chilling cold and massive storms. But I'm not so sure what there is to do for now. Either way, we have more than enough food. It will be hard times, however, but we'll survive if we work together. I doubt humankind will ever rise to the peak we had before this war started, but we'll survive. Humanity has been through worse, though not since we were Fred Flintstone and Barney Rubble." I chuckled at that. "In any case, for now, make yourself at home. We've got cots and sheets and pillows. It's a Spartan life, and it'll be that way for a while." I thanked him, and two guys took me to where my cot would be. I would be sleeping next to a metal detector. I sat down on my cot, and was brought some tomato soup, warm Coke, and cat food. Rammstein loved it.

After I was done eating, I thought about my future. I would be part of the force that might very well bring civilization back to the world. I was in New York City, one of the greatest cities on Earth, and now we were the last hope for humanity.

After thinking this over, I decided to do what came naturally to me. I asked a kid next to me for some paper and pencil, and got to work on the lyrics for my eighth album.