«Then you are more prepared than you think. James Sullivan was one of the finest pilots I ever knew. If he taught you, you learn from the best.»
Behind Ava, the senior flight attendants have been working frantically. They have moved both unconscious pilots to the cabin, where emergency-trained passengers are monitoring their vitals. They have found portable oxygen tanks and pure air, trying to clear the carbon monoxide from the pilots’ systems.
But neither pilot is showing signs of waking, and time is running out. Marcus leans over Ava’s seat. «The passengers are terrified. Should I tell them what is happening?»
Ava considers. «Tell them the truth. Someone is flying the plane who knows how. Tell them we are being escorted by military fighters. Tell them we are going to land safely.»
Lisa Rodriguez makes the announcement, her voice projecting strength she doesn’t quite feel. «Ladies and gentlemen, this is your senior flight attendant. We have someone flying the aircraft who has training and is being guided by military pilots. We are being escorted by F-22 fighters and are proceeding to Kansas City International Airport for emergency landing. Please remain calm and follow all crew instructions.»
The cabin is a mix of terror and surreal hope. People crane to see out windows, catching glimpses of the F-22s in formation. Fighter jets do not escort commercial flights unless something extraordinary is happening.
In the cockpit, Ava is working through descent procedures with Reaper 2’s guidance. «Ava, you are going to start descent soon. I want you to use your mother’s technique for this. Do you remember the Ghost Rider descent profile?»
«Gradual descent, 1,500 feet per minute, maintain speed control through pitch and power, stabilize at each altitude before continuing.»
«Perfect. That is exactly right. Your mother developed that technique because it gives maximum control and stability. We are going to use it now.»
The descent begins. Ava disengages the autopilot altitude hold and manually inputs the descent rate. Her small hands are precise on the controls, movements deliberate and careful. The aircraft begins sinking smoothly from cruise altitude.
Behind her, Marcus watches in amazement as this tiny child manages the descent with a smoothness that seems professional. Reaper 2 continues coaching. «Airspeed control, Ava. Watch your speed. Too fast and you will overstress the aircraft. Too slow and you will stall.»
«Maintaining 290 knots in descent. Monitoring airspeed, altitude, vertical speed.»
«Good. You sound just like her, you know. Same calm. Same precision.»
The F-22s maintain formation, adjusting their speed to match the descending 777. They are not just an escort now; they are guardians, two of the world’s most advanced fighters protecting a civilian aircraft piloted by a child who shouldn’t exist. On military frequencies, word is spreading like wildfire.
Ghost Rider’s daughter is alive. Ghost Rider’s daughter is flying a civilian aircraft in an emergency. Fighter pilots who flew with Sarah Morrison are calling in, offering help, asking if it is really true.
At Kansas City International, the airport is transforming into an emergency response center. Fire trucks are positioning. Ambulances standing by. Foam trucks ready in case of a crash landing.
But also something unusual: Air Force officers arriving, military brass coordinating, because this isn’t just an emergency anymore. This is the resurrection of a legend. Through descent, approach, and initial landing preparation, Reaper 2 guides Ava through every step.
His voice is constant, reassuring, professional. He is not just coaching a novice; he is honoring his fallen wingman by keeping her daughter safe. At 10,000 feet, Ava calls for the landing checklist.
Marcus reads from the quick reference guide they have pulled up, and Ava works through each item methodically. «Landing gear,» Reaper 2 prompts.
Ava finds the gear lever, moves it to the down position. Three green lights illuminate. «Nose gear down and locked, left main gear down and locked, right main gear down and locked. Three green,» she reports.
«Beautiful. Flaps next. Extension should be gradual. Start with flaps 5.»
The aircraft configuration changes as systems deploy. Ava feels the drag increase, adjusts power to compensate. Everything Uncle James taught her is flooding back—not just procedures but the feel of flying, the intuitive understanding that he had worked so hard to give her.
At 5,000 feet, Kansas City International is visible ahead. Runway 01L has been cleared, emergency vehicles staged. Approach lighting is on full bright, a clear path to safety or disaster.
«Ava,» Reaper 2 says gently. «Your mother would land with full flaps, full control, and absolute confidence. You have all of that. This landing is going to be perfect because you are Ghost Rider’s daughter, and flying is in your blood.»
«I am scared,» Ava admits, her first admission of fear.
«Good. Fear keeps you sharp. Your mother was scared every time she flew combat, she just never let it control her. Feel the fear and fly anyway.»
At 3,000 feet, approach control vectors them onto final approach. The runway is aligned perfectly ahead, a gray strip surrounded by green fields. Salvation if she can reach it. Death if she cannot.
«Airspeed 180 knots. Descent rate 700 feet per minute. On glide slope,» Ava reports.
«Perfect, Ava. Keep it steady. Small corrections. Don’t overcorrect.»
At 1,000 feet, the aircraft crosses the threshold markers. Ava can see emergency vehicles lining the taxiways, see people watching, see the enormity of what she is attempting.
«500 feet,» Reaper 2 calls. «You are doing great. Stay with it.»
«400 feet. Airspeed good.»
«300 feet. Looking good. Start thinking about the flare.»
«200 feet. Prepared for flare.»
«100 feet. Begin flare now. Gentle back pressure. Let the mains touch first.»
Ava pulls back gently on the yoke. The nose rises slightly. The ground rushes up. This is the moment; everything depends on this.
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