Skybound

The basket swayed under Natasha’s boots as the wind shifted. She kept one hand on the valve line and the other on the stock of the Remington, she scanned the sky. The customers, a group of three—two men and a woman—huddled together near the edge of the basket, they gripped the railing with tension. One of the men, Tayler, had been chatty earlier, excited about the "exotic wildlife" and the "view of a lifetime." Now he stayed quiet, his fascination tempered by the reality of what this ride actually meant.

It had been a slow morning, the air hung like a damp sheet, and they’d climbed nearly a mile before the first pterodactyl appeared. Just a scout, Natasha had thought. But it never was just one. If you saw the scout, the others were around. Somewhere. They always were.

“Everything okay up here?” Tayler asked, trying to sound casual. he spoke with a crack. Natasha didn’t answer. She had no time for that. She tapped her goggles down over her eyes and focused on the horizon. The airship was steady, but it wouldn’t be for long.

The balloon was an old model, patched together from the remnants of earlier days—back when air travel was for explorers and lunatics. Now it was mostly tourists and thrill-seekers, people who wanted to dangle themselves over the edge of danger without ever really understanding the cost. The gas chamber above released a sharp sound as she let out a bit of hydrogen to stabilize their altitude.

Then she saw them: two more, maybe three. Flying lazy circles, about half a mile off. They were waiting, watching, deciding when to make their move. She clicked the safety off the Remington.

Natasha leaned out over the edge of the basket. She felt the wind's sting, and tasted metal. The pterodactyls were closer now, their leathery wings beating in unison as they approached. Tayler was still watching her, he gripped the rail with whitening intensity. His friend, Russell, looked like he was about to puke.

“You might want to sit down,” she said, her voice flat. “It’s going to get rough.”

The woman, Jennie, had been quiet the whole time. She was sitting on the floor of the basket, she stared, knees pulled up to her chest. She didn’t scream, didn’t say a word. Smart. The other two could take notes from her.

The first pterodactyl dove, screeching as it came at them. Natasha aimed and squeezed the trigger. The gun kicked back hard, and the bullet caught the creature in the wing. It veered off, flapping awkwardly, but it didn’t go down. The others would be more careful now. They always learned fast.

Natasha kept the gun trained on the sky, her back against the basket’s frame. They were smart, but she was smarter. And she had a gun. A few more seconds passed, the wind shifted again, and the balloon dipped slightly. The pterodactyls circled, keeping their distance. They were waiting for her to make a mistake.

“Why are they just flying around like that?” Russell asked, he spoke with a crack.

“They’re thinking,” she said. “They’re not as dumb as they look.”

The next attack came fast. Two of them, diving from opposite sides. Natasha swung the rifle around and fired, catching one of them in the chest. It dropped, falling like a stone. The second one slammed into the side of the basket, sending a shudder through the entire rig. Tayler screamed. The basket tipped, and Natasha grabbed the edge of the frame to steady herself. The balloon groaned, the ropes straining under the sudden shift in weight.

The pterodactyl clung to the side, its jaws snapping, trying to get a grip on the basket or the people inside. Jennie screamed for the first time, and Natasha cursed under her breath. She swung the rifle around and fired point-blank, hitting the creature in the head. It dropped away, falling into the clouds below.

“Is it over?” Tayler asked, his voice shaking.

Natasha didn’t answer. She reloaded the rifle, she scanned the sky. She knew better than to think it was over. There was still one more out there. There always was.

The wind picked up again, pushing the balloon eastward. She pulled the cords, adjusting their altitude. Below, the ground was a patchwork of cliffs and valleys, jagged rocks that would tear the balloon apart if they went down. But she wasn’t planning on going down. Not today, anyway.

The last pterodactyl was circling lower, using the balloon’s shadow as cover. Smart. Too smart. Natasha leaned out over the edge again, searching the clouds below. There. A flash of wings, a shadow moving against the grey sky.

It came at them from below, rising fast, its jaws wide open. Natasha fired, but the shot went wide. The creature slammed into the basket’s underside, shaking the whole rig. The ropes creaked, and the basket tilted dangerously. Natasha lost her balance for a moment, grabbing onto the rail to keep from falling out.

The pterodactyl was hanging from the underside of the basket now, its claws digging into the wooden frame. Natasha could hear the ropes straining, could feel the whole structure groaning under the weight. They didn’t have much time.

She dropped the rifle and pulled the knife from her belt. The balloon shifted again, and she knew there was only one way to end this. She climbed over the edge of the basket, hanging by one hand as she swung the knife down into the pterodactyl’s side. It shrieked, blood spraying from the wound as it lashed out, trying to knock her loose. But Natasha held on, driving the knife in deeper, twisting it until the creature let go.

It fell, its wings flapping weakly as it tumbled into the clouds below. Natasha hauled herself back into the basket, breathing hard.

Tayler was staring at her, his face pale. “That was insane,” he said.

Natasha didn’t respond. She wiped the blood off the knife and sheathed it, then grabbed the rifle again, just in case. The balloon was steady now, the wind calm. They were out of danger. For now.

“You’ll land us soon, right?” Jennie asked, her voice shaking.

Natasha glanced at her. “Soon enough.”

She pulled the cords again, adjusting their altitude. The ground was a little closer now, the cliffs and valleys slowly giving way to open plains. The customers would get their thrill, and they’d land safely. They always did, as long as she was flying.

But the next group wouldn’t be so lucky.

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The writing prompt for this story was:
Steampunk! Write a story from the perspective of a hot air balloon operator who caters to folks who like a little thrill… which means she spends half her time in the air shooting down pterodactyls before the paying customers get TOO scared. Story is Dark and Disturbing.

This story was written by:
openai/chatgpt-4o-latest

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