Glass Sword (Red Queen #2)(36)
“Well done,” Cal says, sparing a second to squeeze my shoulder. His touch doesn’t linger though, in accordance with our agreement. No distractions, least of all now. I open my eyes to see his hands dancing across the panel controls, flipping switches and adjusting knobs seemingly at random.
When I lean back, another hand takes my shoulder. Kilorn lets his hand rest, but his touch is strangely gentle. He’s not even looking at me but the jet, his face torn between awe and fear. With his mouth agape and eyes wide, he looks almost childish. I feel small myself, sitting in the belly of an airjet, about to do what we never dreamed possible. The fish boy and the lightning girl, about to fly.
“Does she expect me to ram this thing through a wall?” Cal mutters under his breath, his own smile long gone. He looks over his shoulder, eyes searching, not for me, but my brother. “Shade?”
My brother looks liable to faint, and reluctantly shakes his head.
“I can’t jump things this big, this—complicated. Even on a good day.”
It pains him to say such a thing, though he has no reason at all to be ashamed. But Shade is a Barrow, and we do not like to admit weak-ness. “I can grab Farley, though,” he continues, his hands straying to his buckles.
Kilorn knows my brother as well as I do, and pushes him back into his seat. “You’re no use dead, Barrow,” he says, forcing a crooked grin.
“I’ll get that door open.”
“Don’t bother,” I spit out, my eyes fixed outside the cockpit. I push my power outward, and with a great screeching groan, the hangar door starts to open, pulling up from the floor in a smooth, steady motion.
The mechanic looks puzzled, watching the mechanism controlling the door grind away, while Farley bolts. She sprints out of sight, racing the rising door. A blaze of sunset follows her, cut with streaking, long shadows. Two dozen soldiers stand in silhouette, blocking the opening.
Not just Lakelanders, but Farley’s own Guardsmen, marked by their red sashes and scarves. Each one has a gun aimed at the Blackrun, but they hesitate, not willing to fire. To my relief I don’t recognize Bree or Tramy among them.
One the Lakelanders steps forward, a captain or lieutenant judging by the white stripes on his uniform. He shouts something, one hand outstretched, his lips forming the word stop. But we can’t hear him above the growing roar of engines.
“Go!” Farley shouts, appearing at the back of the plane. She hurtles into the closest seat, buckling herself in with shaking hands.
Cal doesn’t need to be told twice. His hands work double-time, twisting and pressing, as if this is second nature. But I hear him muttering under his breath, like a prayer, reminding himself of what to do. The Blackrun lurches forward, wheels rolling, while the rear ramp rises into place, sealing the interior of the craft with a satisfying pneu-matic hiss. No going back now.
“All right, let’s get this thing moving,” Cal says, settling back into his pilot’s chair with an almost excited twist. Without warning, he grabs a lever on the panel, pushing it forward, and the jet obeys.
It rolls ahead, on a collision course with the line of soldiers. I grit my teeth, expecting a brutal scene, but they’re already running, fleeing the Blackrun and her vengeful pilot. We tear from the hangar, gaining speed with every passing second, to find the runway in chaos. Transports roar past the barracks, heading for us, while a troop of soldiers fires boldly from the roof of the hangar. The bullets ping into the metal hull, but never puncture it. The Blackrun is made of stronger stuff and pushes on, turning a hard right that rattles us in our seats.
Kilorn gets the brunt of it, not having fastened his safety belts prop-erly. His head bangs against the curved wall and he curses, cradling his bruised cheeks. “You sure you can fly this thing?” he growls, directing all his anger at Cal.
With a sneer, Cal pushes further, urging the jet to its top speed. Out the window, I see the transports falling away, unable to keep pace. But ahead, the runway, a bland gray road, is steadily coming to an end. Soft green hills and stunted trees have never looked so menacing.
“Cal,” I breathe, hoping he hears me over the scream of engines.
“Cal.”
Behind me, Kilorn fumbles with his belt, but his fingers are shaking too badly to be of any use. “Barrow, you got one last jump in you?” he shouts, glancing at my brother.
Shade doesn’t seem to hear him. His eyes stare forward, his face pale with fear. The hills are closing in, seconds away now. I picture the jet driving over them, steady for a moment, before tipping end over end to explode in a fiery wreck. Cal would survive that, at least.
But Cal won’t let us die. Not today. He leans hard on another lever, the veins in his fist standing out sharply. Then the hills fall away, like a cloth pulled off a table. It’s not the island I see anymore, but the deep blue autumn sky. My breath disappears with the land, stolen away by the sensation of rising through the air. The pressure pushes me back into my seat and does something almost painful to my ears, popping them. Behind me, Kilorn stifles a yelp and Shade curses under his breath. Farley doesn’t react at all. She’s frozen, her eyes wide in shock.
I’ve experienced many strange things these last few months, but nothing compares to flying. It’s a jarring contrast, feeling the immense thrust of the plane as it ascends, every tick of the engines throwing us skyward, while my own body is so powerless, so passive, so dependent on the craft around me. It’s worse than Cal’s speeding cycle, but also better. Biting my lip, I make sure not to shut my eyes.