Darkness(90)

“I’m hoping they won’t. I’m hoping we can just roll on out of here and sail off into the sky.” Reaching across her, he grabbed her seat belt and fastened it for her. Then he kissed the corner of her mouth. Firm, cool lips, the scratch of beard. “You’re doing great. We’re going to get out of here in one piece, I promise.”

He pulled on his own seat belt.

Goose bumps prickled over her skin. She swallowed in an effort to combat her suddenly dry mouth. Her heart thumped like it was going to beat its way out of her chest. Her mind screamed, No! even as she braced herself.

He reached for the throttle, eased it back, and they were moving, taxiing through the open doorway out into the relentless sleet. It beat a staccato tattoo on the plane’s metal skin, rattled down on the windshield. As they picked up speed, the interior of the plane vibrated forebodingly. One hand clenched into a fist, the other tight around the gun, Gina sat rigid in her seat, her gaze focused straight ahead.

“Shit.” Cal was fighting the yoke and working the throttle at the same time. The plane fishtailed down the runway, its tires clearly unable to find a purchase on the ice. But what had prompted his exclamation wasn’t anything to do with the plane: it was the men spilling from the buildings, charging toward the runway, opening fire.

A series of bullets smacked into the fuselage, the sounds as sharp as slaps.

“Gina.” Cal looked her way, and she knew what she had to do. Shaking off the near paralysis that had been holding her in thrall, she girded her loins, shoved the little window open, stuck the pistol’s barrel out a few inches, and fired back at the closest of the dark shapes darting toward them through the sleet. Whether she hit anybody, she had no idea. She was suddenly as icy cold inside as the wind rushing in through the window. More bullets smacked the fuselage as the plane picked up speed, slip-sliding toward the end of the runway like a drunken speed skater.

Her worst fear—oh, God, she couldn’t even stand to entertain the thought—was that a bullet would find the gas tank and the plane would—

Do. Not. Go. There.

Out of the corner of her eye Gina saw something moving, something big, looked at it fully, and realized with a spurt of mortal fear that the tractor was lumbering toward the runway at full tilt.

“Gina. You don’t have enough bullets. Shoot one of the fuel tanks. Did you hear me? Shoot one of the tanks.” Cal was yelling at her, had apparently been yelling at her all along. Between the roar of the wind and the roaring in her ears she hadn’t heard a word, until this fresh burst of horror had juiced her with adrenaline and cleared her head.

She instantly saw what Cal meant: the men were bunching in front of the fuel tanks, using them for cover, firing at the plane from there, and the tractor was just about to barrel past the white metal capsules on its way to blocking the runway.

The fuel tanks were only a few yards beyond the end of the runway. The plane was racing toward them, too.

“Shoot the tanks,” Cal bellowed.

Sick with dread, screwing up every last bit of courage she possessed, praying that she was not making a fatal mistake, she put her faith in God and Cal and snapped off some bullets at the damned tanks.

They exploded in a tremendous fireball, sending the tractor flipping end over end and bodies flying and a wall of flames shooting a hundred feet into the air.

The plane achieved liftoff and soared over the blaze with what, to Gina, felt like inches to spare.

The smell of fire was strong, freezing Gina in place. Sparks peppered the sky, glowing red like a million burning eyes. They flew through them as all around, everywhere, the sleet and the clouds and the sky turned a shimmering orange. The concussion from the explosion hit with jarring force, shoving the tail up and the nose down. The plane hurtled toward the ground, tipping left, threatening to roll as it plummeted toward what, below them, looked like an ocean of fire.

Fear grabbed Gina by the throat, strangling all utterance. Dropping the gun, she clutched the edges of her seat with both hands and hung on. Her heart pounded and her stomach dropped with the plane. Too terrified to close her eyes or even pray, she stared wide-eyed through the windshield and waited to crash and die.

The plane steadied. The wings evened out. A moment later they were bumping up through the sleet into the clouds, and the only orange she could see was a slight reflection on the shiny surfaces in front of her. Then the clouds swallowed them up, and the fire was left behind.

“You okay?” Cal reached past her to close the small triangular window that, until that moment, she hadn’t realized was still open. The freezing cold, the rushing roar, immediately lessened.

“Yes.” It was all she could do to reply. She felt limp, wrung out, exhausted from acute terror. Her chest still felt like it was caught in a vice.

“You did fantastic back there.”

“Thanks.” She was still having trouble talking. The plane rattled and bumped as it barreled through the clouds, and as she faced the fact that there were hours of this yet to go, her insides twisted with fright.

“The worst is over. I’m going to get you home safe.” Cal’s voice was soothing. Gina managed to turn her head enough to look at him. He did not look frightened, or even worried. He looked like he had when she’d jumped off the mountain with him: coolly competent, a man in his element.

Gina’s death grip on her seat lessened. She even managed a deep breath. This was not a man who overestimated his abilities or underestimated the risks. This was a man who had proved to her that he could do exactly what he said he’d do.