Chapter 7
The tinging of metal against metal ricocheted inside Gemma’s eardrums, and the metallic zing of terror corroded her tongue. She pressed her face harder to her knees, her arms covering her head. They hadn’t started to fall—yet. But they’d been shot good.
We’re going to crash.
The bullets stopped, and she waited a minute before lifting her head an inch. Dallas still stood near the cockpit, bracing himself on the cubby over his head. Shoving her arm behind her legs, she patted the carpeted ground. Her fingers brushed the canvas bag, and she slid it out.
Fifteen minutes ago, she’d been terrified of the darn thing. Now it was her lifeline. She unclipped her seatbelt, leaned forward, and fit her arms through the straps of the parachute then snapped the buckle in front of her chest.
She scurried to Dallas’s seat, retrieved his parachute, then marched toward him. She thrust the parachute into his side, and he spun around and grabbed it. His eyes were wide with alarm—something she’d never witnessed on his face before. The fine lines around his eyes had deepened, as if the last few minutes had aged him.
“We’ve been hit.”
“Yeah, I figured.” She spoke loud over the drone of the airplane.
“Eli says we’re stable for now, but the fuel level is dropping quickly. Probably a hole in the gas tank.”
Her stomach bottomed out. “Oh my god.” She swayed, and he caught her arm. “Can he land the plane somewhere?”
Dallas’s eyes darkened. He gestured out the window. “It’s all jungle. If we try to return to the airfield, we’ll just give them a chance to hit us again.”
She gripped the seat back next to her. One glance out the window showed miles of trees. She wet her lips. Her brain worked at warp speed to iron out a plan, but their options were slim. “What about a road?”
He leaned forward and shouted at Eli.
Eli looked over his shoulder and flicked his fingers in acknowledgment. “I’m hoping to find a road that’s long enough. Problem is the jungle roads are winding and rough. We’ve got some time, but we won’t make it to Ibarra.” The finality of that statement sucked all the hope from her.
“How long do we—”
Beep, beep, beep
Eli cursed. Gemma shoved her way forward and mashed her body to the front of Dallas’s so she could see into the cockpit. The needles on the dials spun, lights flashed, and warning bells screeched.
Her pulse kicked into high gear. The plane wobbled.
Dallas moved past her and fit his parachute on.
“We’re going down!” Eli called. He put out a Mayday call, yelling in Spanish, his words frantic.
Gemma’s breath huffed in and out of her lungs in a frenzy.
Oh, god. We’re going to die.
The plane tipped forward, and she careened toward the cockpit. A rough hand grabbed her waist, holding her in place. Dallas’s solid body connected with hers and his hand moved to her stomach, gluing her back to his belly. “C’mon.” He towed her away.
Eli’s body slammed into the controls as Dallas pulled her to the exterior door of the plane. The sky fell at a rapid pace outside the windows.
“Get the door!” Eli yelled, scampering from the cockpit as he pulled on his parachute.
Dallas fisted his hand in the strap below her breast, his face close to hers. “Listen to me, okay?” he shouted. His eyes were large hazel orbs and his face sweaty. His grip unrelenting. “When I open the door, jump. Wait ten seconds and pull your cord.” He lifted the white plastic thing dangling at her shoulder.
Her chest tightened and tears rushed to her lids, but she didn’t expel them. “I’ll never find you. What if we—”
“I’m right behind you. We’re going to get separated when we land, but I’ll find you. Got it? Just stay put and I’ll—”
The door flung open. Eli stood in the corridor of metal separating them from vast, endless sky. “Hurry!” He jumped from the plane.
Gemma gasped, grabbing at the base of her throat. The rational part of her brain screamed that this was insane. She couldn’t possibly jump from an airplane. Did the parachute even work? Had it been tested? But if she didn’t, she had no chance of survival.
Dallas jerked her toward the opening. “We’ll jump together.”
She gripped his hand, nodding. “Okay.” Tears stung her eyes. She didn’t want to die. Not like this. Her heart beat so rapidly that her brain flickered with every pump. The plane pitched sharply, taking a nosedive.
“Now!” Dallas’s rough grip on her hand wrenched her out the opening. Cold air struck her skin, sending her into shock. Her body spiraled in the limitless openness and slammed against Dallas’s. His gaze met hers. “Ten seconds and pull!” he screamed. He shoved her away from him.
“No!” she clawed after him, but he fell fast toward the ground. The wind took her, whipping her in a wild dance. The sky stretched over her head, blue and white. Below was dense green jungle. The wind whipped ferociously at her ear drums.
The trees rushed toward her. She reached for the cord.
One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight...
Hysteria hammered against her skull.
She ripped on the plastic piece. There was a rustling from her backpack and a second later, her shoulders jerked back. She looked up as the large white blanket expanded in the air, carrying her over the breeze.
The straps pulled on her chest. She crossed her arms in front of her, holding on to the backpack. Scanning the landscape, she caught sight of the plane and watched as it crashed into the wall of trees. A puff of smoke rose up.
She spun her gaze around her.
Dallas was nowhere in sight. She floated through the air, the wind whacking against her eardrums as she descended, lower and lower.
Adrenaline raced through her veins, the high so strong it prevented fear from sucking her into unconsciousness. Her speed picked up as the parachute lost some wind.
She sent a prayer skyward as she pulled her knees into her abdomen and tucked her arms around her head. Leaves and small branches hit her first, slapping at her skin and tearing at her hair. She screamed as she waited for impact.
Wham!
A sharp jolt hoisted her shoulders, yanking them up. The buckle dug into her chest and armpits as she swung through the air like the rubber net of a slingshot. She lifted her chin and tilted her head back. Her parachute was tangled in the high treetops, which now dangled her from their arms.
A glance down showed she was a good five feet from the ground. But the drop wasn’t life-threatening. She let out a hoot of relief. She’d jumped from a freaking plane and lived!
Now all she had to do was get down without spraining an ankle. She brought her fingers to the buckle beneath her breasts. Taking a deep breath, she unclipped it then grabbed the strap as she fell. She clung to the backpack and glanced down again. Only about three feet to the ground now. She let go and dropped to the jungle floor.
“Oof.” She crumpled to the ground, her legs not yet stable enough to hold her. Bracing her hands behind her, she focused on slowing her rapidly beating heart.
Her teeth chattered violently and a chill covered her skin as shock finally took over her nervous system.
She had to find the others. Eli had jumped first, and given the way the wind had taken them, there was no telling how far he’d gone. Same with Dallas. After he pushed her away, probably so their parachutes wouldn’t tangle, she didn’t see him. Everything had happened so darn quickly yet also painstakingly slowly as she’d hurtled toward death.
Only she hadn’t died.
A look at the long, gnarly branches above her made her shudder. Any one of those could have impaled her or struck her head the wrong way. It was almost a miracle she’d landed safely.
Worry thickened in her chest, making her airway tight. She rubbed her hands up and down her arms, but nothing melted the ice growing inside her.
If neither Dallas nor Eli had made it out alive, she might not survive either. She was in the jungle. Alone. She couldn’t think about that now. She had to keep calm, do what Dallas had said, and wait here, where she’d landed. If by some chance he’d watched her go down, he could be on his way to her now. She had to be patient. Going off to look for him or Eli too soon could make things worse.
The sounds of the wilderness penetrated the fog around her awareness. Hisses and croaks grew louder than the rustling of leaves. A lump hardened in her throat.
She thought of the travel pamphlet she’d seen in her hotel room. Pumas, jaguars, boa constrictors, crocodiles... Creatures that look mystical in print and terrifying in person. She swallowed.
Her fall through the trees had likely startled away the worst of the animals. Or at least the hunters. But she needed to get off the ground to avoid becoming someone’s prey...
That was silly. As if she could outclimb a mountain cat. Did snakes chase humans? Crocodiles sure did. She could only hope there weren’t any rivers nearby.
She inhaled the heavy scent of moist earth and vegetation. A bird called in the trees over her head and she brought her palm to her chest and massaged. Slowly, her heart rate came down. She wouldn’t get to safety if she worried ten steps ahead of herself.
One thing at a time.
All she could do right now was wait—and evaluate herself. She was probably still in shock, and there was a chance she had an injury she wasn’t aware of.
Her neck and back were stiff from the parachute’s hitting the trees and snapping her backward. She ran her hands over her arms then down her legs to her ankles. A few scrapes, surely some bruises that hadn’t yet formed, but nothing serious. Turning her leg, she inspected the bandage over the gunshot wound.
Fresh blood stained the white cotton, but nothing alarming. The muscles in her leg were still sore from the injury.
After rolling to her knees, she carefully stood. The chitter-chatter of nature increased as she got up, as if her presence had angered the creatures in the vicinity.
Her fear returned. She needed to find Dallas. She’d walk a little way but keep her parachute in sight, to be sure she didn’t wander too far. She cleared her throat and stepped over the thick vegetation, keeping her gaze on the ground for snakes. “Dallas!”
Dear God, please let him be okay.
***
Dallas groaned andsquinted up at the thick canopy. While barreling toward the trees, there was a second he’d thought for sure he’d be skewered by one of the branches.
But God had something else planned. He sat up. Fire blazed over his arm. He stripped off the straps of his backpack. At least the parachute had deployed properly and broken his fall, but he’d still landed on the ground. Could have been way worse.
He turned his arm. A large gash cut across his bicep. Blood oozed from the wound. He lifted his gaze to the trees again. A branch had probably sliced him. It wasn’t too deep, but he’d need to bandage it at some point.
After he found Gemma.
The only thing worse than jumping from that fucking airplane was not knowing if Gemma would survive. Hell, he’d had nothing but hope to reassure him that her parachute would deploy properly. If he’d had a few extra seconds, he could have thought things through, but the outcome would have been pretty much the same.
They would have had to jump.
He’d had to push her away to ensure their parachutes didn’t entwine. That had been about as easy as chewing off his own arm, but for her safety, he’d managed. The sight of her wide, terrified eyes was tattooed in his mind.
He’d sailed farther north than she had but, by his calculations, she shouldn’t be too far. Before he’d hit the trees, he’d spotted her floating west. If her landing had been anything like his, she could have been really hurt.
Animals screeched, making the hair on the back of his neck turn rigid. Christ. He’d been in Colombia only a week, but judging from his conversations with both locals and tourists, the Amazon wasn’t a place you wanted to be without a guide. With any luck they’d find Eli, but he’d jumped first and Dallas had been too damn distracted with Gemma to spend a second trying to spot Eli in the sky.
Dude could have landed anywhere.
Sweat rolled over his face, and Dallas lifted his T-shirt and mopped up the mess. One thing he knew from living near the mountains: he needed to make noise.
Hopefully Gemma did the same.
He let out a call that sent birds from the trees and then stalked through the dense brush, heading west. “Gemma!” he bellowed.
The trees gobbled up his voice. He yelled out again, and again. His arm ached, but he didn’t stop to check it. He moved swiftly, pushing away the complaints of his body.
Sssss...
He lifted his gaze to the large rubber tree he was approaching. A yellow boa constrictor circled a branch, its head slithering in the air. Dallas took a step back, a curse falling from his tongue.
His skin turned cold and clammy. He bent down, grabbed a large stick, and slashed it in the air. “Hey!” he screamed. “Get back!”
The snake watched him, its red eyes not missing a beat. Dallas held out the stick in front of him, ready to bash in the bastard’s skull if it lunged.
He reached into his pocket, not taking his eyes off the boa, and pulled out the switchblade he always carried. Sweat poured down his spine. He didn’t dare make a sudden movement and provoke the beast. A minute passed. The snake coiled tighter around the branch, its fascination with him seemingly waning.
Dallas exhaled. Keeping the knife in one hand and the stick in the other, he moved around the tree and continued. With grated nerves he pushed on, every squiggly vine or branch making him do a double take.
Insects buzzed around him, sensing fresh meat. Twenty minutes passed, and he pocketed his knife so he could keep one hand free to swat away bugs. His voice was hoarse from shouting.
God, he could use some water.
He stopped in a small clearing, his chest heaving. He wiped his face and let his breath slow. What if he’d gotten turned around and was walking in the wrong direction? The Amazon jungle was like a maze. He could have been walking in circles for the last half an hour for all he knew. He felt as if he were in a horror movie.
Paranoia was a bad thing. He had to chill the fuck out. Do something to control the situation before he fucking lost his sanity. Landmarks. He needed to pay better attention to his route. He brought his focus to a tree, but it resembled a hundred he’d already walked by.
He withdrew his knife and lacerated a chunk of bark. Then he walked for two minutes and did the same to another tree.
“Gemma!” Shouldn’t she be close by now? At least be able to hear him if she was conscious? Tension wound like a wire around his chest. He’d never had anxiety, but that had to be what this pain was... or a heart attack.
He just had to keep walking.
Focus on the only important thing right now.
He started chanting in his head between shouts.
Just find Gemma. Just find her, goddammit.