Chapter 12 #2
“Yeah?” He was grinning despite the danger, despite the clock ticking down. “You think?”
“For a guy who blows things up and a woman who keeps getting her planes shot out from under her? Yeah. We're doing all right.”
“High praise.”
“Don't let it go to your head.”
The pump clicked off. The Beaver’s tanks were full. Willow started disconnecting hoses while Levi hauled fuel cans from the plane’s cargo hold, filling them with reserve fuel. Five cans, ten gallons each. Enough for emergencies.
“Time?” Willow asked.
He checked his watch. “Twelve minutes since I activated the jammer.”
“Then we need to go. Now.”
They were loading the last can when Levi heard it. The distant thump of helicopter rotors.
“Shit.” He scanned the sky. Con’s voice was immediate. “Military-style chopper, probably cartel-owned, maybe five minutes out. There must be a helipad in the area. We didn’t see it.”
“Willow—”
“I hear it.” She was already climbing into the cockpit. “Get in!”
He threw the last fuel can into the cargo hold, secured the door, and pulled himself into the co-pilot's seat. Willow was already running the start sequence.
“Come on, baby,” she murmured to the plane. “Don't fail me now.”
The engine coughed. Sputtered. Died.
“No, no, no,” Willow tried again, adjusting the mixture. “Come on!”
The helicopter was closer now, close enough Levi could see its silhouette through the tree tops. Armed. Definitely armed.
“Willow—”
“I know!” She tried the starter again, and this time, the engine caught. It spewed rough, angry, but it was running. “Yes!”
She didn't wait for it to warm up. Just released the brakes and opened the throttle, and the Beaver lurched forward.
The logging road was barely long enough for a takeoff run. Trees crowded both sides, branches snapping as the wings clipped them. But Willow taxied it and built speed, watching the airspeed indicator climb.
The helicopter burst over the tree line, door gunner visible, weapon swinging toward them.
“Levi—” Willow's voice was tight.
“I see it.” He was already leaning out his window, Glock raised. “Just fly!”
He fired three shots. The target was at an almost impossible angle, and it was moving, but one bullet hit the door gunner's position. The man jerked back, and the helicopter banked away.
“Rotate!” Levi shouted.
Willow pulled back on the yoke, and the Beaver's nose lifted. The wheels left the ground just as the road ran out, tree branches scraping the belly, and they were flying … barely, dangerously, but airborne.
The helicopter gave chase, and the door gunner recovered and began firing again. Bullets stitched a line across the Beaver's tail section, and the whole plane shuddered.
“We're hit!” Willow fought the controls. “Tail section's damaged!”
“Can you fly it?”
“I'm flying it now! Whether I can keep flying it—” She banked hard left, using terrain as cover, diving into a river valley. “That's an open question!”
The helicopter followed, relentless. More gunfire, more impacts. Something in the engine compartment made a sound that was definitely not good.
Levi leaned out his window again, aimed carefully, and fired. This time, he hit the helicopter's tail rotor. Sparks flew, and the chopper started spinning as the pilot fought for control.
It peeled off, limping back toward the facility it came from.
“Lost them!” Levi called.
“For now!” Willow was still fighting the controls, sweat running down her face. “Engine temp's climbing. Oil pressure's dropping. We're not going to make it back to the safehouse.”
“How far can we get?”
“Maybe twenty miles. Maybe less.” She scanned the terrain below, looking for options. “There—that valley. It's got a river, some clear ground. I can put us down.”
“Another crash landing?”
“Controlled landing.” She shot him a grin that was pure adrenaline and defiance. “Big difference.”
“You keep telling yourself that.”
She brought them in low, following the river, looking for a flat section. The engine was coughing now, losing power, and black smoke trailed from the cowling.
“Brace!” Willow shouted.
They hit hard. The wheels caught in the mud. The plane bounced, sliding sideways. Levi was thrown against his restraints, and his vision swam when pain exploded through his barely healed ribs.
The Beaver skidded fifty yards before the left wheel caught on something, and they spun. Metal screamed as the world tilted. Then they stopped, nose-down in the mud, engine smoking but miraculously not on fire.
Silence.
“You alive?” Willow asked.
“Kind of.” Levi unclipped his harness, assessed damage. Nothing broken, just bruised. Again. “You?”
“Same.” She was already moving, grabbing their emergency kit. “We need to move. That helicopter's going to report our position, and Morales will send everything he's got.”
They climbed out into humid morning air. The Beaver sat canted at an angle, one wing crumpled, tail section shredded from bullet impacts. Still, she'd gotten them down alive.
“That's three,” Willow said, staring at the damaged plane.
“Three what?”
“Three planes.” She laughed, slightly hysterical. “I've lost three planes in two weeks. That has to be some kind of record.”
“At least this one lasted longer than the others.”
“Small comfort.” She turned to him, and despite everything, she was smiling. “But we got the fuel.”
He looked at the fuel cans still strapped in the cargo hold, miraculously intact. Fifty gallons of aviation fuel. Enough to get them operational once they found another plane.
Which, knowing their luck, wouldn't take long.
“Yeah,” he said. “We did.”
She kissed him then. It was hard, fierce, and it tasted like the particular insanity that came from surviving something that should have killed you.
When they broke apart, both breathing hard, she rested her forehead against his chest.
“We're going to die doing this,” she said.
“Probably.” He kissed the top of her head. “But not today.”
“Not today,” she agreed.
In the distance, engines rumbled. Cartel patrols, closing in.
“We need to move,” Levi said. “Now.”
They grabbed what they could carry before hiding the precious fuel cans and disappearing into the jungle.
Behind them, the Beaver sat broken and smoking, another casualty in their mission.
But they were alive and together. And somewhere in those mountains, Morales was starting to realize that the people hunting him weren't going to stop.
No matter how many planes they lost.
No matter how close they came to dying.
They were going to see this through.