Chapter 15 #2
“Which is why I'm going to buy you time.” He was checking his charges, moving with lethal efficiency. “Twenty minutes. I can give you twenty minutes, maybe thirty if I'm creative.”
“That's not enough time!”
“It'll have to be.” He turned back, and something in his expression made her chest tight. Fear. She was seeing fear in his eyes for the first time. Not for himself but for her. “You do the second run-up the moment the engine's cool enough. The second it's done, you get in that plane, and you fly.”
“Not without you—”
“Willow.” He grabbed her shoulders. “If this goes bad, if they get past me, you fly. You go to Seattle. You go to that house on the Sound, and you live. Understand?”
Fear clenched her with icy fists. She shook her head, “Levi, no—”
He kissed her. It was hard, desperate, saying goodbye. “Promise me.”
“I can't—”
He squeezed her arms, and his eyes begged her. “Promise me!”
“Okay,” she whispered, lying. “Okay.”
He held her gaze for one more moment, then he was gone, sprinting toward the access road with his demo pack, disappearing into the jungle moments later.
Willow stood frozen, her lips still burning from his kiss, her heart hammering against her ribs. Then training kicked in, and she moved.
The engine. She needed to cool the engine faster. She opened the cowling fully, used a tarp to fan air across the components. Checked her watch. Fifteen minutes until optimal cooling. She could push it to twelve, maybe ten if she was willing to risk damaging the seals.
She'd risk it. She’d never leave him. He’d come back. He’d come running across that opening and they’d leave together
The first explosion came at eight minutes. A deep WHUMP that shook the ground and sent birds screaming from the trees. Levi. Buying her time with fire and chaos.
She kept working, hands moving automatically. Checking connections. Verifying pressures. Preparing for the run-up that would tell her if this bird could actually fly or if they'd just built a very expensive paperweight.
The second explosion was closer. She winced at the automatic weapons fire. It was fired in sustained bursts that meant the patrol had engaged. Was Levi okay? Was he hurt? Was he—
Focus. He's buying you time. Don't waste it.
Ten minutes. The engine was cool enough. She climbed into the cockpit, started the sequence again. The engine caught faster this time, smoother. She ran it through the power checks, watching gauges, listening for problems.
Oil pressure is good. Temperature is climbing but stable. Magnetos are firing properly. RPMs are holding steady.
The third explosion was big enough to rattle the Beaver's airframe. Levi had exploded something serious. She could smell smoke now, drifting through the jungle.
“Come on,” she muttered, watching the timer. Five minutes. She needed five minutes of stable running to verify the engine would hold under load.
Gunfire, closer now. The sound of men shouting in Spanish.
Four minutes.
More explosions. They were smaller and staggered. Levi was in full chaos mode, making them think they were facing an entire squad instead of one man with explosives and attitude.
Three minutes.
Something crashed in the jungle on her left. She saw branches breaking and something big moving fast. She reached for her Glock but didn't stop the test. Couldn't stop. Not yet.
Two minutes.
The engine hiccupped. Her heart stopped. But it smoothed out again, settled back into its rough rhythm. Okay. Okay.
One minute.
Movement at the tree line. A truck burst from the jungle, bouncing across rough ground, heading straight for the runway. Then another. The patrol had split up, was coming from multiple directions.
Levi, where are you?
Time was up. The run-up was complete. The engine would hold or it wouldn't, but she was out of time.
She jumped from the cockpit and started throwing the last of their gear into the cargo hold. Fuel cans. Supplies. Weapons. Everything they'd need—
The bullet hit her left shoulder.
The impact spun her around, and she went down hard. Pain exploded through her shoulder, white-hot and all-consuming. She couldn't breathe, couldn't think, couldn't—
Move. Get up. Move.
She dragged herself toward the cockpit, using her good arm. Blood soaked through her shirt. It was warm and slick against her skin. Her vision swam at the edges.
The truck screeched to a stop beside the Beaver. Doors opened. Hands grabbed her, rough and brutal, hauling her upright. Someone was shouting in Spanish. The roaring in her ears was loud and unnerving.
“The pilot! Get the pilot! Morales wants them alive!”
One of the trucks careened past them toward the jungle. Did they think Levi was the pilot?
She fought, or tried to fight, but her left arm wouldn't work, and her legs felt like water. Someone hit her across the face, and her vision whited out for a moment.
When it cleared, she was being dragged toward the truck. She looked back at the Beaver. Their plane, the one they'd resurrected together. They were so close to flying out of here. Willow felt something break inside her.
“Levi,” she tried to say, but it came out as a whisper.
They shoved her into the truck bed, zip-tied her wrists behind her back. The plastic bit into her skin, and moving her wounded shoulder sent fresh waves of agony through her body. Blood ran down her side, soaking into her pants, pooling on the metal floor.
She could hear more gunfire in the distance. More explosions. Levi was still fighting. Still buying time she'd wasted.
The truck lurched into motion, bouncing across the rough ground.
Through the haze of pain, Willow saw the jungle rushing past, saw the Beaver getting smaller behind them.
She looked at the access road where smoke still rose from Levi's demolitions.
Her eyes closed, and her last thoughts were of Levi.
I'm sorry. I'm sorry I couldn't—