Chapter 22 Allegra
ALLEGRA
Ihear the thrum of rotor blades before I hear the helicopter. Marcus led me a mile out of town to a field that’s away from the curious gaze of the townsfolk.
We had to wait around to speak to the local authorities.
But Marcus must have pulled some military strings, because instead of hauling him in to question him about why there’s a man with a bullet hole tied up on the track and a body at the bottom of a ravine, they took notes, checked his map, and called him sir.
He commanded the situation with military efficiency that was miles away from the man I held in my arms last night.
A moment later, the helicopter is visible coming over the trees. The grass around us bends as it sets down in the middle of the field.
“Keep your head low,” Marcus instructs.
The side door is thrown open as we run, half-crouched, towards it.
A large man wearing a headset and dark glasses reaches for my backpack. I hesitate and shoot a glance at Marcus.
“It’s alright,” he yells over the sound of the chopper. “You can trust Hudson.”
Reluctantly, I hand over my backpack. “Be careful with that one,” Marcus shouts to his friend, and I don’t know if he means the pack or me.
The man places the pack in the helicopter and then turns back to help me on.
Marcus climbs up behind me, and as soon as he’s in, the man slams the door shut and the helicopter rises into the air.
Marcus straps in beside me. His shoulder brushes against mine. I want to reach for his hand the way I have a dozen times over the last few days. But something is different. We’re not alone anymore, and I hesitate.
I peer out of the window as the mountains fade below us. The route that took us seven days to hike will be done by helicopter in just over an hour.
Hudson engages Marcus in conversation, and Marcus shifts seats to sit next to him. I tell myself it’s so they can talk more easily. With the noise of the chopper, it’s hard to have a conversation without shouting. But it feels like he’s withdrawing.
I turn to the window and watch the mountains below us. From the air, they’re majestic. Dark green forest with slashes of rusty ridges and streams cutting through like veins.
It’s beautiful, and it reminds me why my work is so important.
I take a deep breath and ignore the loss I feel without Marcus by my side. But the closer we get to Hope, the further away from him I feel.
I shake the melancholy off me. I’ve got important work to do, and a press conference to plan for.
I pull out my notebook and jot down my thoughts. If Dad’s done what I asked, he would have called in his press contacts, probably with all sorts of promises. But they’ll be waiting, and they’ll expect a story. I’ll give them one.
Below us, the town of Hope comes into view. I swallow hard and glance up at Marcus. He has his body angled away from me and toward the window and is peering out.
The helicopter circles an airfield. I note a convoy of black cars that must belong to my father and press vans. He’s done what I asked.
I stuff my notebook in my bag and search for a hairbrush. I haven’t washed my hair in days, and I’m dusty with dirt under my nails. It shouldn’t matter, but I need to at least give the air of respectability.
I braid my hair into a thick plait that trails down my back. When I look up, Marcus is watching. But he turns away before our eyes meet.
In my pack are some wet wipes, and I run one over my face and neck, getting off the worst of the dirt. There’s a Chapstick in my pack, and I apply it over my cracked lips. I’m far from my red carpet best, but it will have to do. I’m aiming for respectability, not celebrity magazine.
The helicopter touches down, and the blades slowly come to a stop. My dad runs over before the doors are open.
Hudson opens the door and I step down, clutching my backpack. I’m aware of the cameras already rolling, no doubt live streaming our arrival.
I keep my back straight, determined to present a professional appearance, but my resolve crumbles when Dad rushes toward me.
“Allegra.” He envelops me in his arms, crushing my pack against my chest. “Thank God.”
I collapse into his arms as tears leak from my eyes in relief.
“I got the samples, Dad. I did it.”
I’m about to add all by myself, but I realize that isn’t true.
I glance around to search for Marcus, and he’s hanging back in the helicopter. Neither he nor Hudson has emerged. I can just make out their shadowy figures in the depths of the helicopter.
My dad’s gaze follows mine and lands on Marcus. I want to tell Dad how he saved my life, how he helped me, how what I’m feeling might be love. But the words seem stupid now that we’re back in reality.
A silent nod passes between them. And then Hudson hands Marcus a cap and dark glasses, which he slips on, becoming a generic security guard.
I wipe away my tears, wondering why he hasn’t come forward. Why he won’t join us.
His head scans the crowd. Even behind the dark glasses, I can tell from his tense posture that he’s alert. Still scanning, despite being on safe turf.
“Are you ready for this, or do you need some time?” Dad asks.
He’s talking about the press, who are held back by a metal barrier. Dad’s aides have set up a makeshift podium for the press conference, and there’s a crowd of about a dozen reporters and photographers, some holding up their phones, waiting for me.
I swallow hard and steal one last glance at Marcus. He got me this far, but I have to do this alone.
“I’m ready.”
Dad takes my elbow and steers me over to the waiting press. He stops a few feet from them and lets go of my elbow.
“I shouldn’t be in the shot.”
He’s right. I need to do this alone, without the backing of my influential father. He gives me a kiss on the forehead, then steps aside.
I take a deep breath and approach the crowd flanked by two of Dad’s security team. I step up to the podium, and the crowd erupts with questions. Microphones point at me, and cameras and phones jostle for the front position. A bright light shines in my eyes, making it hard to see faces.
I hold up my sample case and my camcorder. “I have evidence of the runoff pollution that mining companies and the government have denied.”
I hold up my camcorder. “And I have evidence of the sabotage that tried to stop me from collecting the samples.”
I explain my findings, keeping it factual and scientific, and explain that every newsroom in the country will be sent the footage from my expedition.
“I will make the findings freely available.”
I stand tall as I hold the samples aloft. “Science matters, truth matters.”
The podium erupts with a barrage of questions, which I try to answer as best I can.
Lights make my eyes ache, and one of Dad’s aides murmurs that it’s time to wind it down.
I scan the crowd, and there’s only one face I’m looking for.
I spot him, using the crowd for cover, his body angled away from the cameras.
The cap is pulled low so I can’t see his eyes or what expression he’s wearing.
He’s hanging in the back, blending into the shadows.
His damn SEAL training, I guess, but it hurts that he’s not here by my side.
“Did you have any help out on the trail?” a reporter asks.
I want to tell them about Marcus, how he kept me safe, how he enabled me to get the ice sample, how I couldn’t have done it without him.
But when I glance at Marcus staying on the periphery, his head tilted to scan the crowd, I know he wouldn’t want that. Besides, the narrative will be stronger if I say I didn’t have help. It’s a better story and will get the word out further. But it’s a lie. I didn’t do it alone. I couldn’t have.
It’s a lie for maximum impact, I tell myself.
“No,” I say, swallowing hard. “I did it on my own.”
There’s an appreciative murmur, and I feel the respect in the way they look at me. This is what I wanted, isn’t it? To prove I could do it alone.
But it’s a hollow victory.
The reporters surge forward with more questions, and when I look again, Marcus is gone.
The press conference winds down, and Dad’s aides sweep me off the podium. Before I go, I twist around, hoping for one last glimpse.
We went through so much together. Marcus is the reason I’m here. I want to shout it out. I want to tell our story. He saved my life; he carried me through this. But now he’s just…gone.
Dad laces his arm through mine, and he squeezes my arm. “I’m so proud of you Eggy.”
I hear the truth of it in his voice. I force a smile for him, but my heart feels hollow.
An aide opens the door to the back seat of his Mercedes, and he ushers me inside. The door slams shut behind me, and I sink into the luxury of the padded seats.
The three-car convoy sweeps out of the airfield, and I clutch my camcorder in my lap. Victory feels hollow without Marcus by my side.
It hurts that he didn’t even say goodbye, even though I understand it. He wouldn’t want to be in the spotlight. And my life is in the spotlight. At least my life with Dad in Boston is.
I grasp my camcorder in one hand and the samples in the other. They’ll need to be sent to a lab and verified as soon as possible, and we make arrangements to stop somewhere on the way home.
As we drive away from the mountains, I watch the scenery turn from lush green to a concrete highway.
I fought so hard to prove I could do this alone, but now it feels like the last thing I want is to be alone.