Several more explosions impacted the small island, and it began to fissure across the middle. “Garrett,” she yelled. “The whole island is splitting in two.”
One of the helicopters rose quickly into the air, battered by the falling debris as well as the strengthening storm. The wind spread the flaming tree bark, burning her jacket.
Garrett and Sam dragged Logan toward their helicopter, their expressions furious and intent, blood flowing from cuts on their faces.
Dessie turned and hurried back to the helicopter to open the front door.
A low-pitched whistle pierced the storm, and a projectile exploded nearby. All three men flew up into the air and came crashing down—Sam on his head, Logan on his still-burning side, and Garrett on his leg. Even from a good distance away, Dessie could hear his bone crack.
She ran toward him, panic engulfing her.
He staggered to his good leg and gestured her back. “Get into the copter. Now.” Fangs dropped from his mouth, and his eyes swirled a sizzling bluish silver through the gray.
She gulped.
Neither Sam nor Logan moved, remaining face down on the shaking ground. They couldn’t be dead. She had to figure out a way to drag one of them so Garrett could get the other.
“Now, Dessie,” he snapped, smoke all but engulfing him. He then tucked his chin and dove to the ground, grabbing Sam’s leg and rolling back onto his feet with the massive demon over his shoulder. How in the world could he do that with a broken leg? Then he leaned down and grabbed Logan’s belt before launching himself into motion, dragging the big immortal while limping painfully.
Dessie ran forward and grabbed Logan’s shoulder, trying to help move him toward the craft.
They moved agonizingly slowly but finally arrived just as more missiles obliterated the main building, leaving a burning crater in its spot. The fissure widened, and the sound of land splitting apart shrieked through the burning flames.
Garrett shoved Sam inside the back of the copter, leaned down and hefted Logan up, and then shut the door. “Move, Dessie. Hurry.”
The second helicopter rose into the air, with two soldiers holding on to the step rails. The ground shook, and new fissures appeared, widening rapidly.
Dessie leaped into the front passenger-side seat and slammed her door, watching with horror as one of the fissures widened its mouth as if about to consume them. Grass, smoldering stones, and small plants fell into the crack as it widened even more.
Garrett careened inside the pilot’s seat and rapidly began punching buttons and flipping levers. “Buckle.”
Dessie frantically reached for the seat belt to yank it over her head.
Then they were rising into the air. The wind and rain battled them, while the smoke destroyed any visibility. She clutched the side of the chopper with her nails, her throat feeling like she’d swallowed live flames. Her eyes burned, and her body ached with fresh bruises and burns. Hopefully there were no breaks.
Another explosion ripped through the day, and the craft pitched hard to the left.
“Damn it,” Garrett muttered, yanking what looked like a small steering wheel and banking away from the island, rising quickly.
She wiped soot off her smarting face and turned to make sure he was all right. A burn mark marred his neck, and blood flowed from beneath his ear. His hands were both burned and dirty, and it looked like his right leg was pointing the wrong way. “Your leg is broken,” she croaked out.
“I know.” He reached for the headset between them and plunked it on his head. Weird tingles popped in the air around him. “This is Kayrs. Check in. Now.”
A groan came from the rear of the copter.
Dessie turned her head to see Sam stirring awake and then jerking back, fangs sliding from his mouth.
“Team B?” Garrett snapped into his microphone, turning the helicopter again.
Sam reached out to shake his brother. “Logan?”
Logan groaned and slowly lifted his head. “What the fuck?”
“Secure here,” Garrett said into the headset. “Anybody wounded badly enough to require medical attention?”
“You are,” Dessie said, her voice barely above a whisper.
Logan wiped blood off his face, just smearing it with the soot. “Status?”
