I toss the first hank through the open door and move to the rear tie down. Before I can finish winding the second rope around my arm, acrackshatters the silence of the night. Followed by a metallicplinkalong the wing.
A second shot, then a third hit the fuselage. If we don’t get out of here right fucking now, there won’t be a plane left to fly.
“He’s not…dead!” I shout as I dive through the door. “Stay down!”
Nat’s glassy eyes widen. She slides lower in the copilot’s seat. “He’ll never stop. He’ll find me. And you.”
I open the throttle, flip the master switch, and turn on the fuel pump. Another shot hits the wing. “Shit.” My vision tunnels for a breath. A very strained breath.
“You have a back door on this thing?” Nat asks.
“Baggage…hatch.” I jerk my head toward the rear of the plane. She lurches between the seats, drops to her knees, and pulls the gun from her waistband.
I can’t worry about her. Not now. Getting the plane in the air is all that matters. Fuel mixture. Beacon light. Ignition.
The propeller starts to spin. Nat gets the baggage door open. A bullet whizzes through the cabin. She takes aim and fires. The plane jerks, then starts to accelerate out of the slip. Another shot hits the opposite wing.
At this rate, we’ll be lucky to get out of the marina.
I crane my neck to see out the window. The asshole should have died half an hour ago. All that blood. He staggers down the dock, a rifle aimed right at us.
“Come on. Come on,” Nat chants. “A little closer.”
I force as much of a breath as I can. “Last…chance.”
She fires again. We’re close enough, I can see the arterial spray. Kill shot. Right through the throat. The rifle clatters over the wood planks and follows him into the water.
“Close…the door... Unless you’re…sure…he doesn’t…have friends.”
“Not sure of anything.” Nat slams the hatch shut, locks it, and climbs back into the seat next to me.
Come on, baby. Just a little bit more.
I open the throttle, adjust the flaps, and set the rudder. I can do this. I’ve done it a hundred times before.
The gentle tug of the water as we lift off is the most reassuring sensation in the world. I turn us south, but as we pass over Lopez Island, the engine starts to sputter.
“Fuck…fuck!” I wheeze. The fuel gauge hovers just overEmpty. “Asshole…shot the tanks. We’re going down.”
CHAPTER TEN
Natasha
“Going down?What the hell do you mean ‘going down’?”
“Fuel.” His voice is strained. He jabs a gauge on the instrument panel. “Seat…belt.”
My hands shake as I stretch the harness across my body. Doc wheezes, easing the stick back. The plane starts to descend, and the motor whines in protest.
We’re going to stall. I squint into the darkness. The moon is all but gone now, hidden behind a thick stretch of clouds. How high are we?
Doc adjusts the flaps, flips a few switches on the panel, and clenches his jaw, hard. His chest stutters with a weak cough.
“Doc? What’s wrong? What…elseis wrong?”
“Not…now.” He white-knuckles the controls until the engine cuts out completely. I expect the bottom to drop out of my stomach. But instead, it feels like…nothing. Or maybe that’s my panic.
It’s almost completely silent other than Doc’s wheezing. The plane touches down with the gentlest of skids—like a car hydroplaning on a wet road.
