“You’re aware, then, that they generally carry tourists or marine biologists counting whales, not aliens with death rays?”
“That’s not what I—damn it, it’s coming back,” Luke snapped. “They did see us. Is there something, anything?—”
Working frantically, he picked up the tattered coat that had been torn up by the griffins for a nest. It was smelly and ragged, but he put it on anyway, flipping up the hood over his head while Inga stared at him in bafflement. Even more baffling, Rogue had vanished. Inga didn’t even see him go; she just turned around and the dog was gone, as if he’d disappeared into thin air. He must have run down to the bay.
“What is going on?” Inga demanded. With the coat on and the hood covering his head, Luke was bent over with his hands on his boot, miming tying a shoelace.
Meanwhile, the throbbing noise of the helicopter’s rotors was deafening. It wasn’t flying over the top of them this time. Instead, it appeared low over the rising land above them and then began slowly to descend to the ground, a hundred paces or so from their rock.
“I bet they have infrared,” Luke muttered. “I should’ve known.” He kept his head down. Stuff was flying around, whipped by the wind of the rotors: bits of flying dead grass, ashes from the fire, a half-burned granola bar wrapper. Some of their gear was tumbling around as well. Luke grabbed the lid of the cooler and looked up at her. “Inga, I cannot let these people capture me.”
“Capture you and do what?” She hadn’t really looked at the helicopter before, but now that she was looking, it was definitely a military one of some kind. Sheknewshe shouldn’t have let the microchip thing go so easily. “Are you on the run?”
“Damn it. Yes. I have a reason, I swear.” He glanced sideways toward the helicopter. It was fully settled on the ground now, and someone was opening a door. “Damnit. Inga, I don’t want you anywhere near these people?—”
That decided her, somehow. “I’ll go talk to them.”
“Inga, don’t!”
“Well, they’re clearly not going away!”
Luke tried to put a hand on her arm. She pushed it off, turned her back, and marched toward the person who had just gotten out of the helicopter.
He was military, but in an oddly generic way. There was no insignia that she could see on his fatigues. His buzz-cut hair had a few strands of gray; she would guess that he was maybe in his late 40s.
Inga tried to channel every time she’d had to yell at someone who had parked their boat in the Nilssons’ slip, gutted their fish on the family dock, or otherwise needed a good yelling-at.
“What in the world are you doing?” she snapped, storming toward the helicopter and the man who had started walking toward her. “Are you doing some kind of maneuvers out here? Do you have a license for this? You scared my dog, now we’re going to have to catch him, and my husband—” It just popped out, almost without her conscious direction. “—is having to collect our camping gear that you blew all over creation. What in the hell are you doing scaring people with that—” She waved her hands at the helicopter. It was still running, the rotors whining in a rapid circle. “—thing?”
The military guy seemed taken aback. “Ma’am, I was wondering if you’ve seen a?—”
“Wait, wait. Hey, Pete!” she yelled in Luke’s general direction. Luke still had his head down and the hood over his face, making a show of gathering things up. “I think I saw the other cooler blow over the edge! Go grab it before it floats away—honey!”
“Ma’am—wait—sir, I need to talk to you?—”
Luke, moving fast, was already over the edge and down the trail, vanishing from view. The military guy started to step after him, but Inga blocked his path. One of the advantagesof the height she had inherited was that it made dealing with belligerent men easier. She was actually a little bit taller than this guy, though he had a bulldog toughness and was built like a brick wall.
“You can talk to me,” Inga snapped. “If you want our names, we’re Inga—” Damn, she shouldn’t have given him her real name; she managed to veer off just before she gave him her last name too. “—and Pete ... Peterson. We have a fishing cabin up the coast. What’s that, Pete?” she yelled over her shoulder. “It blew left, I think!”
“We’re looking for a fugitive, ma’am.” Military Guy finally managed to get a word in edgewise. “Have you seen anyone around lately? Someone suspicious? Might’ve stolen some clothes or other items?”
“Nobody else but us,” Inga said, waving the question off as if it didn’t matter, her heart racing. “Just us. Unfortunately. Pete, you flipping moron, your other left!” she yelled over her shoulder. “Mister, are you married?”
“Uh, no,” Military Guy began.
“Lucky you! My idiot husband couldn’t find his butt cheeks with both hands if he had a map!” She sent a silent apology to Luke, but it had occurred to her that there was one thing absolutelynobodywanted.
And that thing was getting in the middle of was someone else’s domestic dispute.
“Can you believe I just found out I’m pregnant six weeks ago?” Inga yelled. “And we came out here thinking we could fix things—Pete, where’s the damn dog? I swear, the dog’s as bad as he is. I didn’t even want a dog!”
Military Guy was backing up with increasing speed. He nearly bumped into another soldier who had gotten out of the helicopter. Inga saw, with an unpleasant lurch in her chest, that this one was carrying a gun.
“Sir, do you want us to search the area?”
“No, I don’t think the target is here,” Military Guy said. “Thank you for your help, ma’am.”
“Men!” Inga yelled at the sky.
