In one motion, he rose, shifting his hold so she lay against his chest like a child, and carried her down flights of stairs that felt endless, then into the night. Another explosion, more screams, peppering gunfire, and so, so cold. She shook, helpless against it all, but he held her securely.
“I’ve got you,” he said again.
Someone whistled, and Gus ran in that direction. She gave in to the exhaustion, safe with Gus. Her whole life, always safe with Gus.
When she awoke next, she was on the ground, wrapped in a blanket, her head cushioned on someone’s coat. She felt a strangeness on her arm. Someone had changed the bandage. The stink was gone, at least for now. She rolled her head to the side and saw Gus standing about six feet away, his chin down as he listened to the people around him. He said something she couldn’t hear, then someone brought him what looked like Gordon’s radio. The grass swished quietly as his boots came toward her. He unpacked the radio then held the headphones to one ear. Subconsciously, she translated as he tapped in the Morse code.
.--. .- -.-. -.- .- --. . / ... . -.-. ..- .-. . -.. .-.-.- / .--. .. -.-. -.- ..- .--. / ----- ....- ----- -----
Package secured. Pickup 0400
A crackling sound escaped the headphones, then more beeps.
- .- -..- .. / .-- .- .. - .. -. --.
Taxi waiting
“Am I the package?” Her voice sounded funny to her own ears. Lazy. As if she’d been drinking too much alcohol. Too many sidecars with Stacy. Too much dancing.
He dropped beside her and unscrewed the top of his canteen. He held it to her mouth again. “You heard that? I thought you’d forgotten Morse code.”
“How could I, with you and Dot hammering away all the time?”
He pulled out a piece of bread and tore off smaller bits for her. She ate, appreciating the softness of the bread. Between bites and sips of water, her head began to clear, and yet nothing made sense.
“Why are you here?”
His fingers swept across her brow. “You caught me. I’m a tourist, exploring the wilds of France.”
Her gaze dropped to the pistol in his belt. “With guns and radios?”
“It’s the latest thing in tourism. There’s a truck coming to get us, Dash, then we have a long drive. You can sleep the whole way.”
“I have been sleeping for days.”
“You need it. By the way, the ATA wants their Spitfire back.”
She winced, remembering that night. “I’ll build them a new one.” She gazed up at him, so, so happy he was there. “I should have done what Dot did and got a safe little desk job. All I ever wanted to do was fly planes, not get involved in all this.”
A smile touched his lips. “But you’re not Dot.”
“She always was the smart one.”
“You’re both smart.”
They turned toward the sound of approaching tires on gravel, and one of the men with Gus stepped out from behind a tree to inspect the vehicle as it slowed. Like Gus, he held a gun. He turned his face into the light and nodded to Gus, and she recognized Gordon.
“Can you walk?” Gus asked.
She nodded but was unsure. Gus kept his arm around her as they moved to the car, where Gordon waited like a shadow. He was quiet as before, but she sensed a new sadness in him.
“I’m sorry about Ruby,” she said.
He glanced away. “I’m sorry for leaving you.”
“Climb in and get comfortable,” Gus said, opening the rear door. “Let’s go home.”
Home.An unexpected sadness lurched in Dash’s chest. The war was over for her. She would have to leave the Spitfires and the Hurricanes behind. Her fellow pilots would continue their precious duty, but she would not. Would she ever fly again? Did she want to? After those final terrifying moments in the Spitfire, she had trouble imagining herself finding the courage to sit in a cockpit again.
