behind us told me our pursuers weren't so psyched about our exit plan – the whole lot of 'em were sprinting toward us, shouting and waving like madmen in an attempt to alert the flight crew to our presence. Doubtless there were at least that many more approaching from the other side of the chopper, and it was only a matter of time before every cop, National Guardsman, and SWAT unit in the city descended upon our location. The time for caution had passed.
I wheeled toward the door, gun at ready. Inside the cabin were two flight nurses, both lean and efficient and rendered genderless by their flight suits and helmets as they busied themselves stowing gear and inventorying supplies. When they saw me, they froze. With a twitch of my gun barrel, I suggested they vacate the vehicle. They caught my drift just fine, and climbed out of the chopper, hands held high.
I gestured for them to back away, and reluctantly, they complied. One of them spoke, though the words were lost in the wail of the engine. Then I caught movement out of the corner of my eye, and I realized the words were not for me, but for whoever was on the other end of that helmet mic.
The pilot had climbed from his perch behind the controls and was sneaking through the cabin – toward the open cabin door, and toward me. In his hand, he held a flare gun. I spun, leveling my piece at his face, and he stopped short, my barrel a scant inch from the bridge of his nose. The flare gun clattered to the cabin floor, forgotten, and he, too, raised his hands. I liked this one, I decided. He was brave, but not stupid. He was also the only one of the two of us who could fly this fucking thing, so by my count that was two reasons I was glad he hadn't made me pull the trigger.
My pilot-friend again made for the cabin door, though slowly this time, as though anticipating my demand that he follow his crew. I shook my head and waved him back inside. Though his eyes were hidden behind the reflective visor of his flight helmet, I saw his features slacken as realization dawned. He climbed back into the pilot's seat, while behind him, Kate and I clambered aboard.
'Get this thing in the air!' I shouted, but this time, it was he who shook his head. He tapped the side of his helmet, twice, and gestured toward a headset hanging from the console before him.
I slipped on the headset, which looked to me like an old pair of headphones, and adjusted the microphone before repeating my command. 'It'll take a minute,' came the crackling reply.
'It takes any longer, and you and I have got a problem – you get me?' I pressed my gun tight to the base of his neck, and he nodded – a jerky, frightened gesture. 'Just fly us out of here, and you have my word you won't be harmed.' Again, he nodded, though if I were him, I probably wouldn't have believed me.
There was a tap on my shoulder, and I damn near jumped out of my skin. It was Kate, and she looked worried. I lifted one earpiece, and she leaned close, shouting: 'Sam, we've got company!'
A glance out the open door proved her right: the cops had set up a perimeter around the chopper, just outside the barriers that marked off the landing area. Two men, crouched behind riot shields, crept across the landing area toward us, buffeted by the breeze kicked up by our rotor, which now swung lazily overhead.
I nodded toward the flare gun that lay on the floor of the cabin. 'See if you can't slow 'em down a bit – and get that door closed!'
She nodded, retreating to the back of the cabin. Over the
The chopper rocked on its skids as Kate slid shut the cabin door. Then the rock became a lurch as we leapt skyward. We hovered just a few feet above the street, motionless but for the gentle pitch and yaw of the chopper as she was buffeted by the wind.
'What now?' asked our pilot.
'Just fly.'
'Where?'
'Anywhere.' He nodded, and we began to climb.
Below us was a flurry of activity as our pursuers swarmed the landing pad. Too late, the order came to take us down – shot after shot rang out, audible even over the racket of the chopper. As we rose, I heard a dull thud, and the helicopter shuddered.
'Are we hit?' I asked, a little more panicked than I would have liked.
The pilot nodded. 'Feels like they dinged our elevator. Long as we don't lose it, we'll stay up all right – but it's gonna be a bumpy ride.'
We continued upward, the helicopter hitching and shaking like a carnival ride too long past inspection. The pop of gunfire beneath us faded to nothing as we cleared the rooftops, pitching southward in slow, jerky arc that eventually brought our bearing east.
'No,' I said, again pressing the gun to his neck, 'keep us over the city. You think I'm gonna let you take us out to sea and ditch this thing?'
He maintained his heading. 'If you expect to crash us into a populated area, you'd better pull the trigger – alive, I won't let it happen.'
'I told you, I've got no intention of killing you – or anyone else for that matter. Just keep us over the city, and soon enough, we all go our separate ways. Or you could keep on heading east and see what happens when I get angry.'
The pilot hesitated, but only for a moment. Then, without a word, he turned the bird around. He was going easy on the throttle, but whether it was because of the chopper's ever-worsening tremors or to give the authorities on the ground a chance to keep up, I didn't know. Besides, I couldn't exactly tell him to hurry if I had no idea where we were headed, and right now, our speed was the least of my concerns.
No, what worried me was the radio.
'Hey,' I said, gesturing toward my headphones, 'these things got a volume knob?' He looked confused for a moment, and then pointed at the console. I fiddled with the knobs he'd indicated, flinching as I inadvertently
