In the sky, the Cessna sped past, low over the trees, tilting on a wing for another pass.
Matt swung around and met Jenny’s gaze. “I’d say they know we’re here.”
Jenny’s expression remained hard. She already had the Winchester rifle in hand again. She stalked toward the open door, followed by everyone else.
Matt hurried after her. “What do you think you’re going to do?”
Outside, Jenny had to yell to be heard above the racket of barking dogs and the whine of the Cessna. “We’re getting out of here.” She raised the rifle and tracked the plane as it arced around. “Everyone get to the Twin Otter.”
“What about running back into the woods?” Craig asked, staring doubtfully at the small sheriff’s plane resting on its floats in the river.
“We escaped once that way,” Matt said, shoving the reporter toward the dock. “We can’t count on that kind of luck again. Not on such a clear day. And there’s no telling if they dropped other commandos out there somewhere.”
Together, the group fled across the yard toward the dock. Jenny helped her father, one hand on his elbow. Dogs ran all around, leaping, barking.
Suddenly Bane appeared at Matt’s side and raced with his master as they hit the docks. Matt had no time to warn the wolf away.
Instead Matt held out a hand for Jenny’s rifle. “Get the engine started. I’ll try to keep them busy.”
Jenny nodded to him. Matt was surprised by the lack of fear in her eyes. She passed the rifle into his palms.
Matt backed down the dock. Bane followed him.
The Cessna banked into another glide toward the homestead. Matt raised the rifle and followed its course. He squeezed off a shot to no effect. He yanked on the rifle’s bolt to crank another round in place.
At the end of the dock, the Twin Otter’s engine coughed once, then died.
The Cessna dropped its flaps and dove along the river’s length, aiming for the foundering floatplane.
Matt aimed for the cockpit window and fired again. He missed. Un-deterred, the plane continued its dive. “Damn it!” He pulled the rifle’s bolt and shouldered the weapon, widening his stance.
Nearby, the Otter’s engine’s finally choked and caught. The rumble drowned out the barking dogs.
“Matt!” Jenny called out the side window. “Get in!”
The Cessna now glided no more than thirty feet above the river. A figure dressed in a white parka leaned out an open side door. The length of a black grenade launcher was balanced on his shoulder. They were coming in fast, going for a point-blank shot. There was no way the Otter could accelerate out of the way in time.
Their only chance was for Matt to get them to blow this shot, make them come around again, buying them time to get airborne themselves.
Biting his lower lip, he eyed through the sights and focused on the man with the launcher. He would swear the guy stared right back at him. Matt squeezed the trigger.
The crack of the rifle made him blink. The man on the Cessna ducked under one of the plane’s struts. Matt had missed, glancing only the wing, but the close call had rattled the man.
Unfortunately, that was not enough. The grenade launcher quickly swung back into position. The Cessna was now only seventy yards away and coming in savage and low.
He readied the Winchester.
“Matt!” Jenny yelled. “Now!”
He glanced over. Jenny’s father held open the plane’s door. The man beckoned to him. “We’re still tethered to the dock!” he bellowed, pointing to the rope.
Matt swore under his breath and ran to the plane, clutching the rifle in one hand. With his free hand, he tugged off the plane’s rope tether and hopped onto the nearest pontoon.
At his heels, Bane leaped into the cabin in one graceful bound. From their years together, the dog was familiar with this mode of travel.
“Go,” Matt yelled through the open door.
The Otter’s engine roared. The twin props, one on each wing, chewed up the air. The plane swiveled away from the docks.
Jenny’s father reached to help Matt inside as he balanced on the float. “No, John,” Matt said, and met the elder Inuit’s eyes. He flipped the rope tether around his own waist, then tossed the end to Jenny’s father. “Tie me in!”
John’s brows crinkled.
“Belay me!” Matt explained, pointing to a steel stanchion by the door.
The elder’s eyes widened with understanding. He wrapped the rope loosely around the support. In the past, the pair had done some glacier climbing together.
As the Otter began to accelerate along the river, Matt worked down the port-side pontoon, leaning against the rope like a rappeller, using the loop as a brace. Jenny’s father fed the rope, keeping the line taut through the stanchion.
Matt clambered out from under the wing’s shadow.
The Cessna chased thirty yards behind their plane’s tail, almost directly overhead, closing swiftly down on them. The Otter would not escape in time.
Matt raised his rifle and leaned far out, held only by the rope’s loop, legs braced wide on the pontoon. Ignoring the commando with the grenade launcher, he aimed for the cockpit window.
As he pulled the trigger, a matching flash of fire exploded from the launcher. Matt cried out. He was too late.
But then the Cessna bobbled in the air: dropping suddenly, tilting on one wing.
With a gut-punching
Matt craned around, twisting in his rope, as they passed the spot. Debris rained down into the river and shoreline.
The grenade had missed. The launcher’s aim must’ve been jolted just as he fired.
The Cessna, unable to stop its momentum, roared past overhead, now chased by the Otter on the river. The other plane managed to steady its flight, but Matt had spotted the spiderweb of cracks on the cockpit window.
His aim had been true.
He danced back up the pontoon, the river racing past his heels. The winds buffeted against him as John reeled him back to the door. Matt reached the opening just as the pontoons lifted free of the water. The rattle under his soles ceased in one heartbeat.
As the plane tilted, Matt lost his balance, falling backward. His arms flailed. He dropped the rifle as he snatched for a handhold. The Winchester tumbled into the river below.
Then a hand grabbed his belt.
He stared into his former father-in-law’s black eyes. The Inuit, secure and snugged in his seat belt, held him tight. They matched gazes as the winds howled past the plane. Then something broke in the older man’s face, and he yanked Matt inside.
He fell into the cabin and twisted to close the door. Bane nosed him from the third row of seats, tongue lolling as he greeted him. Matt roughed him away and slammed the door.
Jenny called from the front, “They’re coming back around!”
Matt hauled himself up and crawled toward the copilot’s seat. Ahead, the Cessna banked sharply on a wingtip.
As Matt settled to the seat, he noticed his empty hands. He silently cursed himself for losing the rifle. “Do you have another gun?”
Jenny spoke as she worked the throttle. The plane fought for height. “I have my Browning, and there’s my service shotgun bolted to the rear cabin wall. But you’ll never hit anything in the air.”
He sighed. She was right. Neither weapon was accurate at long range, especially in these winds.
