She throttled up slowly, letting the engines warm. Beyond the windows, she could vaguely make out the props stirring up the blowing snow.
After a full minute, she asked, “Ready?”
No one answered.
“Here we go,” she said, barely loud enough to be heard. It sounded, even to her, more like a prayer. She pushed the engines, the props chopped into the winds, and the Twin Otter broke from its spot on the ice. The plane slid on its skids, moving out.
Jenny worked the controls to angle them away from the base. Her plan was to taxi into the wind, using the force of the storm to help her get aloft. It would still be a hell of a ride.
“Hang on,” she began to say, but was cut off.
“We’ve got company,” Kowalski said. He had craned around and was staring behind them.
Jenny checked. Two glows, like a car’s headlights, shone behind them. Then the two lights split apart, sailing away from one another, but arcing toward the Otter.
Hovercrafts.
Jenny throttled up, generating a roar from the props. The plane sped ahead, but it was slow with the headwind pounding at the windshield. Normally a fierce headwind was perfect for a quick takeoff, but these winds gusted, battering the plane. “The Russians must have heard us.”
“Or they posted infrared scopes and spotted the engines heating up out here.”
A blast of rifle fire suddenly cut through the engine noise, sounding distant in the blanket of the storm. A few slugs struck the fleeing plane with sharp pings. But the tail assembly and storage spaces shielded the cabin.
Jenny fought to increase their speed into the wind.
“They’re coming around!” Tom called from the backseat.
Jenny glanced to the right and left. Two glows could be seen, swinging up to get clear shots at the cabin.
She stared out into the storm breaking over her windshield, pressing against her, holding her back. This would never work. They didn’t have the time to fight the winds. She needed a new angle of attack — and there was only one other option.
“Hold on!” she called out.
She throttled down the port engine while kicking up the starboard. At the same time, she worked the flaps, one up, the other down. The Otter spun on its runners, like a hydroplaning car. It skidded on the ice, coming full around, pointing back the way they had come.
“What are you doing?” Kowalski yelled, pushing off the window he had been pressed against.
Jenny jammed both engines to full power. Props churned snow into a blur. The Otter leaped ahead, racing again over the ice.
With the wind at their backs, the plane accelerated rapidly.
Kowalski realized where they were heading. Back toward the base. “You don’t have the clearance. You’ll never get the lift you need.”
“I know.”
The pair of hovercraft whirled out and back, spinning around to give chase. A single bullet pinged against the Otter’s tail.
“We’ll never make it,” Tom whispered.
Jenny ignored them all. She raced ahead, watching her gauges, especially her speed.
From the corner of her eye, she saw the lights of the base appear ahead. Darker shadows marked the village of Jamesway huts.
The Otter sped toward them.
The vibrations of the runners over the ice lessened as the plane began to lift. Jenny held her breath. She didn’t have enough speed yet. The momentary lift was only from the storm winds. She was right. The runners hit again, shaking the plane as the skids rode across the uneven ice field.
“Pull around!” Kowalski yelled. “We can’t make it!”
Jenny hummed under her breath and aimed directly for one of the dark buildings, a shadow in the glow of the base’s lamp poles. She prayed it was aligned like the barracks from which she and Kowalski had escaped.
The plane sped toward it. Jenny held back just a pinch of power. She would need it.
“What are you—?” Kowalski began, then finished with
Like the barracks, a snowbank had blown against the windward side of the Jamesway hut, a frozen wave banking almost to the roof.
The Otter struck the icy slope, nose popping up. Jenny kicked the engines with the last bit of power. The runners rode up the bank, then shot skyward.
The skids brushed against the corrugated roof of the building with a rasp of metal on metal — then they were away, airborne into the teeth of the storm.
For the next few stomach-rolling minutes, Jenny fought for control of her craft. The plane bobbled, a kite in a storm. But while the winds were blowing fiercely, they were also steady. Jenny turned into the storm, using the wind’s rush over her wings to propel her upward. She eventually found her wings, and the Otter stabilized.
Sighing, she checked her gauges: altitude, airspeed, compass. In these whiteout conditions, the instruments were all she had to go by. Beyond the windshield, there was no discernible way of telling sky from ice.
“You’re fucking awesome!” Kowalski said, wearing a shaggy grin.
Jenny wished she could share his enthusiasm. Still watching her instruments, she felt her gut tighten. The gauge on the reserve fuel tank was draining away. The dial swept from full, to half, to quarter. One of the stray bullets must have torn a line. She was blowing fuel behind her. She checked her main tank.
It was holding fine — if you could call a mere eighth of a tank
“What’s wrong?” Tom asked.
“We’re almost out of fuel.”
“What?” Kowalski asked. “How?”
Jenny pointed and explained.
Kowalski swore fiercely once she was done.
“How far can we get before we have to land?” Tom asked.
Jenny shook her head. “Not far. Maybe fifty miles.”
“Great…” Kowalski groaned. “Just far enough to land in the middle of bumfuck nowhere.”
Jenny understood his anger. Out here, lost, without food or warm clothes, they would not survive long in the freezing cold.
“What can we do?” Tom asked.
No one answered.
Jenny continued to fly. It was all she could do for now.
With no more tricks to play, Matt and Amanda had only one course left, the most basic means of defense. “Run!” Matt yelled, giving Amanda a rough push.
She let out a gasp, then leaped away like a startled doe.
Matt did his best to keep up with her, but barefoot, it was like running with two freezer-burned steaks tied around his feet.
They fled up the tunnels, but with every few steps, Matt was losing ground.
“I know…I know this place!” Amanda yelled. “We’re not far from the exit!”
Matt glanced over a shoulder.
The grendel flew down the tunnel toward them — only ten yards away now. It loped after them, sinuous and lethal, claws casting up spats of ice. It must have sensed that its prey was close to escaping. All caution gone.
