to be the battering ram. Keep your feet about as wide apart as the window.”
She didn’t have a chance to respond, because with a grunt, he hoisted her off the ground, squeezing the breath out of her. She drew her legs up and braced her feet. He staggered back a few steps and then lumbered forward. Her sneakers struck the window with a jolt that made her legs buzz up to her knees, and the entire window, Plexiglas and frame, flew into the shed, crashing and clattering as it fell into a rack of shelves.
He set her on the sill and she slipped through into the oven-hot interior. It was pretty much what she had expected, shelving filled with tools, several small barrels of transmission and hydraulic fluid, rags in a plastic grocery bag. There was a metal cabinet set next to where the window had been, and she pried it open. Bingo: four headsets hanging on a dowel. She took two and passed them out to Russ, then turned to case out the shed more carefully, looking for something that might be helpful. The shelving was too heavy, the clipboards way too small; then she spotted two grimy lawn chairs, folded and tossed into the corner. They would do nicely. She grabbed them and stuffed them through the window.
“What are these for?” he asked.
“Waxman’s going to need some sort of restraint before we move him,” she said. She went back to the shelves, took the bag of rags, and thrust it out, as well. “You can stomp on the chairs to flatten them and tie him down to the webbing with these.”
“The gunk on these rags will kill him, if the lift doesn’t.”
She glared through the window. “I’m open to suggestions, if you have a better idea.” He lifted his hands and backed away. She turned back to the shed’s interior. Now, all she needed to find was…Frowning, she went through the rest of the cabinet.
“No charts,” she said half to herself.
“What?”
She pulled a paper towel from a roll in the cabinet and wiped the sweat off her face. “No charts. I didn’t see any in the cockpit, and I was hoping they would be stored here. Opperman must have taken them with him.”
“Is this something you need to fly?”
She almost said yes, then remembered to whom she was talking. “I just needed them for the radio frequencies. But it doesn’t really matter. Whoever flew the ship the last time would have tuned the radio to the right approach control. Probably Albany. Maybe Boston. It’ll be there.” She up-ended a pail in front of the window space. “Help me out.”
She levered herself over the edge, the shed wall shaking hard beneath her weight, and Russ grabbed her under her arms and dragged her out. She shook herself. “I wouldn’t have believed it, but it actually feels cooler out here after that.”
“You sure you don’t need those charts?”
She looked up at him. “I’m sure.”
“Did you turn on the radio to make sure?”
“We’re in the mountains, Russ. I’m going to have to be at a couple thousand feet before I can get any signal.” He looked pale again. She laid her hand on his arm. “Do you trust me?”
He nodded.
“Then you let me worry about the piloting. You’re the dumb grunt, remember?”
He laughed, an explosive choked sound that was very close to the edge, but not going over. She scooped up the bag of oily rags, satisfied. “Let’s get those helmets and go.”
Peggy was backing out of the passenger-side cockpit door. “I put another two water bottles in,” she said. “I thought you might need them.”
“Thanks, Peggy.” Clare kept her eyes on Russ as he tossed the lawn chairs through the cargo doorway and then clipped his headset over his ears. He adjusted the mike into the proper position. He may not have liked choppers, but he had certainly done this before.
“I didn’t have a chance to tell you because”—Peggy tilted her head toward Russ, indicating his attempts to keep his problem under wraps hadn’t been entirely successful—“but I phoned the Glens Falls Hospital while I was down in the office and told them what you were attempting. The triage nurse I spoke with said you should take him straight to Albany Medical Center.”
Clare bit her lower lip. “Without stopping for any medical personnel first?”
“That’s what she said.”
Clare gestured at the sailcloth bag, which was drooping on the ground near the tail boom. “You didn’t bring your phone with you, did you?”
Peggy spread her hands. “I forgot. I’m sorry. I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I’m having a hard time stringing two thoughts together.”
“That’s natural. Look, are you going to be okay to drive yourself?”
“I think I will be. I know the route so well from here that it’s like the old gray mare returning to the barn.”
“Okay. We’ll let you know what’s happening as soon as we get into Albany.” Clare stuffed the bag of rags under her arm and placed the headset on her head, tilting the mike into position. “Better get back to the edge of the tarmac. Don’t approach the ship once I’ve got the rotors going.”
Peggy nodded, scooped up her bag, and retreated to the trailhead. Clare switched on the set-to-set transmitter. “Russ?” she said. He didn’t respond. She glanced over to where he stood staring into the cargo area. She walked over, tapped him on one of the headphones, and switched him on. “Can you hear me?” she asked quietly.
“Yeah,” he said.
She pointed up to the cargo boom jutting out over the open door. “That’s what the net hangs from, obviously.”
