The big question, Sam knew, was whether the landing strip would be firm enough to hold the weight of the DC-3 during takeoff. The cultivated fields on both sides of the strip were lakes of water, mud-colored sheets that seemed to boil under the bombardment of raindrops. The landing strip was raised above the level of the fields and seemed to be free of standing water, but she had no way of knowing how solid the ground was underneath the grass cover.
There was only one way to find out.
“You-all stay put,” Sam yelled in modified Southern, as they huddled in a small grove of banana trees on the edge of the fields. “I’m gonna go check out the runway.” Cory caught at her hand, and she flashed a strained and crooked smile, looking past him with unfocused eyes. She couldn’t look at his gaunt, pain-ravaged face, or the blood-soaked cargo pants. Didn’t dare. “No sense in everybody getting stuck in the mud, if that’s the situation.”
But it was only bravado, and as she splashed out into the flooded fields, some of the moisture she brushed from her face wasn’t rain.
She’d only gone a few yards when she heard something that changed all her plans-an all-too-familiar sound-the pop and crackle of gunfire. But where was it coming from? In the rain it was impossible to tell. From the village? Or the jungle on the other side of the fields? Or-dear God,
She spun around and ran back to the banana grove, waving and yelling as she went. “Come on-now! Everybody. We have to get to the plane. That gunfire might be the government’s forces or it might be al-Rami’s, but one thing’s for sure, we don’t want to be caught in between!”
She grabbed Hal’s hand and helped him to his feet, waited, shifting impatiently, until he’d picked up Esther and gotten her situated, then tucked her shoulder under Cory’s arm and slipped hers around his waist. And once again, she set out across the sea of rain and mud.
How they made it, she never knew. Later, looking back on it, she didn’t remember her heart pounding, or her muscles screaming, or her breath tearing through her lungs. She remembered a terrible sense of urgency and purpose. And one clear thought:
She remembered Hal Lundquist’s face, set in a zombielike mask, eyes wide and unfocused, and she remembered wondering how on earth he could still be moving, still be putting one foot in front of the other, carrying his sick wife all those miles, through the rain and mud and jungle…
She remembered thinking about what Tony had said:
Chapter 13
The DC-3 loomed ahead in the rain, its nose in the air and its tail dragging on the grassy landing strip…the great gray Gooneybird, relic from another time, a different war. Sam’s spirits lifted with relief and thanksgiving at the sight, almost as if she were already at the controls of the aircraft and soaring toward the sky.
She let go of Cory and scrambled up the short grassy bank ahead of the others, then turned to offer a hand. Hal slipped once, but never lost his dogged grip on Esther, and then Sam was there on one side of him and Tony on the other, holding him up, and together they all made it to the relative shelter of the plane’s big wing.
“Get everybody inside,” Sam yelled to Tony. “I’m gonna go check out the runway.”
She slipped under the wing and ran past the plane’s upswept nose…down the grass-covered strip that stretched ahead of her arrow-straight until it disappeared into the curtain of rain. She ran for nearly a hundred yards, and her heart lifted with such relief and hope she felt as if she could have run forever…turned cartwheels… shouted for joy. Under her feet, rather than the squelch of sucking mud or the give of saturated soil, she felt only a beautiful, unyielding…
She turned, finally, and jogged back to the plane, and Tony came hesitantly to meet her, his face tight with suspense. He looked slightly stunned-though pleased-when she threw her arms around him and kissed him resoundingly on his broad wet cheek.
“That’s for your grandaddy,” she yelled. “Those navy Cee Bees knew their stuff. Must’ve built this thing out of crushed volcanic rock. It’s solid as the runways at JFK!”
“Go Cee Bees!” Tony pumped an arm in the air and grinned. “So, we’re good to go?”
“Good to go! I just need to check out the plane. Everybody inside and buckled in?”
“Almost,” Tony said dryly, jerking a thumb over his shoulder. “He wouldn’t get in until you got back.”
She looked past him and her heart lurched when she saw Cory standing beside the plane, leaning heavily on the steps. “Typical…” she muttered, but couldn’t deny the sweet warmth-Lord, what could she call it-tenderness?-that flooded her. Though she did try, adding a sardonic, “My God, what’s holding him up?”
Tony shrugged and gave her a sly look. “What’d I tell you? It’s love-what else?”
Having no answer for that, Sam made a halfhearted scoffing noise. Her heart was beating like a trip-hammer as she left Tony and walked over to Cory, and inexplicably, she felt awkward and shy. Her face ached and the best smile she could come up with was small and crooked as she spread her hands wide and said, “Hey, Pearse, it’s okay…the runway’s okay. Rock solid. We’re getting out of here. We’re gonna get everybody home.”
He looked at her. Just looked…his eyes sunk so deep in their sockets they seemed almost black…his face chalk-white beneath a dark growth of beard. Then he lifted his hand and curved it around the back of her neck. She felt his arm tremble as he pulled her close, but his lips were warm and firm when he kissed her. Then he folded her one-armed against him…let go of the steps and wrapped both arms around her. And though she could feel him swaying with weakness, she closed her eyes and let herself hold him for a long, sweet moment.
One that lasted not nearly long enough. It was shattered by the thump of a distant explosion, and then, closer by, the all-too-familiar rattle of gunfire.
Tony lurched past her up the steps yelling, “Here they come! Let’s get the hell outa here.”
New adrenaline spurted into her bloodstream as she hooked an arm around Cory, who was struggling to pull himself up the steps, dragging his injured leg.
“Get him inside and buckled in,” she yelled to Tony, and then she was ducking under the end of the wing, trying not to cringe as the sounds of battle rumbled closer, knowing she had only minutes to get the plane off the ground, knowing, too, that if she overlooked something vital in the preflight prep it could mean disaster for everyone on board.
So, she forced herself to shut out the gunfire and concentrate on the checklist in her mind…checked the props, looking for bird nests in the cylinders and hinges…checked the cowls and gear pins. Satisfied, finally, she pulled the chocks from the wheels and sprinted for the door of the plane.
She pulled up the steps and secured the door, then paused to catch her breath. So far so good, but they weren’t out of the woods yet. Not by a long shot. A DC-3 aircraft wasn’t a car, she couldn’t just jump in and start it up and go shooting off into the wild blue yonder. It was going to take a while to run through even the most basic cockpit check, and then the warm-up…the takeoff…Thank God, at least she’d had the foresight to turn the plane around before she’d shut it down!
On her way up the aisle she paused to make sure everyone was belted securely, and had to resist the impulse to put her hand on Cory’s shoulder…just to touch him one more time.
Then she was slipping into the pilot’s seat, running through the preflight check, once again forcing herself not to rush, to concentrate on the task at hand.
Satisfied at last, she cleared the props and put her hand on the engine-selector switch, just as Tony slid into the right-hand seat beside her.
“We ’bout ready to get this thing airborne?” he asked, his voice breathless and light, trying to hide the urgency in it. “Those bullets are getting a little too close for comfort.”
“Starting the engines now,” Sam replied, tight-lipped, as her fingers manipulated the switches and first one
