“We’ll take care of that.” The physician seemed utterly sure. “Shall we get started?”
Layla closed her eyes and leaned back so she was lying flat, the thin paper that covered the padded surface crinkling under her weight. With a lift of the hips and a quick shuffle, she did away with what covered her.
“I’ll take care of that for you,” the nurse said quietly.
Layla’s knees locked together as she patted around with her feet for those forsaken stirrups.
“That’s it.” That rolling stool squeaked as the doctor closed in. “But move down farther.”
For a split second, she thought, I can’t do this.
Curling her arms around her lower belly, she squeezed them in, as if she could somehow hold the baby inside of her at the same time she kept herself from flying apart. But there was nothing she could do, no conversations she could have with her body to calm it down and keep what had implanted, no loving pep talk she could impart to her young so it would keep trying to survive, no strain of words to calm her total panic.
For a split second, she longed for the cloistered life she had once found so stifling. Up in the Scribe Virgin’s Sanctuary, the placid nature of her existence had been something she had taken for granted. Indeed, ever since she had come down to earth and tried to find purpose here, she had been rocked by trauma after trauma.
It made her respect the males and females whom she had been told were beneath her.
Down here, everyone seemed to be at the mercy of forces outside of their control.
“Are you ready?” the doctor asked.
As tears rolled out of the corners of her eyes, she focused on the ceiling above her, and gripped the edge of the table. “Yes. Do it now.”
TWENTY
Holy shit, Qhuinn was completely out of control.
Almost no visibility. Plane wobbling back and forth like it had the DTs. Engine cutting in and out.
And he couldn’t even check on Z. Too much wind to yell over, and he wasn’t taking his eyes off wherever they were headed—or more like wherever they were going to crash-land—even though he couldn’t see a damn thing—
What in a million years had made him think this was a good idea?
The one thing that appeared to be working was the compass, so at least he could orientate himself to where home base was: The Brotherhood compound was due north and a little east, on the top of a mountain surrounded by the invisible, defensive boundary of V’s mhis. So directionally, he was right on, assuming that N-S-E-W dial was in fact more operational than, oh, say, everything else in the tin-can shit box.
As he looked to his right, the unrelenting wind coming through the half-shattered windshield slammed into his ear canal. Out the side window, he could see…a whole lot of dark. Which he took to mean they had passed through the suburbs and were out over the farmland. Maybe they’d already hit the rolling hills that eventually turned into the mountain—
A sound like a car backfiring got his attention in a bad way—but what was worse?
The sudden silence that followed.
No engine clatter. Just the wind whistling into the cockpit.
Okay, now they were really in trouble.
For a split second, he thought about dematerializing out. He was strong enough, aware enough—but he wasn’t leaving Z—
A strong hand landed on his shoulder, scaring the balls off him.
Z had dragged himself forward, and going by the expression on his face, he was having trouble staying on his feet—and not just because of the bucking and weaving.
The Brother spoke up, his deep voice cutting through the din. “Time for you to go.”
“Fuck that,” Qhuinn hollered back. Reaching forward, he went to try the ignition. Couldn’t hurt, right?
“Don’t make me throw you out.”
“Try it.”
“Qhuinn—”
The engine kicked back on, and the din reintensified. All good news. The trouble was, if the bastard’d gone out once, it was going to go out again.
Qhuinn shoved his hand into his jacket. As he snagged his cell phone, he thought of everyone they were both leaving behind—and he passed the thing to the Brother.
If there was a hierarchy in the reach-out-and-touch order, Z was at the top of the list. He had a shellan and a daughter—and if anyone was going to make a call, it was him.
“What’s this for?” Zsadist said darkly.
“You can figure it out.”
“And you can leave—”
“Not leaving—gotta fly this deathtrap until we hit something.”
There was some further arguing at that point, but he wasn’t moving from the driver’s seat, and as strong as the Brother was under normal circumstances, Z wasn’t in any condition to muscle around so much as a loaf of bread. And the convo didn’t last long. After the talk dried up, Z disappeared, no doubt ducking back into the rear so he could make that last contact with those he loved.
Smart move.
Left to his own devices, Qhuinn closed his eyes and threw a prayer up to anyone who might hear the thing. And then he pictured Blay’s face—
“Here.”
He flipped open his lids. His cell phone was right in front of his face, held in place by Z’s sturdy grip. And the GPS map was up and rolling, the little blinking arrow showing him exactly where they were.
“Another three miles,” the Brother yelled over the roaring noise. “That’s all we need—”
There was a boom and a fizzle—and then another round of that god-awful quiet. Cursing, Qhuinn focused hard on the little screen all the while hoping things would restart on their own. More north, obviously—but farther east. A lot farther. His guesstimate had been good, but hardly spot-on.
Without the phone? They’d be fucked.
Well, that and the whole no-engine thing.
Checking the precise location, he made some calculations in his head, and steered them to the right, trying to get that pointed indicator on the map heading exactly to their mountain. Then it was time to try to jump-start the engine again.
They were losing altitude. Not in that movie-spiral way, where there was a close-up on the altimeter and the thing was spinning fast as you wished the propeller was. But slowly, inexorably they were drifting down…and if they lost enough forward momentum, which was what that unreliable sewing machine under the hood was supposed to provide, they were going to drop out of the sky like a stone.
Working the ignition over and over again, he muttered, “Come on, come on, come on….”
It was hard to keep the nose up with only one hand—and just as he was going to have to devote all of his attention to fighting with the steering wheel, Z’s arm shot forward, kicked his hand out of the way, and took over trying to restart the engine.
For a split second, Qhuinn had an absurdly clear snapshot of the slave band peeking out from the cuff of the Brother’s leather jacket—and then it was all business.
God, his shoulders were on fire from pulling back on the wheel shaft.
And to think he was dying to hear that racket from the—
All at once, the engine coughed back to life, and the change in their altitude was immediate. The instant those spark plugs and pistons started roaring again, the numbers began going up.
Keeping the throttle fully engaged, he checked the fuel gauge. On E. Maybe they were just out of gas, and it wasn’t a mechanical issue?
Talk about splitting hairs.
“Just a little farther, baby—just a little more, come on, baby girl, you can do it….”
As an endless stream of murmured encouragement left his lips, the impotent words were drowned out by the only thing that mattered—but come on, like the Cessna spoke English…?