Still in tight, familiar formation, the few people I have with me tuck in and fight valiantly. I take cover behind the wall of the last building on the block. I am exposed to the clearing of the airport, in addition to being in clear sight of the helicopter. Omega is surrounding us from three sides of the building. We fire and peel back, fire and peel back.
A huge blast rips through the cyclone fence around the tarmac. I drop to the ground, covering my head from pieces of hot metal and flying dirt. The fence springs apart like a slinky. The thundering black helicopter swoops forward, the snouts of the heavy automatic weapons visible from the fuselage.
We are so dead.
“Take cover!” I shout.
Heavy, ripping automatic weapons fire razes downward. It misses us! The trail of thudding bullets whips through the air, taking an Omega patrol out with it. They scream, collapsing, blown apart. I stay where I am, firing and reloading furiously.
The Omega patrols closing in on us from the opposite side of the building scramble to take cover behind the brick walls. The helicopter is hovering about one hundred feet away from our position, but the blast from the blades and the roar of the aircraft itself is tremendous. Enough to knock you off your feet.
The chopper descends and bounces off the asphalt, coming to a harried landing.
“CASSIDY!”
I tilt my head up. The doors on the helicopter are open. Manny is standing in the doorway. He’s shouting my name, motioning me with his free hand, his shoulder bloody. In that moment, everything makes sense. It clicks.
“Move it! Everybody in!” I yell, motioning toward the chopper.
We sprint toward the chopper, snapping shots while we run. I feel like I’m clawing my way through a dream. Everything is overwhelmingly loud and each beat of the blades is like a punch in the gut. I reach the door and Uriah helps me climb inside.
“Manny!” I gasp, relief seizing me. He claps me briefly on the shoulder, and pushes his way into the cockpit. His flight cap is strapped tightly to his head and he’s grinning devilishly. The team scrambles inside. Vera slaps Manny’s arm and gives him the all-clear signal. Then we are airborne, and we are lifting fifty feet off the street.
“There’s a wounded POW in the back!” Vera screams.
I can’t hear her. I can only read her lips.
“Andrew?” I shout, jerking my thumb toward the back of the chopper.
He nods and makes his way through the aircraft, toward the wounded man in the back.
“Hold on, ladies and gentlemen,” Manny yells, still grinning like a madman. “This exit may be a bit bumpy.”
The inside of the helicopter is cramped, but we are together — and we are hanging on for dear life.
We gain elevation and bank right and left so fast that I become dizzy and fight the urge to gag. I hang on and hunker down. I see Alexander in the cockpit beside Manny, shouting something that I can’t hear.
The urban landscape of Los Angeles flashes past the doorway, but unlike the times that I remember before the EMP, this city is dark. Very few lights can be seen.
The helicopter continues to gain altitude and speed.
Someone grabs my shoulder.
“Cassidy, you’re going to want to see this,” Andrew says.
“Now is not the time to admire the city lights!” I gasp, exasperated.
He maintains his grip on my arm, insisting. The Commander in me kicks in and I realize that Andrew is not that shallow. He must have a reason. We stumble to the back of the chopper. There are two canvas beds on each side. Medical stretchers for the wounded.
Please, don’t be somebody I know, I pray.
Andrew looks up at me. In the dim light, he opens his hands as if to offer an apology. He stands up. “He should be okay,” he says. He gives me a long, sad look and returns to a more stable position with the rest of the team, gripping the walls for balance. I kneel beside the stretcher. The man is clothed in black, soaked in blood and sweating. I scream.
“Chris?” I brush the hair away from his face. He opens his eyes. Unshaven, drenched in sweat and blood, he stares at the ceiling before turning his gaze to me.
“Cassie…?”
It’s barely a whisper, but it’s something. I touch his face, placing my hand on his chest. “Oh, my God,” I yell into his ear. “Chris? What happened? How…?”
The words die on my lips.
BANG!
The chopper shakes violently and spins through the air.
I clutch the stretcher. Chris is strapped in, but I’m not. I wrap my wrist around the strap of a safety belt. I will not leave his side. Manny shouts something. I can’t hear it above the roar of the engine and the air pouring through the opening. Gravity is sucking me sideways, but centrifugal force has pinned me against the floor. Chris is barely conscious, head lolling back and forth.
“I don’t have a choice!” I hear Manny yell. Warning lights flash bright. I see orange flames coming from outside.
I brace myself.
We are going down.
Chapter Eleven
I’ve imagined death so many times. As a soldier, it’s something that you have to think about. I figured I’d be dead on a battlefield sometime in the next year — if I even lasted that long. Going down in a flaming helicopter wasn’t something I planned on. First, because I was never crazy about heights. And second, because I didn’t think I’d be riding in a helicopter.
Whatever. Life continually surprises me.
Manny fights for control of the chopper. It spins and lurches violently in the air. Militiamen and women scream, terrified. A hole in the side of the fuselage is sucking the flames and the smoke outside of the aircraft. The chopper skids sideways. Which way is up? Which way is down? I clutch the strap on the stretcher, gasping for air. The G-force presses down on my chest like a weight. Black spots dance before my eyes as the pressure increases. I can’t scream, I can’t see. I can’t breathe.
The chopper lurches and everything levels out for a moment. I swallow some much-needed air. Manny shouts, “BRACE YOURSELVES!”
I try. I really do. It’s not much of a preparation, though. The chopper slams into the ground. Manny has slowed our descent enough that the impact doesn’t break the helicopter into pieces — but it still hurts. My neck snaps forward. My wrist is wrapped around the seatbelt strap but it does no good. My wrist is jerked at an odd angle. I feel the bones grind together. I don’t even have the breath to scream about it.
The chopper bounces roughly, gritting through dirt and trees. Are there buildings here? I don’t know. It’s too dark. Too loud. The sheer chaos overrides every sense in my body. I hang on with the one functional hand that I have left and slam against the wall. More pain shoots through my body.
This is going to hurt later.
If I’m even alive later.
The aircraft begins to slide, tearing apart. The strap that I’ve been holding onto snaps and I’m thrown against the opposite wall. I protect my head with my arms, landing in a crouched, compact position. The prolonged slide seems to stretch for eternity, but it is only mere seconds.
The giant rotor blades collide with the ground, shards of deadly metal flying everywhere — faster than the speed of a bullet, shredding everything in its path.
I’m thrown back across the chopper. I land on someone’s legs. Uriah grabs my shoulders and pulls me upright, offering support. The screaming engine abruptly halts, smoke swirling around us, flames licking through the openings in the chopper.
“Find a hole and get out!” Manny warns.
He manages to climb out of the pilot’s seat, rattled by the crash as much as the rest of us. I climb on hands and knees to the medical stretcher again. I unsnap Chris’s restraints and drag him out of the bed. He is completely unconscious — and heavy. Superhuman levels of adrenaline is the only reason I have the strength to drag him the first few feet through the helicopter as the team hurriedly exits through the holes. They scramble and tumble outside. I am dragging Chris along with me — using every ounce of strength left in my body.