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“Got dammit, Trevor! I thought you had a backup plan!” she hollered as she wrenched off her seatbelt and started rummaging around under her seat.
“I do. It’s makin' sure you get the fuck outta dodge safely!” he growled. She pulled her parachute out from under her seat and started fastening the backpack around her torso. More and more lights started flashing on the helicopter’s expansive motherboard. The hailstorm of bullets from which the two of them just barely escaped had done enough damage. They would not be in the air much longer. Thick black smoke began to cloud the cabin. Coughing against the smoke, she reached under his seat to prepare his parachute. Her heart sank when her fingers grasped at nothing but air.
“No time to waste, sweet cheeks,” he spoke up before she could give him an earful. “I promise I’ll find you once the smoke clears.”
"You said we were jumping together!" she shot back at him, a newfound terror ripping at her nerves. They had not discussed this.
"I will find you." He raised his gaze to meet hers. There was something in those amber eyes of his that she had never seen before. Fear? Maybe an ounce of regret? He looked away to refocus on keeping their bird in the sky, hands expertly skittering over the buttons screeching out alerts on the wide dashboard in front of them. The flashing red and white lights illuminated the blood and sweat smeared across his stern face.
“Fuck,” she whimpered through clenched teeth. It was all she could do to fight the urge to cry. She wanted to strap herself back into the co-pilot’s seat and try to help get them both to safety but she knew it wouldn’t make any difference outside of simply making him angry. There was a high-pitched, mechanical squeal and Trevor grunted in disapproval.
“Tail rotor is on its way out. The main one is next. You need to go,” he calmly ordered. Her eyes burned against the tears and smoke.
“I can’t stand you!” she huffed to which he cracked a crooked grin.
“I know. I can’t stand you either.”
She swiped up the army green duffel bag hanging from the back of his seat and fastened it across her hips. She finally turned her back to him and stared out into the indigo darkness through the cracked glass.
“Remember what I told you and don’t pull it too early. You’ll be seen. Stay low, stay quiet, and I’ll see you on the other side!” he explained over his shoulder. She didn’t dare turn around and look at him. She would just end up letting him down if she looked into those eyes again.
Instead, she yanked open the door. Strong winds whipped up past her face, sending her dark hair this way and that, obscuring her view. She didn’t hesitate to leap from the shaky cabin. The whirring of the struggling helicopter was unbearably loud then there was nothing but the sound of the wind whipping past as she fell. Her body twisted and turned, flopping over itself, time and time again. Clouds. Darkness. Clouds. Darkness. Blinking helicopter lights. Clouds then more darkness as she flung out her arms to steady her fall. She was dizzy but she was no longer fighting the air. The cold air burned her lungs with every panicked breath she took. She could feel the tears escape her eyes and get pushed right into her sweaty hairline.
The city they had just escaped from was barely visible in the far distance. She turned her head this way and that, trying desperately to familiarize herself with the dark surroundings beneath her. Even after studying the map for days, it was still difficult to make out the unfamiliar areas in the dark. The water. Look for the water, that’s what he said every time they went over the plan. It was a lake or something close to their getaway spot. She felt like she had been falling forever. She wanted to turn her head and maybe get a glimpse of the helicopter above her but she couldn’t. She had to focus. Where was the water...
There. Light from the full moon reflected off the surface of a body of water. Not far from it were roads with dingy, orange streetlights at intervals. She pulled her arms tight against her sides to steer her fall toward the middle of the water. The wind howled in her ears. The sea was coming up fast. She snatched the string on her chest to free the parachute. Her body jerked back and her descent slowed for only a couple of seconds before she slammed into the water. She screamed, getting a mouthful of saltwater that burned her throat. She was surrounded by cold and darkness. Pain reverberated through all her joints but she forced herself to swim upward until she felt air again. The heavy parachute fanned out across the surface of the water. She drew in deep breaths of air, waiting under the chute and using the all-black fabric as cover in the night. There were no more sirens, no more flashing lights, no more bullets whizzing past. They had been in the air for ages, long after the ground team of police pulled back to leave the department’s helicopter on their tail, only for it to eventually give up as well.
The impact made her chest hurt and she could feel her heart struggling to slow. Her mind was racing too fast to process any singular thought.
She trod water for another minute before she dared tug free from the parachute. The night sky was littered with stars. Looking up at them, it almost felt like another regular night out. However, the weight of the duffel around her hips reminded her that she was alone and she needed to get someplace safe.
A disgusting layer of smog lingered just above the streetlights yards away, basking the whole area in a pale yellow glow. She turned in slow circles. The dim lights of several docks were lit to her far right. Closer, to her left and toward the abundance of light, was what looked to be a sandy shore. She could barely hear the sound of cars slowly treading by on the roads. Stay low, he said. She turned away from the shore and started a slow swim toward the dock with the wet parachute trailing behind her. Every few feet, her hands flew to her waist to make sure the duffel bag was still there. Occasionally, a fish or what she hoped were pieces of seaweed or trash would make contact with her leg or arm and her heart would leap into her throat.
She was alone and terrified. She hadn’t been either of those in so long. With him around, she knew she was always safe. Now she wasn’t sure if he was even alive. The main rotor had been on its way out and he had lied to her about having a parachute for each of them. She didn’t have time to be angry or upset until now. Now she felt hot, angry tears welling in her eyes as she swam. The lump in her throat refused to go away. I’ll see you on the other side, he said. The only other side he could have been referencing was death. Their helicopter had to be just a hunk of flaming metal falling out of the sky now. The man piloting it was a lunatic who played with death too often. He scared the hell out of her, but even now she didn’t find any peace in his absence.
Her arms and legs were on fire but the dock was finally within shouting distance. Gritting her teeth together, she kept pushing. It was what he would have wanted. He would have been impressed. The bottom of the body of water got shallow and she felt the tips of her boots slip against the sediment. She sniffled and sobbed as she got her footing and started walking then wading onto land. Once the water was only up to her thighs, she turned and began pulling in the parachute. She could not afford to leave any evidence behind. Their fingerprints were all over it. They had practiced at a large lake back in their hometown over a hundred times.
Outside of the water, the chilliness of the air could be felt in full effect. The dark wetsuit clung to her shivering frame. Despite all the preparation and reading, the unfamiliar desert was relentless. She roped in foot after foot of the parachute, messily gathering it in her tired arms.
“You look like you running from something.”
The voice made her jump in her skin. She whirled around to find an old man sitting on the edge of the dock to her right. There was a fishing pole in his right hand and a wiggling worm in his left. She looked over both her shoulders then pulled her damp handgun out of the duffel on her hips.
"There's no need for that," he said. "You with Tango?"
She cursed herself in her head. The adrenaline and shock still pumping through her veins had her brain going a million miles a minute. How could she have forgotten their contact? His house was their temporary safe house. Their safe house. She wondered if he knew Trevor wasn't going to make it from the beginning. The old man sat rigid for a moment, his gray eyes boring right into her stone face. The wooden dock creaked as his eyes lowered to the weapon in her grasp.
"I'm with Tango," she quietly let out.
"The blue house. You got til morning," he said as he slid the worm onto the hook and flung his fishing line into the water, yards past where she was standing. She slung the parachute over her shoulder and limped up the rickety old stairs. Crickets and frogs sounded off all around her. An owl hooted from a nearby tree. If the circumstances were different, she would have found the quiet area serene. Right now, she just needed to lay low and wait. Once at the top of the staircase, she eyed the quaint group of homes. No one was outside, most of its inhabitants probably sleeping comfortably in bed. She started toward the blue house closest to her, the only one with the porch light switched on.
A stray cat skittered across her path then disappeared behind the small building. The porch groaned under the weight of her shoes and the front door swung in when she gave it a push. She waited for a sound, any noise of movement at all, but was only met with the rhythmic ticking from the clock on the wall. She switched off the porch light then stepped inside, locking the door behind her. Her pistol was still in her tight grip by her side.
The air inside was stale. The only pictures were of the fisherman posing with various fish he had caught. No wife. No children. No family. Dust had settled on the books on the table in the living room. The small kitchen smelled of old fish. He had only one jacket hanging on the hook in the hallway. There was just one toothbrush in the bathroom. With a harumph, she tossed the heavy parachute into the tub to drain dry. She slid the green duffel behind the toilet before she plopped down on the porcelain seat and finally let herself break down. Her chest ached as she wailed against the hand pressed to cover her lips. She fished her cell phone out of her pocket with a shaky grasp and dialed his number before immediately hanging up.
“Stupid,” she spat to herself. He would not have answered, but even if he did, he would chew her out and say something about the satellites tracking the call. She popped open the phone and pried out the battery. She carelessly tossed the battery into the wet tub then slipped the SIM card out of its metal holster in the device. She stared at the little piece of plastic for a moment before popping it into her mouth. She forced it back between her molars before biting down hard enough to bend it several times then swallowed.
“Stay low. Stay quiet,” she repeated to herself, wiping the tears from her face. Whether or not he had made it, she had to get it together. Her boots popped off with a squelch, seawater seeping and spreading across the scratched linoleum floor. She gave the zipper of the cheap wet suit a long pull downward from her neck to her hips and peeled the cheap fabric away from her frame. Her bloody jeans clung to her legs like glue and she tottered as she struggled to get out of them as well. Now that she finally slowed to breathe and think, she could feel all the blows she had taken. Her mouth fell open in a silent wince as she looked at the purplish bruises on her kneecaps. Stray bullets had left small gashes on her calves and thighs. The smell of gunpowder was starting to seep through the overwhelming fishy smell lingering in the stranger’s house. There was blood under her fingernails. She pushed to her feet to scrub her hands in the sink.
Her eyes caught in the mirror. She looked fresh out of hell. There were bits of debris and blood on her face. Her wet hair was matted to her head and neck. Her bottom lip was split and there was a bleeding nick through the arch of her right eyebrow. She yanked her black shirt over her head and looked at the new bruises forming around her torso from the painful snatch of the parachute’s harness. The skin of her shoulders were bruising red and green from throwing herself against walls to take cover from the bullets. The stab wound by her navel was clotted over and turning a warm burgundy against her caramel skin. She forced her eyes away from herself and quickly scrubbed her face clean. She swiped up the duffel, switched off the light, and left the small bathroom.
Down the hall was a single bedroom. She shut and locked the thin door behind her then switched on the light. It was the one room that didn’t smell like fish, which just barely lifted her spirits. She dug through the dresser drawers. Nothing of value came about. She slipped into one of the fisherman’s plaid shirts and buttoned it up to her neck before she sat down on the bed with the duffel bag. She held it tight in her lap against her and closed her eyes, waiting. What felt like ages was only a few seconds. They were supposed to do this part together.
He knew what he was doing the whole time and didn’t tell her. It was the ultimate betrayal but she knew he had done it for a reason. It didn’t hurt any less. She sucked in a deep breath to suppress the rage trying to burn in her lungs.
Without another anxious thought, she unzipped the duffel and went to work. She withdrew her pistol and slid it under the plush pillow at the head of the bed before she started withdrawing the rubberband-bound cash. His cut was wrapped in orange rubber bands. She pushed them to the side and pulled out the money bound in pink rubber bands. She had wrapped it as he flew the helicopter away from the messy scene unfolding at the bank.
“One, two, three, four, five, six...” she quietly counted as she thumbed through the money. Over and over, she pushed the orange stacks to the side. She could hear the crickets chirping and the cat's meowing from outside. The single lightbulb illuminating the room from overhead seemed to buzz louder as time passed.
“Nine ninety-eight, nine ninety-nine, thousand...” she stopped and stared at the money in front of her before clapping a hand to her forehead. “That’s... There’s... Ten thou- That’s it? He died for...”
She eyed his uncounted cash in the bag then looked back at the neat stacks in front of her. They looked about the same, including the small cut they were supposed to give the fisherman in the morning.
“Maybe twenty thousand fucking dollars? All that for twenty...” she closed her mouth and calmed herself. She was always so quick to anger and now wasn’t the time. She was alone in a new place with stolen money to either spend or save. She had to keep her head straight. She winced as she quickly moved to toss all the money back into the thick bag. She zipped it up and slung it far beneath the bed. After switching off the light switch, she grabbed the gun from beneath the pillow and perched herself on the edge of the bed. A faint, phlegm-filled cough could be heard from the fisherman fishing on the dock. The dark house creaked around her as it began to settle with the night. All she had to do was stay low, stay quiet, and wait. He would find her once the smoke cleared.
A heavy knock at the front door startled her out of her sleep. Without even opening her eyes, her fingers tightened on the handgun in her grasp. The weapon quietly fired.
“Shit!” she hissed as a bullet planted itself in the side of the old dresser against the wall. A bit of sunlight had basked the room in a pale yellow glow as it fought against the bleached blinds hanging in the window. Her slumber had been fitful and tense. Her body ached and even while groggy, her mind would not slow down. Another knock came from the front door and then a rough voice.
“Whiskey? It’s Tango.”
Without even thinking, she flung open the bedroom door and quickly limped through the small house toward the front door. That was his code. HIS. And he had used hers. No other soul knew hers. He was here. He was alive. Her heart was in her throat, her pulse beating hard and loud in her ears. She yanked back the locks and swung the door wide open. Trevor collapsed inside and onto the wooden floor. She fell to her sore knees and dragged him into her arms.
“You’re so fucking stupid, you know that?” she declared. She struggled to make out the shape of him through the tears welling in her eyes but she was used to his touch.
“Ow. I’m sorry- ow, ow!” he complained. His rough hands tried to grab her and calm her as her hands skittered over his injured frame.
"Jesus Christ. I can't stand you," she said. It made one side of his mouth pull up into a small grin.
“I know. I can't stand you either."