by Lori Power
Mitch: Where r u?
He waited for the ping indicator.
Lorna: Lease site top of hill from river.
Leave it to Lorna to find the needle in the haystack. Relief flooded him, making him smile and shake his head. She’s the only woman I ever met who’d be able to stumble upon a lease site in such dense forest.
Mitch: I’m coming 4 u.
So great was his relief, he would have gladly remained where he was and continue to text just to keep up the connection, but he had to call this in. He reached to squeeze his transmitter together when the sounds and reverberations of chopper blades echoed through his chest. He was on his feet and scrambling up the hill to her. I’m coming, baby. Hold on just a little longer, I’m coming for you.
Pumping his legs, he pinched his transmitter button midmotion. He panted over the shortwave. “Have lease site location of woman. Who can relay to chopper? Over.”
***
Lorna climbed as high as she could on the tower ladder, reading Mitch’s text and watching her last bit of battery life fade away with his message. She hugged the ladder, slipping the useless piece of plastic inside her bra. “He’s coming.” She breathed easier. He knows where I am, and he’s coming.
Trees along the edge of the clearing bent under an oncoming turbulence. The grass started to part as Lorna heard the approach of the helicopter. She peered to the sky, one arm raised to wave, thinking surely this must be Mitch—when she saw the logo on the side panel. A-Q-O. “Oh, no.”
Having quickly honed in on her presence, the chopper approached the tower like a menacing bug. She slipped and slid down the rungs of the ladder, eager to be out of sight. Reaching the bottom, she hobbled around the oil derrick to the maintenance hut and pulled on the door. Locked. With her back pressed tight to the door, she tried to draw the dusty air into her lungs, watching the dirt swirl on the wind currents created from the motorized blades.
Hunting her, the whirlybird circled around the clearing until the pilot was in plain sight. The pilot fixed her with an intense glare as she racked her brain, thinking about what she could do to escape. Mitch is coming. I’m so close. But she didn’t know what that meant. How far away was he? How long would she have to survive? Picturing Charlie Fong in the cockpit, she assumed once they apprehended her again, they’d move her to a new location before Mitch accessed the clearing. If they let me live.
With the machine still facing her, it started to increase and decrease altitude. He’s looking for the Fongs. Or signaling to them, more likely. As she moved around the maintenance hut, keeping her back to the wall, the chopper followed, always keeping her in sight. With wobbly legs, she found herself facing the same patch of trees she sprinted from not long ago. Understanding the cover of the canopy to be her only salvation, she sprinted across the clearing.
A movement from the corner of her vision caught her attention, causing her to stumble, then fall hard to her knees. With a horror that locked her breath in her windpipe, Lorna watched Tim Fong emerge from the tree line to her left. Looking a hell of a lot fresher than she did, he made a mad dash in her direction as the helicopter continued to hover nearby. Slamming her hands hard against the ground, Lorna stood up with new resolve and ran towards cover. If he wants me, he’ll have to find me. But I’ll bury myself in those thorns first before I let him get me.
Chancing a glance behind her as she ran, she noticed he’d stopped. His hands were raised as he aimed his gun. She faced forward and lowered her head, her arms coming up protectively around her ears. The ground close to where his next step would have been waffled up as bullets sprayed the ground. Lorna changed direction. Lungs burning, she stumbled again just as another bullet whizzed by her head. She changed direction again. Not able to watch her footing, she lost her step in a depression in the ground and tumbled forward. Somewhere between a crawl and a run, Lorna moved forward, her heart slamming against her chest.
She rose up, about to launch into a run. Directly in her line of sight, another shape loomed out of the foliage. Anticipating Charlie Fong would block her escape, Lorna swirled around, sheltering her eyes from the flying debris, trying to determine the best escape.
“Lorna.” It was a soft echo carried on the propellers.
Whirling, she focused in on the best vision she had ever seen. “Mitch,” she screamed as she ran directly for him.
His mouth was moving but she couldn’t make out the words. Then, as his arm rose in her direction, the sun glinting off the silver of his pistol, understanding dawned. He flapped a hand at her, and she turned to see Tim directly on her heels.
Adrenaline working overtime, she couldn’t stop. She ran directly at Mitch, almost barreling him to the ground.
He sidestepped her approach. “Get down,” he shouted, pushing her behind him. “Get down.”
***
Placing Lorna at his back, Mitch fell purposefully with one knee to the ground, taking careful aim. The burn of a bullet grazed his outer thigh. He twisted with the impact and his shot fired astray of its intended mark. Refocusing all his senses, he wobbled, adjusted, and sighted his target. Firing one round leveled at Tim’s shooting shoulder, he watched the other man falter.
The chopper tilted in his direction so the wind from the blades showered him in dirt. “Fucking bastard,” Mitch yelled above the fray, turning his attention to the hovering bird. His next slug sparked off the blades, but the chopper took the hint, gaining altitude.
Tim regained his feet, moving fast, coming out of the dust like an apparition, gun elevated. Mitch pulled the trigger, but his hand seemed to lose feeling and he toppled backward. What’s this? He wondered, looking stupidly at the gun lying limp in his palm, which lay open in the swirling dirt, splattered in red. Not waiting for confirmation of pain to tell him he’d been shot, he rolled to his side towards his immobile hand and grabbed up his weapon with the left.
Tim’s face was a mask of distorted rage as he ran at Mitch without caution. With seconds to impact, Mitch squeezed off as many shots as he could, emptying his chamber before Tim sprinted past in his pursuit of Lorna.
***
She had just entered the shelter of the trees when something made her turn to see Mitch hit the dirt, his arm flung wide of his body.
“Ohmigod, no!” she screamed. “Mitch, no!”
Grabbing the first thing she could find to use as a club, Lorna hobbled unsteadily back towards Mitch, feeling the whiz of a bullet pass her head. With the helicopter now higher in the air, the explosion resonated loudly. Her unstable gait saved her life.
Standing between her and Mitch, Tim stopped as she raised her arms in surrender. Mitch was down and she’d nowhere left to go. His contorted face bore no resemblance to the man she worked with just the day before. “I won’t go down because of a fucking bitch,” he growled, the gun level with her forehead. “I’ve worked too hard and too long to get here. You’ll never testify.”
There was nothing left for her to do. Mesmerized by the black barrel of the pistol, she couldn’t run even if she wanted to. Swinging her body with all of her might, no longer feeling the heavy thorns slice her palms, she swung her club across his arm.
Click.
The chamber was empty.
Tim howled in pain and lunged as Lorna ducked, brought down to the ground by the heavy weight of the branch. Spreading her feet wide like a baseball player, she used his momentum against him—like she’d been shown so long ago in self-defense class—and landed another blow across his handsome face, releasing her grip on the thorny limb.
Tim dropped his gun, both hands coming to his face as he dropped to his knees.
Lorna kicked him in the stomach before grabbing up his empty gun and running back to Mitch.
He was struggling to reload, blood running freely. “Ohmigod, Mitch.” She fell next to him.
“Here, take this,” he panted, handing her a black cartridge.
Holding it in the tips of her fingers, she looked behind her at where Tim struggle
d to his feet. She grabbed Mitch by his uninjured shoulder. “He’s coming back.”
“Stay with me now, Lorna,” his strong voice sounded weak but calm. “Slide that in here.” He tilted the weapon towards her.
“You’re bleeding.”
“Come on now,” he said, his blue eyes intent. “Focus. You can do this.”
She nodded. Her left hand formed around his to steady the movement while she slid the magazine home. It was then she saw Charlie Fong emerge from the other side of the clearing, making a mad dash for the chopper that hovered close. He needed to go only feet before the helicopter tipped to pick him up.
Expecting Mitch to shoot at Tim as he came closer, she was surprised when he pushed himself up and took careful aim at the helicopter that was brazenly landing in the clearing.
Smoke billowed just after the reports of the shots sounded, showing where the bullets found their intended target. The machine circled, tilting this way and that before coming to a full stop.
At that moment, Mitch collapsed, his eyes rolling back in his head.
Crawling forward, she grabbed him by his shoulders and pulled him onto her lap. She brushed his hair back from his face. “No,” Lorna shouted as another chopper flew low overhead and the small clearing came alive with police officers. “No, Mitch. Please no.”
Chapter Twenty-Four
The man she loved lay limp in her arms. They were forgotten. An island of desolation. Tim had crashed and disappeared from her line of sight. Cops and helicopters surrounded them as though they were forgotten parts of the landscape. So many people filled the clearing, all with a purpose other than to help her and Mitch. She had a vague awareness of seeing both Tim and Charles handcuffed and taken to one helicopter as another landed. Lorna bowed her body over Mitch’s face, shielding him as best she could from the flying dirt and debris scattered by the rotor blades.
Uncertain where he was hit and scared to lift her fingers to his neck for a pulse, Lorna skimmed her lips across his pale cheek. “Come back to me, Mitch, please,” she begged. “You can’t leave me now. I’ve never even had a chance to tell you how much you mean to me.”
Tears, long unshed, flowed free as she rocked back and forth, unconcerned with the activity surrounding her. Reaching for his arms, splayed wide like eagle’s wings from his body, she laid the left across his wide chest, picking up the right to hold his limp fingers against her face. Turning her lips to his palm, she ached to again feel their strength surrounding her. To know someone was there to protect her. Someone she could trust. Ready to relinquish control, she didn’t want to be the strong one anymore. She longed to just let herself be and allow him to hold her close and tell her everything would be okay.
Placing his one hand on top of the other, she linked her fingers with his, feeling the slight rise and fall of his chest. The relief of his breathing was tempered by the amount of blood smeared across his shirtfront and his beautiful closed eyes. There wasn’t even a flutter to indicate consciousness. Bowing her head, she chanted, “Please, Mitch. Please come back to me. I can’t lose you again. I love you.”
Angry at a fate that would again dare to try to take someone she loved from her, she lifted her head to stare into his colorless face. “Do you hear me, you bastard?” she yelled above the fray and noise of the police surrounding her. “I love you.”
She searched his face for some—any—recognition of her voice. Life.
“Please. I can’t lose you.” She wept quietly, cradling him close with his head nestled in the shelter of her neck, much as she had cuddled Kris so many times.
His body stiffened, and a cough wracked his body. She jerked her head back, searching his face as she balanced the heavy bulk of his shoulders on her lap. His lids fluttered. “I-I h-hear you,” he whispered, barely audible.
Cupping his scruffy cheek in her palm, she could no longer see as pools of tears swam, an ever-present torrent in her eyes, constricting her throat.
His lips quirked slightly on one side, “Y-you’re s-so, so…”
Suddenly, arms were under her elbows, lifting her away as the paramedics arrived on scene to tend the fallen officer. “No,” she moaned, trying to get back to Mitch. What was he going to say? What if these were her last moments with him, the last thing he ever said to her. “No.”
“It’s okay, Miss. Let the paramedics do their job.” A rugged faced man with kindly eyes leaned close. “They’ll take good care of him.”
“You don’t understand.” She turned to the great big man. “He’s saying something. I have to hear.”
A small nod had her back on her knees, bending low over Mitch to hear. “So what?” she prompted.
The other side of his lip quirked, and she could see the echo of his boyish charm surfacing through the dead white of his face. “S-so,” he sputtered, closing his eyes as another cough shook forcefully from his body and the paramedics started to remove his coat, assessing where he was damaged. “F-forceful.”
With the cuffs of her hands, Lorna swiped the tears away. “What?”
Time was up. The medics worked fast. Stripped of his upper clothing, both pant legs sliced from ankle to hip, the paramedics placed Mitch on a litter and began to cart him towards the waiting medevac.
With a blanket draped over her shoulders, Lorna was assisted to her feet as the same officer took her by the elbow to escort her to the air ambulance.
“What did he say?” the officer asked as they waited just aside of the wide doorway to allow the team of three to get him inside to continue their assessment of Mitch, inserting an intravenous.
Stunned, Lorna turned her focus towards the man at her side. “That I was forceful?”
Further shocking her, the officer let out a hoot of laughter. “That’s so Mitch. Take the right opportunity and say the wrong thing. Good sign, though. If he’s saying all the wrong things, he must be going to be okay.”
“What?” She was confused now. “You know him? Why would you say that?”
“Yeah, you could say I know him. Know him well enough if this was it, he’d say all the right things for once,” the beefy man replied with merriment alight in his eyes. “I’m his partner, Hank.”
“Oh.”
“But you’d have to be, right?” Hank assessed her from head to toe. “Forceful, I mean, to survive this. Tenacious, just like our Mitch there.”
A paramedic had arrived at her other side, leading her towards another cot. “But…” Words were getting harder to form as she allowed the medic to strap her in after he inserted an IV. What chemical concoction is in this? I can’t think. I’m suddenly drained.
“It’s okay. We’re here, and you’re going to be okay,” the young medic reassured her as she reached a hand back for Hank.
“What is it?” the big man asked, squeezing her hand, his eyes kind for such a hard face.
“But what if that’s the last thing he ever says to me?”
“No.” His face crinkled. “He’s going to be just fine. Don’t you worry ’bout a thing. Mitch is a survivor.”
The ability to keep her eyes open was seeping from her control. All she could do was nod, feeling comforted by his words.
“Like you,” was the last thing she heard before passing into blissful unconsciousness.
***
Regaining awareness with a start, he croaked. “Lorna.”
“What?” The female’s reply was a far cry from Lorna’s voice.
The last thing he remembered was her teary, shocked face hovering over him, telling him something. What? It was important. What did she say? He had to know. “Lorna,” he breathed again before a spasm rumbled up through the depths of his lung, requiring release.
“Have some water,” the woman said, sliding a cool hand beneath his neck, slipping a straw between his lips. “You’ve been through some major trauma, young man. They operated right away. You need your rest. I’m sure your wife will be here just as soon as she can be.”
“She’s not—” he sputtered
and stopped, opening his eyes to marvel at the girth of the woman leaning over him. But she should be.
“That’s it,” she cooed, lowering his head back to the pillow, pulling the straw from between his parched lips. “Just enough to wet your whistle.”
Lorna? His wife? His memory flared with visions of her face, hair a matted mess, face scratched. How she sobbed over him, telling him—what? She loved him. She told me she loved me. At long last, she told me. Thrilled, his heart soared and he could no longer be restrained in bed. What did I tell her? He couldn’t remember. It didn’t matter. He had to see her. He had to get out of this godforsaken bed to see her.
“Just where do you think you’re going?” the matronly nurse asked as she pushed him gently but firmly back against the pillows. “I told you to lie back.”
“I’ve got to see Lorna,” his voice sounded weak to his own ears.
“I told you. She’s probably on her way.”
I wonder what that would be like? Married to Lorna? Never a dull day, he was sure.
“If you just lie back, I’ll go check.”
“You don’t understand,” he said, grabbing the woman’s thick forearm. “She’s not my wife.”
“Okay,” she soothed. “That’s fine. I’ll go to the nurse’s desk to ensure she’s been notified. I’m sure she’ll come as soon as she can.”
“No, no.” He shook his head, causing ice-like shards of pain to shoot through his temples. “She’s here already, and she should be my wife. I have to tell her.”
He must have been causing quite a commotion for at that moment—the door banged open and Hank pushed his way through, on full alert. “What’s wrong?” Hank addressed Mitch’s caretaker.
“Nothing I can’t handle,” she responded curtly. “Now go back to manning your post.”
“You sure?” Hank’s sudden grin at the obvious situation—escaping patient—Mitch and the nurse in turn. “He’s a handful at the best of times.”
“I’m sure he is.” She retained one hand on Mitch’s chest while turning her substantial form more fully towards Hank. “But I’ve got it under control.”