It had been a busy and exciting week. She also realized they hadn't really had time to stop for a decent meal and her tummy growled loudly. She looked up as Lando shifted in his seat to once again gaze upon her. Christy blushed deeply with embarrassment. The man lifted an amused eye, determining where the sound had originated from, and once more faced front.
“Hungry?” Sam asked casually.
“Starving!” she replied, her head nodding in enthusiastic confirmation.
Sam laughed. Now who was being melodramatic? “Once we get to the airport, I know of a little restaurant where we can go. It's like a bed and breakfast. Mrs. Jones makes the best spaghetti and meatballs you have ever tasted. She bakes her own garlic bread from scratch and heaps on gooey, melted mozzarella. That, coupled with her fine handpicked wines made from her vineyard. She grinds the fresh Parmesan onto your food right at the table, and her handmade Caesar salad has garlic-roasted, home-baked croutons, with warm cooked, thick slices of maple bacon that just melt in your...”
“Sam,” Christy suddenly whined. “You're not helping.” She was mortified when her tummy once again rumbled out a loud, angry protest.
Sam chuckled and offered a soft apology. “I'll feed you when we land,” he modified.
“Thanks,” Christy mumbled.
“Sounds good though,” Christy heard Lando mutter.
“Yeah,” the officer wistfully concurred. “Sorry, Lando, you and I have a date with the vending machine,” he said, suddenly abrupt, then added grouchily, “I'll be happy to deliver you to the proper authorities. I want to go home to my beautiful fiancee, who I haven't seen in well over a month.”
“I should charge you with cruel and unusual punishment,” Lando commented, with obvious annoyance. Christy could see his deep scowl of distaste as the men continued to bicker.
“Although the vending machine will be a relief from soggy wieners, rock hard beans and burnt macaroni.”
“Just be grateful you're still alive,” the officer replied, his lips settled into a fine grim line.
Lando snorted at him and scoffed, “If my people had found us, we both know who would stand a much better chance of survival.” The officer colored brightly.
“So just what is it you did, son?” Howard asked curiously.
Christy had been wondering the same thing; their conversation was intriguing. Though the officer was indeed fairly young, it was apparent he had been chosen to stay with the prisoner because his own large stature almost matched the size of his charge. Even with Lando wearing handcuffs, she could sense he was still highly dangerous. The only possible reason Howard would have agreed to take them on must be because he didn't like the idea of leaving the young officer stranded at the secluded airstrip. It was just a small cabin and an outhouse, with a somewhat bumpy field to take off on.
Sam had mentioned this time of year the weather was extremely unpredictable, volatile at times. She doubted Howard would want to chance flying back for them.
“I'm a hit man for the Mafia,” Lando replied, deadpan.
“Enough!” the officer snapped angrily.
Christy turned a ghostly white. It was all too apparent the fearsome man was not joking. Her eyes widened fearfully on the two men, who appeared on the verge of a verbal battle once more.
“You jab at me again and I'll send you out the window without a parachute,” Lando warned. The officer scowled darkly at him and Christy was amazed; it looked as though the officer stilled his hands from fear. Christy shuddered at the realization. What kind of brutality was this man capable of to frighten such a large, armed police officer?
“Harmless, eh?” Howard commented casually to the officer. Christy was impressed as the small man, having witnessed the same scene, still remained undaunted.
“We'll be out of your hair soon enough,” the officer said. His gaze was inadvertently drawn to his watch.
“Not soon enough for me,” Christy muttered. She clamped her lips shut as Lando once again leveled an intense stare in her direction. Christy could feel the sensation of the hair on the back of her neck rising once more. She resisted the urge to bury her face in Sam's chest.
Instead, she lifted her chin and locked her flashing eyes on the large, arrogant man, hoping to stare him down.
Lando narrowed his eyes, accepting the challenge, with obvious amusement. His almost black eyes bore into Christy's until she was sorry for eliciting the confrontation. Lando's gaze intensified until Christy's defiant stare contorted with fearful concern. She hazarded a glance at the window, noting with trepidation she could fit through it a great deal easier than the officer.
Her eyes lowered in defeat, sensing Lando's satisfaction at her fear and his victory. She highly doubted she would make another comment like the last, if she ever spoke again throughout the rest of the flight.
Christy was out of her league. This man looked brutal, and she was no match for him.
Christy jumped involuntarily as Sam reached over to take her hand. She had almost snatched her hand away at the sudden contact; she then blushed with deep embarrassment at having her fear found out. It was apparent Sam had witnessed their battle of wills. She knew he admired her spirit, but she also sensed he guessed who would prove to be victorious. They were only half an hour into their flight. Christy couldn't help but feel a sense of panic. She felt a deep certainty this would be the longest hour and a half of her life.
“Why don't you try going back to sleep?” Sam suggested gently.
Like that would ever happen! She would likely wake screaming in terror. She could never fall asleep this close to a confessed killer. She would rather be closer to the Kodiak. No, she decided, the very last thing she needed was a nap.
Not much time passed before Christy noted the dark clouds creeping in upon them from the distance. She could hear a distinct rumbling over the roar of the engine. It didn't help that Howard kept tapping his radio at the static.
“Blasted piece of junk,” he finally muttered, and turned it off.
“What's wrong?” the officer inquired.
“Mountains interfering with my reception,” Howard offered. “Happens sometimes.”
“He's right, Christy. I've flown this route enough to know it's happened before; everything will be fine,” Sam said soothingly.
Her face had paled significantly as the flight progressed. Her fear had been increasing as the wind seemed to pick up and the small plane rocked and dipped at the turbulence. Her hand clutched at him once more.
“Don't worry, honey. If we crash I'll take good care of you,” Lando said to her, though his tone and meaning were anything but protective. His intent was clear as he looked her body over lingeringly, and Christy shuddered, frightened further still. This time she did reach for Sam to lay her head on his shoulder in concern.
“Hey, buddy, why don't you shut up?” Sam snapped at him, wrapping a snug arm protectively around Christy.
“Let's all just calm down. I want everyone to tighten their seatbelts, just as a precaution,” Howard interfered calmly.
The pilot was having enough trouble controlling the plane as it dipped and rose, without a brawl breaking out. Howard grabbed up his microphone after once again turning on the radio and tapping it.
“Tower one, come in please.” No response. “Tower one, this is Charlie Zero Niner. Do you copy? Talk to me, Frank.”
The radio seemed to come to life and they all heard, “Charlie...Niner...Tower...Come in.”
“Frank, what's with the clouds?” Howard asked.
“Storm...” came a static, broken reply for all to hear.
“Say again?”
“Storm...change heading,” once more a broken reply.
“Copy that Tower one. I'm changing my heading,” Howard replied.
Again an unintelligible response, then static.
With ease, the small plane smoothly shifted towards a new direction. Yet, what Howard had not heard was detrimental. It was the storm that was changing its heading and he w
as to in fact remain on course. His new co-ordinates would take them directly into a raging bitter wind of icy sleet and rain.
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* * *
Chapter Two
* * * *
Christy hung onto her seat for dear life. The small plane dipped and swayed, jerking their bodies about as the wind howled with intensity. They were thrown about like a child's plaything. The sky had darkened to a pitch black, except for the occasional brilliant flashes of lightning, giving them brief, terrifying glimpses of their dismal surroundings. Christy looked imploringly to Sam, seeking comfort, but what she saw in his eyes was less than encouraging.
He was as terrified as she was, his hands turning white at his powerful grip on the seat.
Howard struggled to keep the plane on course, a struggle he was fast losing. The sleet was battering the wings mercilessly, the ice clinging and building into heavy sheets. After one final, valiant chug the engine spluttered, stalled, and then remained an eerie silent.
“What's happening?” the officer called over the noise of the storm as Howard frantically punched a button to restart the engine. After hitting it repeatedly, he then grabbed at his microphone, holding it shakily to his dry lips. His voice cracked as he relayed his message.
“Mayday! Mayday! Tower one. Do you copy, Tower one? This is Charlie Zero Niner, engine failed, we are unable to maintain altitude. We are going down. Repeat, we are going down. Do you copy? Our co-ordinates are...” Howard never finished his sentence. The plane suddenly shifted on a severe updraft, swooped abruptly, and nosedived. Howard slammed forcefully sideways against the window, cracking it in the intensity of the sound blow. He slumped, his bloodied head falling forward onto his chest, his eyes now gazing sightlessly, the hand mic falling from his now limp grasp.
Christy screamed in terror as the plane plummeted to the earth. Its memento gaining, an ominous rushing sound surrounded them, washing over them like a flowing current of terror.
She clutched at Sam's arm in horror, pulling at him frantically, seeking even a small measure of comfort, wanting him closer. All rational thought eluded her. She was certain they were all going to die...
“Take these off!” Lando demanded of his handcuffs to the officer. He held out his arms, thrusting them forcefully in his face. The officer stayed immobile for a moment, but Lando remained persistent until finally eliciting a response. The officer struggled briefly to release him, fumbling with the small key as though in a daze, until Lando grabbed the key with his own hands and managed to release himself.
“Help me!” Lando yelled over the storm, springing to his feet, but none moved to offer aid. He struggled with Howard's seatbelt in an attempt to move him away from the controls. He pulled the slight man's body awkwardly sideways while battling the resistance of the shifting plane.
Lando grabbed the controls and, with incredible strength, yanked at the yoke, but was unable to pull the nose of the plane up. Frantically, a thought came to mind about the parachutes Howard had claimed were aboard, but he dismissed the idea. They would undoubtedly crash before he could find one, get into it, and open a door. Realizing dejectedly there was no hope, that the crash was inevitable and there was no alternative to the unavoidable occurrence, Lando jumped into his vacated seat and snapped his seatbelt on.
“Put your heads down, we're gonna crash!” he yelled back behind him. Christy continued to scream in terror and Sam remained unmoving. “Heads down, now!” Lando bellowed out once again, his fearsome gaze locking with Sam's terrified sight. Sam blinked at him uncomprehendingly for a brief moment. Lando was about to howl out another command, but Sam grabbed Christy by the neck last moment and pushed down hard. Lando watched as Christy fought with him, now consumed with her fear. The large man threw most of his body over her, protectively pinning her with his somewhat larger bulky frame.
The last image to capture Lando's attention was a brief silhouette of the top of a very high, massive tree. The dark startling green flashed, then disappeared within a sheet of misty, hazy snow. He had been correct in his assumption their downward spiral was close to an end. He braced himself and wrapped his arms around his head; he squeezed his eyes closed. The first horrendous jolt sent him into unconsciousness, and Christy's screams of terror faded within the blackness.
The small plane's right wing slammed into the top of an enormous coniferous tree, sending the craft spinning sideways as the wing was ripped off like the sickening loss of a limb. Another battering ram pummeled the left wing, splintering it, in the unavoidable collision. The remainder of the aircraft struck the ground with a heart-stopping jolt, flipped, struck, snapping the tail, then flipped once more to rest against an ancient tree trunk beyond, battered and damaged with old age. The behemoth had suffered its last assault. With a painstaking slowness, as though loath to give up its final breath, the tree creaked, cracked, roots tore from the ground, its insides shattered, imploding, sending it to its final resting place...but it would not rest alone.
Christy heard a horrendous crack from above her head; her body was jerked and pressed painfully double. Sam's body weight increased; the pressure became unbearable, overwhelming, and then smothering. Christy gasped for air, struggling. Her screams had turned to a strangled cry as she fought for her last breaths. The noise of the storm and her whimpers gradually faded in Christy's ears as her breathing slowed to the point of being almost nonexistent. The black, evil cold that had surrounded her became soft, warm, white clouds with a gentle, enchanting breeze that encouraged a response with clear, sweet air; it stirred her.
“Christy.” She heard a voice. It was faraway, dreamy in quality, and familiar.
“Mom?” Christy called softly, curiously.
“It's all right, honey. Everything will be all right,” her mother soothed.
Christy reached for her hand eagerly; her mother's soft features—but shimmers on a pond—faded slowly. The luminous, sweet, gentle light grew fainter, and once more surrendered to the hideous, frightening darkness. The storm's fearsome noises pounded out around her. Terror of the unknown once again enveloped her.
“Mom?” Christy called again. But she was gone. “Mom! Mommm!,” Christy screamed over and over until her breath escaped her. “Don't leave me all alone again...don't leave me,” she sobbed, as her pained voice faltered.
But she was all alone. Christy slipped into oblivion, giving up her fight, and allowed the darkness to take her this time.
Christy woke in a daze. She could feel the icy rain beating down on her wet, frozen face. A cold, biting breeze ruffled her clothing, and she shuddered. “Mom?” Christy choked. Her throat was raw from screaming and she could barely make out her own pathetic cry. Her entire body throbbed painfully when she tried to move.
No one answered. Slowly, realization dawned. She had been in a plane crash.
“Sam?” she whimpered out instead; again, no response.
She noted absently his body was no longer pinning her to her seat. She waved her hand in front of her through the pitch-black night, and connected with another human form.
“Sam?” She sobbed with tremendous relief. She was not all alone. When Sam failed to answer, she remained unconcerned. She herself had drifted in and out of consciousness. She felt around for her seatbelt and unclasped it. Shifting closer to Sam's comforting body, Christy grabbed at a limp, heavy arm and placed it around herself. She snuggled in closer to him, placing her head on his sodden shoulder, sheltering her face from the cold dampness of the whipping wind. She balled her fists under her chin with her arms pressed tightly to her chest for warmth.
“It's okay, Sam. We landed. It's okay now,” she croaked out. Then, pulling Sam's jacket more securely around them both, Christy once more succumbed to oblivion.
When Christy again woke, the freezing rain and wind had stopped. Light was dotting the horizon through cracks in the trees, reflecting off the battered plane. She glanced around herself in confusion. She noted Sam, still unmoving, beside he
r.
“Sam?” she questioned softly. Her throat remained raw and painful. She shook him slightly. Sam's head fell forward at an odd, grotesque angle. Christy sat back slowly, filled with apprehension. “Get up, Sam. Please,” she quietly pleaded, her eyes clouding over and her reasoning faltering to deny the obvious. Christy slowly reached out a soft, cold hand and ran it gently down his roughened face after she righted his head back into a more normal position.
“Never mind, Sam, you sleep for awhile longer. We were very busy this week. You need your sleep.”
Christy pulled his arm around her once more and again placed her head on his shoulder, squeezing her eyes tightly closed at the sudden hurtful, knowing pain within her breast. Sam was gone, her only friend; the pain was unbearable.
A set of dark eyes had been watching the exchange intently. Lando knew Sam was dead, as were the others. Only he and Christy had survived. He had felt her weakened pulse after pulling Sam's large body off her. Sam had almost suffocated her, trying to shield her from impact, and he was quite surprised she had awakened at all. Lando had then spent a great deal of time rummaging through the plane, finding anything useful, mindful of his own aches and pains as he had not escaped the crash unscathed himself. His head ached painfully from the blow that had rendered him senseless, but he refused to dwell on it. With some dismay, he noted the emergency locator on the plane was broken; with the beacon shot, they were all alone.
The first item he grabbed had been the officer's gun. He had dumped Christy's own duffel bag out in search of anything that would aid in his survival. Now that Christy had regained consciousness, he thoughtfully wondered what to do with her. If he left her alone, the elements would kill her...eventually. Perhaps it wouldn't be such a slow and agonizing death. In her state, he knew it would take too terribly long to succumb; her small body and hands shook, and she seemed to be hallucinating. He had heard her pitiful cries for her mother, she thought the deceased man to be only resting; her mind must be gone from the shock. He knew he should put her out of her misery, it would be the only merciful solution. Yet, assassin though he was, Lando had never once killed a woman. He had never even entertained the idea. He felt they were too defenseless; the very idea sickened him. Grimly he was reminded that that particular idiosyncrasy was why he was in this precarious predicament now.
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