Brought Down

29. The Pilot

Garrett

As the royal jet makes a wide circle above our heads, I duck down, as if I could hide from it in this dry, cracked earth. No bullets come, though, and the jet speeds away into the distance.

"He won't bother," Angie says, as I continue to cut the stuck strap of her ejection seat with my knife. "He won't waste ammunition on us."

I wish I could believe that, but royals are usually pretty consistent in finishing their jobs. Yet, their jet is now just a speck in the distance. Perhaps it does have better things to do.

Such as attacking the hideaway.

I can only hope we've bought enough time for them to go deep into the mines and brace themselves for what's about to come.

The strap snaps, and I help Angie to her feet. I look into her desperate, dirty face, and draw her into a hug.

"What now?" she says against my neck. "Should we go back?"

"They'll nuke the place."

"Maybe not. It's too close to Rosefield. They need Rosefield."

"Not close enough."

She lets out a ragged sigh. "Should we try to go to Rosefield then?"

I draw back and examine the sky, avoiding her gaze. She knows as well as I do that Rosefield is too far to go by foot, without any provisions and barely any weapons. The hideaway is closer, but chances are, there will be nothing to return to by the time we get there.

Either way, it seems we'll be spared the dilemma.

"Look." I put a hand on her shoulder and point up.

The speck on the horizon grows larger again as the sound of the approaching jet reaches out ears.

She wraps her hand around my waist. "Shouldn't we...run?"

"Where to?" The barren wasteland offers no place to hide. And if we could hide, what would it earn us apart for a few more days of hunger, dehydration, and eventual death? Perhaps it's best to just end it quickly.

Angie's grip tightens around my waist, and we just stand there, watching the jet coming closer. I count in my mind – three, two, one. Now.

As the plane almost reaches us, it fires, and we huddle together, waiting for the bullets to hit us.

Instead, they hit the ground about a hundred feet away, raising a cloud of dust and pebbles that rain upon us like a shower.

"How could he miss?" Angie says, spitting out the dust. "From so close?"

"He didn't," I say. "He's playing."

We straighten up and watch the plane take a U-turn and head for us again.

"He wants us to run."

"He can keep wanting." She sticks her middle finger up into the air and waves it at the approaching jet. "I hope he sees it."

Despite everything, I chuckle, and hug her closer. This is not the worst way to go, I guess.

The jet is almost upon us. I can see its guns. There's not even enough time for a back count now. Despite my resolve, I close my eyes.

Then, there's a burst of gunfire, but it comes from a wrong direction. I open my eyes to a blinding explosion above us. I draw Angie to the ground and fall upon her, covering her head. A glance up reveals another fighter jet shooting across the sky above the expanding cloud of smoke and fire. I turn my face down, and we just lay there as the burning pieces rain around us. A second later, there's a loud thud, and the ground shudders as the remains of the burning jet hit it about a mile away. The fire and the smoke rise into the air.

Angie wrestles free from underneath me.

"Wiggs!" She grins at me, excited, then points at the sky. "Did you see? It's Wiggs's jet."

"Wasn't he in Rosefield?"

She shrugs. "I guess not. Look, he's coming back."

The plane makes a turn and flies low in our direction. The ground is mostly flat here, so it ends up landing about half a mile away, far from the burning jet.

We get up and run.

The roof of the cockpit slides back and we can see the pilot. Panting, we climb into the pit, squeeze into the back seat, and the roof slides back into place. I look at the back of the pilot's helmet, smiling like an idiot, still too out of breath to speak. Good old Wiggs. My favorite man in the world.

Then, my smile dies away. Wiggs is a tall, big man. The person in the pilot's seat is smaller than me.

"Hey," I say. "You're not --"

He turns his head, and Julian's eyes gleam at me triumphantly from behind the visor. Both I and Angie gape at him.

"Did you steal a jet this time?" I say.

"Do you have a problem with that? Because if you do, you can leave." His grin gets wider at my shocked expression. "But no, I only steal guns from sleeping rebels. This I got with Rykar's permission."

I shake my head. "He wouldn't have allowed that."

"I guess I made a convincing case. Him having nothing to lose also helped." He turns away. "Come on, the next stop is Rosefield."

"Wait, we can't go there. If it's associated with rebels, the royals will blast it, too."

"They won't," he shouts back over the noise of the engines. "I told Rykar that he should take his people there instead of staying in the mines." As he speaks, the plane begins to move. "As deep as the mines go, they still won't survive a nuke."

"But... are you sure Rosefield is safe?"

"Well, I'm going there with you." He turns his head and gives me a sly sideways glance. "Would I go to a place that's about to be destroyed?"

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