Part 49 (1/2)
One of them might be a killer.
”They'll be fine.” She squeezed his fingers. ”And back soon.” ”Yeah.” Still, he felt the comfort of having her hand in his as he watched the plane taxi, rev, then rise.
AFTER THE BRIEFING IN FLIGHT, Rowan huddled with Yangtree and Trigger over maps and strategy.
Gull plugged his MP3 in, slid on his sungla.s.ses. The music cut the engine noise, left his mind free to think. Behind the shaded gla.s.ses, he scanned the faces, the body language of the other jumpers.
Maybe it felt wrong, this suspicion, but he'd rather suffer a few pangs of guilt than suffer the consequences of more sabotage.
Cards and Dobie pa.s.sed some time with liar's poker while Gibbons read a tattered paperback copy of Cat's Cradle. Libby huddled with Matt, patting his knee in one of her there-there gestures. The spotter got up from his seat behind the c.o.c.kpit to pick his way through to confer with Yangtree.
When the call came out for buddy checks, Gull walked back himself to perform the ritual with Rowan. ”Yangtree's dumping us,” Rowan told him.
Yangtree shook his head with a smile. ”I'm going to work for Iron Man the first of the year. I'm going to take the fall off, buy myself a house, get my other knee fixed, do some fis.h.i.+ng. I'll have a lot more fis.h.i.+ng time without having to ride herd over the bunch of you every summer.”
”You're giving up this life of travel, glamour and romance?” Gull asked him. ”I've had all the glamour I want, and might just find some romance when I'm not eating smoke.” ”Maybe you should take up knitting while you're at it,”
Trigger suggested.
”I might just. I can knit you a real pretty sling since you like keeping your a.s.s in one.” He climbed over men and gear for another consult with the spotter and pilot.
”He's barely fifty.” Trigger folded gum into his mouth. ”h.e.l.l, I'm going to be fifty one of these days. What's he want to quit for?” ”I think he's just tired, and his knee's killing him.” Rowan glanced forward. ”He'll probably change his mind after he gets it fixed.” Once again, the spotter moved to the door.
”Guard your reserves!”
Hot summer air, scorched with smoke, blasted in through the opening. Rowan repositioned to get a look out the window, at the blaze crowning through the tops of thick pines and firs. Red b.a.l.l.s of ignited gases boomed up like antiaircraft fire.
”She's fast,” Rowan said, ”and getting a nice lift from the wind through the canyon. We're going to hit some serious crosswinds on the way down.” The first set of streamers confirmed her estimate.
”Do you see the jump spot?” she asked Gull. ”There, that gap, at eight o'clock.
You'll want to come in from the south, avoid doing a face-plant in the rock face. You're second man, third stick, so-”
”No. First man, second stick.” He shrugged when she frowned at him, knowing Lucas had asked L.B. to switch him to her jump partner. ”I guess L.B. shuffled things when he put Matt back on.”
”Okay, I'll catch the drift behind you.” She nodded out the window at the next set of streamers. ”Looks like we've got three hundred yards.” He studied the streamers himself, and the towers of smoke, glinting silver at the fire's crown, mottled black at its base.
On final, Trigger snapped the chin strap of his helmet, pulled down his mesh face mask before reaching for the overhead cable to waddle his way toward the door. Matt, second man, followed.
Rowan studied the fire, the ground, then the flight. Canopies billowed in the black and the blue as the plane came around for its second pa.s.s. ”We're ready,” Gull answered at the spotter's call. With Rowan behind him, he got in the door, braced to the roar of wind and fire. The slap on his shoulder sent him out, diving through it, buffeted by it. He found the horizon, steadied himself as the drogue stabilized him, as the main put the brakes on to a glide.
He found Rowan, watched her canopy billow, watched the sun arrow through the smoke for an instant to illuminate her face.
Then he had a fight on his hands as the crosswinds tried to push him into a spin. A gust whipped up, blew him uncomfortably close to the cliff face. He compensated, then overcompensated as the wind yanked, tugged.
He drifted wide of the jump spot, adjusted, then let the wind take him, so he landed neat and soft on the edge of the gap. He rolled, watched Rowan land three yards to his left.
”That was some fancy maneuvering up there,” she called out to him. ”It worked.” Gathering their chutes, they joined Matt and Trigger at the edge of the jump spot. ”Third stick's coming down,” Trigger commented. ”And s.h.i.+t, Cards is going into the trees. He can't buy luck this season.”
Rowan clearly heard Cards curse as the wind flipped him into the pines.
”Come on, Matt, let's go make sure he ain't broke nothing important.”
Since she could still hear Cards cursing, meaning he hadn't been knocked unconscious, she kept her eyes on the sky.
”Yangtree and Libby,” she said as the plane positioned for the next pa.s.s.
”Janis and Gibbons.” She rattled off the remaining jumpers. ”When they're all on the ground, I want you to take charge of the paracargo.”
She put her hands on her hips, watching the next person hurtle out of the plane. Yangtree, she thought. He'd instruct, and he'd keep jumping out of planes. But doing free falls with sports groups and tourists was a far cry from ...
”His drogue. His drogue hasn't opened.” She ran forward, shouting for the others on the ground. ”Drogue in tow! Jesus, Jesus, cut away! Cut away. Pull the reserve. Come on, Yangtree, for Christ's sake.”
Gull's belly roiled, his heart hammered as he watched his friend, his family, tumble through the sky and smoke. Others shouted now, Trigger all but screaming into his radio.
The reserve opened with a jerky shudder, caught air-but too late, Gull realized. Yangtree's fall barely slowed as he crashed into the trees.
CHAPTER 29
She ran, bursting through brush, leaping fallen logs, rocks, whatever lay in her path. Gull winged past her; her own fear raced with her. With her emotions in pandemonium, she ordered herself to think, to act.
His reserve had deployed at the last minute. There was a chance, always a chance. She slowed as she reached Cards, face b.l.o.o.d.y, s.h.i.+mmying down a lodgepole pine with his let-down rope. ”Are you hurt bad?”
”No. No. Go! Jesus, go.”
Matt stumbled through the forest behind her, his cheeks gray, eyes dull. ”Stay with Cards. Make sure he's okay.” She didn't wait for an answer, just kept running.
When she heard Gull's shout, she angled left, dry pine needles crunching under her feet like thin bones.
She caught sight of the reserve, a tattered mangle of white draped in the branches high overhead. And the blood, dripping like a leaky faucet, splatting on the forest floor.
Caught in the gnarled branches seventy feet above, Yangtree's limp body dangled. A two-foot spur jutted through his side, the point of it piercing through like a pin through a moth.
Gull, spurs snapped on, climbed. Rowan dumped her gear, snapped on her own and started up after him. Broken, she could see he'd been broken-his leg, his arm and likely more. But broken didn't mean dead. ”Can you get to him? Is he alive?” ”I'll get to him.” Gull climbed over, then used his rope to ease himself onto the branch, testing the weight as he went. He reached out to unsnap the helmet, laid his fingers on Yangtree's throat.
”He's got a pulse-weak, thready. Multiple fractures. Deep gash on his right thigh, but it missed the femur. The puncture wound-” He cursed as he moved closer. ”This G.o.dd.a.m.n spur's holding him onto the branch like a railroad spike. I can't maneuver to stabilize him from here.”
”We secure him with the ropes.” Rowan leaned out as far as she could, trying to a.s.sess the situation for herself. ”Cut the branch, bring him down with it.”