Authors: Jay Budgett
“TOSS THE GRAPPLE!” shouted Mila as we reached the helicopter’s cabin.
A five-prong hook fell from the sky, secured by a steel cord to the copter. Phoenix grabbed the grapple as it fell, and wrapped its hook around the Indigo cases in a knotted bunch. Gunshots fired again.
“Keep climbing,” shouted Mila. “It’s one a.m.”
“What happens at one?” I asked.
The nightclub roared as the massive jets that held it airborne sputtered and died. The show was over. The corpses had been lifted to Heaven and burned. Rapture was finished. Phoenix’s face stared up at us with a look of fleeting horror.
Club 49 plunged to the ground.
I raced into the helicopter’s cabin, followed closely by Mila. Bertha sat in the pilot’s seat, and Dove in the co-pilot’s to her right.
“Where’s Phoenix?” Dove shouted. “Jesus, Bertha. Could you turn it down?”
Bertha flipped a switch and the copter’s drone quieted. In the old world, helicopters had been loud, noisy things, but technology had since progressed to the point where they could be turned almost noiseless in situations where stealth was considered an advantage. I guessed Bertha usually kept the blades roaring at full volume because she liked the dramatic effect.
Mila wiped sweat from her forehead as her lips shook. “Ph-Phoenix was—he was still in the club when it dropped.”
Dove waved away her concern. “C’mon,” he said. “It’s Phoenix. He’s gotta be out on the cord.”
I peered out the window. Sure enough, a dark figure teetered on the edge of a stack of dangling Indigo cases—Phoenix. “Dove’s right,” I said.
Mila strapped herself to a jump seat. “What’s the SA, Big Bertha?”
Bertha tightened her grip on the controls. “Club 49’s on the ground,” she said. “Feds have been circling it for nearly an hour, waiting for it to plunge after Rapture. There’s at least a dozen squadrons on the case. Sucked Newla dry for the forces, then called the rest of HQ for backup. No troops in the sky just yet, but we’re waiting. And something strange has been happening with traffic—they’ve stopped all silver cars in a three-mile radius.”
“Silver cars?” said Mila. “What the hell? How’d they even know we were in there? I thought everything was under control?”
My face flushed red, praying she wouldn’t figure out I’d revealed the plan with the help of some Cotton Candy Cocktails.
Bertha stared at me through the windshield’s reflection. “If I had to guess,” she said, “I’d say Car Battery spilled the beans.”
Sweat gathered on my brow. “Well, I just—”
“Really, kid?” Bertha turned in her chair. “You had the simplest job: shut up and look pretty. And you still couldn’t keep your mouth shut?”
“But—”
“And ten bucks says you didn’t take the ‘Paper Clip’ seriously—I even showed it to you
in my lab
.” She threw her hands from the controls. “For Christ’s sake, I’m working with a bunch of squirrels.”
“Huh?”
“I like squirrels,” said Dove.
Bertha rolled her eyes. “You’re all nuts.”
I snorted. “Because your inventions work oh so well.”
She flared her nostrils.
Mila moved between us. “Hands on the controls, Bertha.”
Bertha shrugged. “The sky’s clear.”
Dove pointed ahead. “Balls,” he said, “I’m not so sure about that.”
Seven copters dove from the clouds, cutting through the smoggy sky. Their weapons were aimed at us, the barrels of their guns already glowing red.
“GET THE CORD IN!” shouted Bertha. “We need Phoenix and the vaccines in here where they’ll be safe. The Feds won’t fire at us if they know we have Indigo.”
The Feds fired.
Bertha yanked at the controls, and we lurched to the side. I found the cord’s winch and pressed a button on its side. The copter’s door swung open again and the cord began to coil. Outside, Phoenix and the vaccines rose in the air.
“They’re getting close,” said Dove. “We gotta move.”
The winch moaned as it grinded to a halt. Sparks flew from its gears as it burned out. Several feet of cord still hung in the air.
“The winch is down!” I shouted.
“Shit,” muttered Mila. “Hang on!” she yelled to Phoenix.
The Federal copters fired again. Bertha jerked the controls, and we soared upward into the clouds. The copter’s blades went into overdrive, screaming as they sliced through the clouds’ dewy wisps.
“Limited viz up here,” said Bertha. “We’re practically flying blind.”
Patches of sky flashed around us—gunfire. Outside, Phoenix covered his head. We had to get him inside if we were going to survive.
I pulled at the cord with my bare hands, but it wouldn’t budge. We darted through the clouds. What was Bertha’s plan? The worried look plastered across her face told me she had none.
Mila unhooked the stolen guns from her waist and tossed me one.
I handed it back to her. “I have no idea how to use this.”
She shrugged and passed it back. “None of us did when we first started.”
When they
started
? Who
were
the Lost Boys? What were they even trying to do?
I didn’t have time to think about all that now. Those were the sorts of questions you could only afford to ask when your feet were planted firmly on the ground. If we were going to make it out alive, I had to put my wandering thoughts aside and
do
something. I had to get Phoenix inside.
“Drop us, now,” ordered Mila.
The copter lurched forward, and we fell from the clouds into open air. Three Federal copters hovered nearby, waiting for us. Their guns glowed red as they opened fire.
“Hang on to me,” said Mila. I wrapped my arms around her waist, and she leaned out the open doorway. Her rocket launcher screamed as she fired three shots. One shot flew past the Feds, but the other two hit their targets. The helicopter on the right was knocked from the sky in an explosion of fire. Shards of metal fell like rain.
The left copter fired three shots back. Bertha swerved, but one round nicked the cord that still dangled from the cabin. Phoenix and the vaccines rocked back and forth. The steel cord sparked and twisted as it began to untether.
My hands grew sweaty from the pressure. I wiped them against my pants—er, skirt. I had forgotten I was still wearing the skirt. Dear god, how many people were going to see me in a skirt?
I searched the cabin for something, anything to pull Phoenix from the open air… maybe even a paper clip. Remembering Phoenix’s trick back at the club, I checked for belts: Mila was wearing one, and Dove too. Bertha was the deciding factor.
“I need your belt,” I said to Mila. She gave me a confused look, but then tossed it to me. “You too, Dove.” He passed it back. “Are you wearing a belt, Bertha?”
She was silent.
“If you are,” I said, “can I have it?”
“I’m
trying
to fly a
plane
—”
“Balls,” muttered Dove. “I thought this was a helicopter.”
“—and you want me to
stop
to give you my
belt
? There is NO WAY IN—”
Mila held the rocket launcher to Bertha’s face, her finger poised over the trigger. “He needs your belt, Bertha.”
“And it’s comin’ off.” She tossed me her belt, glancing nervously at Mila.
I tied the belts together like I’d seen Phoenix do earlier, then tossed one end out the side of the copter and wrapped the other end around my arm. I couldn’t help but notice that the cable from which Phoenix hung was now down to just one metal thread.
The Feds fired again. Sparks flew. The cord snapped. The vaccine cases fell from the sky.
Phoenix was gone.
The belts yanked at my arm, hard, just about pulling me from the helicopter and cutting off circulation to my hand all at the same time. I looked down, and saw Phoenix hanging from the rope of belts with one hand. Mila grabbed my waist, and together we reeled him in.
“He’s in!” shouted Mila.
Bertha nodded as the Feds fired again. We slammed the door shut and Bertha jerked the controls once more, sending us sprawling as the helicopter shot back up into the clouds.
“We lost the Indigo,” I said quietly.
Mila shrugged. “But we got Phoenix.”
The two hugged. Dove joined in. Bertha rolled her eyes, but cracked a smile—I could see that they were a family. A ragtag, dysfunctional one, with plans to likely destroy the free world… but a family nonetheless.
Shots whizzed past us from beyond the cloud cover. The celebration was short-lived.
Phoenix hopped into the copilot seat. “Where have we positioned New Texas?”
“Sparky’s got its engines idling a mile east of Maui,” said Bertha, “but there’s still six other copters in the sky.”
“Not safe to go back yet, then,” said Phoenix. “And the Caravan?”
“Three miles south of Newla’s port.”
“So that’s where we’ll head.”
Outside in the clouds, a shadow leaned toward us. It materialized into a Federal copter and slammed directly into our side. We were knocked into a spiral, dropping from the air as we spun toward the ground. Then another copter slammed us from the left. Bertha’s controls flashed red.
“We’re losing altitude!” shouted Dove.
“No shit,” said Mila.
Bertha pulled at the controls, but they sparked in her hands. “My controls have shorted!” she shouted at Phoenix.
He yanked at his, and the copter rose in the sky. “I’ve got it, Big Bertha.”
Next to me, Mila lay unconscious and bleeding. We’d both been slammed against the wall when the Feds rammed us, and I guessed she must have taken a shot to the head. Sure enough, I spotted a blue bruise already forming on her temple, and a series of cuts pooled blood by the corner of her left eye.
The copter’s right door had been totally crushed in—our only exit now was the door on the left.
The Feds fired again, but Phoenix evaded the shots.
Bertha flared her nostrils. “I told you we needed guns on this thing.”
“You said we needed them on our toaster, too.”
Bertha squinted. “And I still stand by that claim.”
Phoenix pushed the controls down, and we dropped a few feet before hovering again. The Feds sailed past us. Bertha mashed at the buttons in front her, but they merely blinked red and sizzled. The Feds spun around in the sky, training their weapons on us. Four other copters dropped from the clouds, rejoining their comrades. All of their guns glowed red as they charged.
“I need someone on the rocket launcher!” shouted Phoenix.
I shook Mila, but she was still unconscious. I glanced at Dove, but he merely stared out the window and whistled.
“Mila’s down,” I said to Phoenix, “and I don’t know how.”
The Feds were racing toward us. Their pilots had finally caught on to our evading maneuvers.
Bertha crawled over her seat, grabbed the rocket launcher and swung the left door open. She fired a round each at the two copters that led the formation, and they both fell from the sky. The others quickly shrank back into cloud cover.
Bertha stroked the gun’s trigger like a lover, then winked at me. “We’re clear.”
Phoenix nodded. “Heading south toward the Caravan. Skies should be clear all the way now.”
A third copter slammed into us, this one from directly above, jamming our rotor blade between its landing skids. Our engine groaned as it fought to free the blades from the skids.
“TURN OFF THE ENGINE” roared Bertha, “OR THIS THING’S GONNA BLOW!”
Phoenix slammed a button. Our engine fell silent, but our rotor blades were still stuck between the Federal copter’s landing skids. The Fed copter pushed us down, out of the sky—a suicide mission.
Bertha grabbed five orange backpacks from the back seat and tossed one to each of us before hurrying to strap one to the still-unconscious Mila’s back.
“Parachutes,” she explained. “We need to jump while we still have altitude.”
Phoenix glanced out the window and shook his head. “We’re above land,” he said. “The Feds will shoot us from the sky, or grab us in the city when we land.”
“Then what the hell do you propose we do? Let them slam us into the ground?”
“I’m thinking.”
“Think faster, Phoenix.”
I strapped the parachute pack to my back. “I’ve got an idea.”
“Car Battery’s got an idea?” Bertha hurried to the door. “My cue to jump!”
I ignored her comment. “We need to get over the ocean water, right?” Phoenix nodded. “Dove, can you climb into the copter above us?”
A look of terror flashed across Dove’s face. “I’m scared of heights.”
I had to think simple. Dove wasn’t the brightest bulb in the box. And he was gullible—he listened to everything Bertha said. I had an idea.
I shrugged. “Well, what does that matter?” I said to Dove. “We’re not even that high off the ground.”
“Yeah, hardly!” snorted Bertha.
“Really?” Dove’s wide set eyes shined bright. He looked out the window. “It looks like we’re pretty high…”
“We’re really not,” I said matter-of-factly. “It’s an optical illusion. You know—pollution in the air. Chemical reactions. Ionic molecular bonds. Basic stuff, Dove. They make it look like we’re really high, even though we’re not.”
Bertha raised an eyebrow. She’d guessed what I was up to. “Yeah, Doveboat,” she said. “It’s basic science. We’re probably only a few feet from the ground.”
Dove narrowed his eyes. “Then why haven’t we hit the ground yet?”
Bertha pointed out the window. “LOOK! A BUTTERFLY!”
His face split into a dumb grin. “WHERE?”
“You could totally climb into the copters above us,” I said quickly—we were still losing altitude. “Then all you’d have to do is stun the men and jerk the controls left toward the water.”
“And maybe you’ll see the butterfly,” finished Bertha. She winked at me.
God, I hoped this was dumb enough to work.
“I’ll do it!” Dove eagerly crawled out the open door and onto our roof, like a squirrel up a tree. We heard him fire at the Federal copter’s window, then we waited. I imagined him crawling through the broken glass, punching the confused pilots, and jerking the controls left.
We hovered in midair, briefly, and then we darted left. Amazingly, the plan had worked.