We take Anders. That’s a risk—it leaves the town exposed. But with Petra gone and Kenny less than fully ambulatory, there’s no one else I can trust to cover my back. Kenny will be in charge of Rockton, with others stepping forward to assist, and they all know that the priority today is surveillance. Watch our borders. Any trouble—from hostiles to unexpected planes—fire off a flare, and we’ll abandon our mission to get back.
Another person joins us. Maryanne. She knows the shaman, and while I argue that the hostiles have nothing to do with Petra’s kidnapping, they are out there, and they’re pissed off, and they may have Edwin and Felicity. We haven’t forgotten their plight. We just need to deal with Petra’s first. We’ll take
the ATV, while Storm runs beside us.
We’re almost at the stopping point before we hear Émilie’s plane. That’s still cutting it close. I make the executive decision to use the noise of the plane to drive a little farther. Soon, though, we’re off the vehicle and jogging on foot. There are no paths, and I’m in the lead, finding game trails, before Maryanne softly asks if she can take over. Of course she should—she is the expert out here.
As we run, the plane circles twice, as if second-guessing its landing spot. That’d be at Dalton’s command, making sure we see where to go. We do, and it helps that we’re downwind, because Storm catches Petra’s scent and gives a little whine of excitement. I tell her to stay on that scent, quietly, and she moves into the lead, deftly finding a path that her big body can pass through.
It’s Anders who sees Victor’s plane first, when a beam of sunlight strikes the metal. As Émilie’s plane lands, my heart thumps. I’d wanted to be in position before they touched down. I get Anders to cover me, and I tell Storm to wait with them. Then I slip through the forest, my gun out as I stay in the shadows.
I spot Victor. I don’t see Petra, but I trust she’s nearby and safe. I position myself to come out behind Victor as he keeps his gaze—and a gun—trained on Émilie’s plane, idling in place, doors shut.
The second plane sits ten meters away. Even from here I can see the damage, and I remember Victor saying he couldn’t leave because the “vultures” had picked it clean. Hostiles taking what they could? Or intentionally disabling it?
I glance back and wave for Anders to join me. Maryanne and Storm will stay where they are.
I don’t wait for Anders to catch up. While those propellers are turning, the whoosh of them drowns out all sound, and I need to get into the best possible position to defend Dalton. Yes, Émilie and Petra are there, too, but my attention is on Dalton. I know Victor’s is, too—faced with an eightysomething woman and a thirtysomething guy, he’ll focus on the male part of the equation.
Victor has made a mistake, though. He’s on the wrong side of the clearing, opposite the pilot’s door instead of the passenger’s. He takes a step toward the front of the plane, realizing his tactical error, but there’s no time to correct it now.
“Get out of the plane,” he shouts.
The pilot’s door opens, and Émilie waves a gloved hand. “Show a little patience, young man. It takes me awhile to get anywhere these days.”
She takes her time sliding from the seat, and when she’s on the ground, he shouts, “Are you turning off the damned plane?”
She throws up her hands. “You told me to get out.” She turns. “Phil? Please shut off the engine.”
“You get out, too,” Victor shouts over the engine noise.
“Before or after I turn the engine off?” Dalton calls back, and his usual drawl is clipped with Phil-like annoyance.
“Turn the fucking plane off, get out, and come around where I can see you. Hands raised. If you have a gun, I’d suggest you leave it behind because if I see it, I’m shooting.”
Hesitation, and then Dalton lifts a gun and puts it aside. Even through the windows, I can tell it isn’t his revolver—the barrel is too short.
See, I’m disarming. You’re in control here.
“Where’s my granddaughter?” Émilie says.
Victor waves toward the other plane, his gaze never leaving Dalton as he walks around to the front.
Émilie starts to hurry over and then catches herself, moving slower as she makes her way to the plane. Dalton stays in the shade with his hands raised. He is indeed dressed as Phil, in new jeans and a button-down shirt. He’s taken off the shades and put on Phil’s glasses instead. He’s also shaved, and it gives his face a babyish look that, with the outfit, is a far cry from the wilderness sheriff Victor saw earlier.
Victor grunts, satisfied that this is the right guy. That means he’s nervous—too nervous to insist Dalton come closer and too nervous to question. Dalton looks like a pencil pusher, so that must be what he is.
Gun still trained on Dalton, Victor looks over at Émilie as she yanks on the other plane’s passenger door.
“Not there,” Victor shouts. “The cargo hold.”
She goes to the next door and pulls, grunting with the strain.
“Oh, for fuck’s sake. It’s open. Just pull.”
Another grunting tug. Victor curses some more and stalks over. The moment he walks away, Dalton slides out his revolver. He points it at Victor, who doesn’t even glance back, distracted and intent on his mission. Émilie steps aside, and Victor yanks open the cargo door.
“She’s right— What the hell?”