He leans into the cargo hold. “Where the fuck—?”
“Behind you,” says a voice.
Victor backs out and slowly turns toward the tail of the plane, where Petra holds a little Beretta Pico on him. Then she sees Dalton over Victor’s shoulder.
“Shit,” she says. “Way to ruin my moment, Eric.”
Victor looks over and spots Dalton, revolver trained on him. Victor’s gun arm swings up on Émilie, but she’s already five feet away, and Petra yanks her back.
“Casey?” Petra calls. “I’m guessing there’s a third gun on this bastard?”
“Third and fourth,” Anders calls back as I walk from the forest.
Petra shoves her tiny pistol into her pocket and makes sure Émilie is safely behind the plane before she goes after Victor. He still tries to raise his gun, but she’s on him, and the gun’s wrested free.
“Your turn to put your hands up,” Dalton says as he tugs out a wrist tie.
Victor peers at the handcuffs and then up into Dalton’s face. “Fuck.”
“Yep,” Dalton says. “You’ve seen me before, and you don’t even have the excuse of blindness. You were just in too big a hurry to get your plane. Now turn around and—”
Victor staggers back, and everyone jumps, three guns training on him. Dalton barks at Victor to stop. Then we see the blood blossoming on Victor’s shoulder. He thumps against the plane, metal clanging.
Blood on his shoulder, not from a bullet, but from the arrow embedded there.
THIRTY-FIVE
“Will! Get down!” Dalton shouts as he pushes me toward the open plane hatch.
I give him a shove toward the front of the plane. Dalton nods and runs around front, leaving Petra and me at the back. Victor stumbles after us until the thwack of a second arrow has him slamming into the door. I glance over to see him sliding to the ground.
I get around Victor’s plane and find another cargo door. It opens before we can reach for the handle. Émilie’s holding it for us, and we scramble inside. Dalton’s there a second later, and I pull him in.
The first thing Dalton does is look into the cockpit, as if hoping he could fly us out despite the external damage. The panels have all been smashed, though, wiring pulled out. Definitely intentional. We aren’t going anywhere.
Outside, Victor whimpers. I glance through the dirty window, but I don’t see him. He’s on the ground, shot twice, possibly dying. I don’t care. Can’t care. Anyone who helps him will risk the same.
“Will,” I whisper to Dalton. “Will and Storm and Maryanne are out there.”
His nod is curt. He is very aware of who we’ve left in the forest. I think about Felicity and Edwin, but push them from my mind. Later. They must wait for later.
Seconds pass, and then comes the thunder of running paws. Storm bursts from the forest. I lean out the far hatch, and she runs straight to me, clambering in.
“Tight quarters,” Émilie says with an even tighter smile, as we rearrange ourselves in the cargo hold.
“Fish in a barrel,” Petra mutters.
I shake my head. “We’re fine. I’d like that other hatch closed, but as long as someone’s guarding—”
“Got it,” she says, turning her gun that way.
“You okay?” I murmur as I lean toward her.
“My ego is on life support, but I
’m fine. Asshole.” She scowls toward the hatch, and then shakes her head and inches that way.
Dalton glances at the other plane, as if wondering whether we could get to it and escape. It’s too far and too dangerous for all of us to make that run, even if we would all fit, which I doubt.