It was raining so hard that, for a second, she lost sight of the dot. But then it broke from a thick curtain of rain, bigger than before.
It’s a helicopter.
She shoved open the door of the Cherokee, telling Roxie to stay put. The dog seemed confused, moved from the passenger seat to the driver’s side, but did as she was asked. Rebekah slammed the door, making sure Roxie couldn’t run off, then raced around to the trunk. Inside were the old flares she’d found in the house on the north coast. She’d never fired one, but there was no time for a dry run.
Grabbing one, she raced further along the Loop, towards a more open section of the highway. The whole time the rain was relentless, pounding off the asphalt, the storm drains choking on dead leaves. As she got into position, already drenched, she focused on the flare she was holding: both ends were capped, one white, one red, but only the red one came loose. She wriggled it free and tried to work out the rest: an igniter was built into the flare, an abrasive patch that felt like sandpaper, and a similar one was embedded in the outside of the cap.
The helicopter was still way out over the sea – forty miles, maybe more – and she didn’t want to fire the flare too soon, so she began to wave her hands above her head, jumping up and down on the spot.
‘Hey!’ she screamed into the rain, even though she knew her voice would never be heard. ‘Hey! Look over here!’
The chopper kept coming.
She waited.
Waited.
But then, suddenly, it began to bank.
‘No!’ she shouted. ‘No, wait!’
It was still at least thirty miles from the shoreline but now she couldn’t afford to hold on: she began to jab the red cap hard against the igniter button.
It wouldn’t light.
‘Shit.’
She tried again. Still nothing.
‘Come on, come on.’
Again, again, again.
‘Come on!’
Finally, with a fizz, the flare bloomed.
She shot her arms up, above her head, and moved them back and forth, the red tail of the flare forming momentary lines in the air. For a second, she lost the chopper – but then she found it against the granite sky.
As she did, she felt herself wither.
It had already turned so far around that she could no longer see the front, even its windows. Its entire shell was just a narrow blur against the whirl of the storm.
‘Hey!’ she shouted, the flare still fizzing. ‘Wait! Wait!’ She screamed the words so hard she almost choked, waving the flare more furiously than ever, her shoulders scorched with the effort.
But the helicopter was just a dot again.
‘Please come back,’ she muttered, finally dropping her arms, the flare slipping from her fingers to the ground. ‘I’m still alive.’