In the excitement, Christina had forgotten her broom, and like a fool she’d walked straight into a jet of burning hydrogen.
Ramirez shoved her away from the invisible fire and wrestled her to the ground. Heat seared her legs and she felt his weight crushing her as he tried to smother the flames with his body. Through the panic, she mustered the gumption to roll, and the two of them thrashed about like beached fish. Ramirez extricated himself and scooped up handfuls of dust, slapping them on her legs until the fire went out, leaving a mess of charred cotton fabric partially fused to her scorched shins. She realized she was still screaming.
“Christina, look at me,” Ramirez said, his hands on the sides of her head. She clung to him and fixed her eyes on his. “Stay calm. I’ll call for help,” he said.
She shivered. “Don’t leave me.”
He gathered her in his arms and stumbled out of the maze of pipes and pumpjacks. The background noise of the oil field became a lullaby as Christina’s body slipped into shock: the clanging of the pumpjacks; the squeak of rusty gear; the whistle of wind blowing through man-made obstacles on the desolate plain.
Is this how River felt?
Her eyes were closed when Ramirez hoisted her into the helicopter.
#
Ramirez slammed the cockpit door and readied the helicopter for take-off. The nearest emergency room was in Bakersfield, about thirty-five miles. He could have Christina there in minutes.
It’s my fault, he thought as he rushed through his checklist. I should have—
Something was wrong. The fuel gauge said he was low on fuel.
Not true. I should have plenty. Unless…
He remembered what the air support tech had said about the police helicopters losing fuel while just sitting on the platform.
“Shit.”
An ambulance would have to do, though it would take a long time to reach the remote oil field. Ramirez called for help.
“I don’t care if you’re the president or the pope,” the dispatcher said. “The plague is in our fleet. We’re down to two functioning ambulances in the entire county, and we’re not sending either one all the way out there. You’ll have to bring her in.”
He cursed himself for failing to protect her. She had given all she had. Now he had to do the same.
He scrambled to Christina’s side and grasped her hand. It felt cold.
“Trust me,” he said as he used any straps he could find to create a makeshift harness around her body. Then he secured himself into the pilot’s seat and started the engine.
“Just give me ten minutes, baby,” he said to the aircraft. If the petroplague was in his fuel tank, every minute was costing him fuel. A high-speed flight, leaving right now, was their best chance of reaching Bakersfield before the fuel ran out.
The helicopter jerked into the air as he opened the throttle and pressed to maximum velocity. He followed the highway until Bakersfield came into view, and he spotted a large white cross on the roof of a hospital-shaped building. A landing pad. They were going to make it.
Then the telltale odor of vinegar drifted into the cockpit. Ramirez gritted his teeth and prayed. The fuel gauge dipped to zero. Moments later, the helicopter’s engine sputtered and died, the intense noise of the cockpit yielding to agonizing silence. The rotor blades kept spinning from their own momentum, and the sound of their whooshing filled his ears as he gripped the controls.
Last time there was smoke.
He let déjà vu guide his hands. Last time, he survived.
“We’re going down,” he said. “Brace for impact!”
The helicopter skids caught the ground and the world went black.