Holly leaped up and launched a flying kick at her guard’s head. He stood, and her heel struck his stomach, the impact coursing up her leg and drilling him into the side of the chopper.
Over her right shoulder, Rafe was a blur. She registered Theo dashing into the corner she’d just left. Shouts echoed through the hull.
As the guard gagged, she powered a knee into his nuts. He squeaked but wrenched her arm, spinning her. Her back smacked into his chest, and his arm wrapped around her throat. Crap. She rammed an elbow into his belly. He flinched but tightened his grip, crushing her windpipe. Damn, she’d have to get dirty with the knife.
She jerked her right hand over her shoulder and stabbed at his head, cringing. She caught only air, but he raised his arms to defend himself, releasing her. She pivoted. The chopper banked, sending her flying backward into Theo, driving him into the wall. The guard grabbed a bracket on the other wall, his legs flying. Theo yelped, his face squashed against her back. G-forces pinned them.
“Sorry, kid.”
The chopper lurched. The guard lost his grip and smashed on top of Holly—right onto her outstretched knife. His eyes widened. His hands went for her throat, as if he hadn’t figured out a blade was sunk to the handle in his gut. She twisted it. His hands tightened, wringing the breath from her. Beneath her, Theo wriggled. She tried to arch up—the poor kid was taking the weight of both of them.
The helicopter righted, but still the goon squeezed. She gagged, her vision pinpricking. Blood trickled from one side of his mouth. Finally, his hands weakened and he tumbled down her body and slumped to his knees, the knife still embedded. Air scraped back into her lungs. He teetered and collapsed forward. One twitch and he was dead.
In the doorway, Rafe and the other goon wrestled. Gabriel leveled a handgun at them. She launched forward, tackling the warlord’s legs. Something dense slammed into her back—Theo, joining the fight. A gunshot exploded through the hull, followed by silence. The floor jerked. Shit.
“Rafe?”
The helicopter dropped, taking her stomach with it. Rafe yelled, his words gurgling in her blown ears. She looked up. His goon had vanished. The pilot lay slumped over the controls, the windscreen sprayed red. The recoil had shoved Gabriel into the fuselage. He juggled to regain his grip on the handgun.
Rafe shouted again. Her brain registered: Jump! He grabbed Theo and spun him up onto his back. A rifle hung from his shoulder. Holly listed toward them. Theo clasped his hands around his father’s neck.
“Holly, now!”
Rafe held out a hand. As she stretched up to take it, the chopper jolted, plunging him out the door, with Theo. Holly went to follow, but the floor tipped. Bracing her thighs, she fought up the slope, like on a boat in high seas. The helicopter tossed sideways, thumping her onto her back. Gabriel slid into her, cracking the gun barrel into her injured temple. Her head burned. The chopper lurched again and righted. A mechanical wail rang through her brain. Or was it coming from her mouth?
She caught the edge of the door with her left hand. The helicopter dipped and bounced, sending her swinging as she grappled to get a grip with her right. The world went into a spin, g-forces catapulting her out the door, wrenching her shoulder nearly out of its socket. The chopper spiraled like some demented carousel. She should let go. Gabriel flew past, into space, his shout surging and fading. The polystyrene box pelted her face on its way out. Let go, you moron. Wind belted her eyeballs. The ocean rose up fast, whipped white by the churning air. She released her hand.
Her shoulder crunched into the skid, flipping her onto her back. She hit the surface of the water with a slap and plunged into cold liquid, jolted immediately by the force of the helicopter crashing down beside her. Kicking hard, she fought through the wash until her lungs caved, forcing her up for air.
Treading water, she spun, her head gyrating as though she’d been spat from a washing machine. Her panting sounded like it was coming from someone else, far away. The helicopter floated on its side. An island lay maybe a mile away. It looked tiny. She turned almost a three-sixty before she spotted Rafe and Theo, clinging to the polystyrene box. Rafe had a rifle aimed at her. He shouted something indecipherable.
Shit. She dropped under the surface and pulled herself down and away, in the direction of the island. A muffled series of explosions sounded above her—or did she imagine it? Rafe had lost the killer-robot face, but who knew what was going on in his brain?
She swam underwater until her chest pinched, surfaced just long enough to gulp in oxygen, then changed direction before popping up again. She braced for gunfire but no shots came. One of her shoes had come off. She yanked off the other, and continued toward the island in a crazed diving zigzag. A few times she thought she heard distant shouts, but with her buzzing ears and water slapping all around, she couldn’t be sure—and she wasn’t stopping long enough to check. Salt stung her wrist and her bullet wound and found a dozen other cuts and scrapes to torment. Her knee held together okay, as long as she kicked with straight legs.
After an age it felt like swimming through cement. She’d pass out if she kept rationing her oxygen, and the island didn’t seem to be getting any closer. She’d have to risk a rest.
She heaved in a breath, then swam as far as she could sideways, underwater. She surfaced quietly, rapidly blinking the water from her eyes. Only a bump of fuselage remained of the helicopter. Next to it were three figures. A wave rose up, obscuring her view. She ducked under the swell and broached again. Her blond hair would be a beacon.
She squinted at the figures. Theo clung to the box. Rafe had one arm wrapped around the polystyrene, and the other around...Gabriel. She dived under another wave. When she surfaced, Gabriel was gone. Dead? Rafe raised his head, his gaze barreling into hers. Eyeing up his next target? She wasn’t going to wait around and find out.
She dived. Her best hope was to get to the island and pray the inhabitants were friendly. Was she even getting anywhere? The outgoing tide tugged her backward with every stroke, her knee burned with each kick, and her arms ached. At least Theo would slow Rafe down.
She chanced a look behind. The choppy swell hid her from Rafe, most of the time. The sun opened a gap in the clouds, creating blinding reflections. Her muffled hearing somehow amplified her pulse, making it boom in her head. A wave slapped salt water up her nose. It burned its way through her sinuses.
The island looked further away than ever. Ah, screw it. She’d never make it at this pace. She’d have to break cover and swim freestyle. If she was having trouble spotting Rafe, he’d struggle to see her, too. No doubt he was a crack shot. If he intended to kill her, at least it’d be all over before she knew it.
She swam on, the events of the past few days rattling through her mind—the night Rafe grabbed her from the boat, the shark, the plane, the island, the pirates, the hammock, the helicopter, Gabriel, Amina, Devi, the explosion of relief in her chest when Rafe had appeared in the jungle. It was all a confused tangle. She’d have plenty of time to figure it all out once she was entrenched in her cottage by the sea. Her number one priority was to get there.
The change of stroke upped her momentum. Instead of pulling her back, the waves surged her forward. Fatigue clawed her. She ignored it. She settled into a pattern—four or five strong strokes in between waves, then rest and ride the surge. Her eyes stung. Something scraped her elbow. She flinched. A wave picked her up and dragged her along a ragged rock, gouging her side. The pain barely registered.
Not a rock. A reef. She hadn’t been paying attention to the changes in the waves. She scrambled to her feet before the next surge, and launched herself into a break in the coral, the water swirling light-brown with sand. Forcing her eyes open underwater, she navigated past swaying smudges of lime and burgundy. The water calmed, the going got easier. Ahead, orange and blue blurs flitted and darted.
A minute or two later, she beached in the shallows, her body pulsing with relief. She crawled to the water’s edge and flipped onto her back, gulping air with a strangled sob, willing her burning muscles to cool. She’d be hurting tomorrow—if she saw tomorrow at all.
Movement along the beach caught her eye. Rafe pulled Theo clear of the waves and threw the box up the sand.
She stumbled to her feet. No time to rest. She no longer knew who was on which side. The world tipped. Damn. One swim and she’d lost the land legs she’d only just found. She staggered up the beach, eyes fixed on the tree line. A muffled shout—her name, close behind. She wasn’t stopping to let him get a clear shot. A wave of sand seemed to rise up, and she pitched forward. A shadow blocked out the sun. She rolled.
Rafe leaned over her. Shit. She kicked out, ready to fight with whatever energy she could squeeze out. He caught her feet, flipped her onto her stomach and pinned her like a butterfly.