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Abby could hardly convince her legs to keep moving. Her shoulders slumped. Her vision blurred every time she jostled one of her wounds. She’d seen the helicopter hover overhead, so she knew the extraction had already begun. She crossed the parking lot slowly, her boots scraping against the gravel as she took each slow step. The rotor of the helicopter faded into the distance now, barely audible above the wildlife and her own panting.
She’d come out nowhere near the trailhead, stopping to gather her senses and orient herself towards where she’d find Radley. He’d said he would stay until she’d done the job. He’d be there to take her out of this god-forsaken place, where she could recover from her wounds, figure out her next step, and begin her life of solitude.
She found the path and shuffled towards it. One foot in front of the other. Focusing on a future where she’d already recovered and didn’t feel like screaming with every minute movement of her muscles. Her mind forced her to think of Ben and Beatty. She’d avenged them both. She could be proud of that. Though, she’d only killed one. Another remained. And the pups.
No. That path had brought her nothing but pain. Revenge hadn’t brought peace or closure.
Thoughts like these swam around her head as she pushed forward. Eventually, she made it to the field where Radley had dropped her off, where she saw a plane waiting. It didn’t look like the one they’d arrived in, though. No, this one seemed smaller, with different colored accents along the side.
A tall, skinny man waved at her from a distance, as if she’d miss him if he didn’t make some sort of grand movement.
“Ahoy!” he yelled.
Abby wondered if he was British. Or maybe a pirate. She let out a sharp breath resembling something of a laugh.
He rushed toward her and helped steady her as they made their way to the plane. He talked and talked, his smooth accent providing a soft balm for her ears. British, then. Probably not a pirate.
“Sorry for the switch up,” the man said. “Mr. Furey had somewhere else to be. He’s a busy guy.”
Was he? Abby knew almost nothing about Radley. He hadn’t seemed like a particularly busy guy. He’d seemed like a two-dollar bush pilot, hired for his discretion. Not someone she’d be inclined to refer to as “mister.”
“He wanted to help with the extraction himself, he did. So he sent me to pick you up. I hope you don’t mind. I ain’t as good as he is, but I’ll get you where you need to go.”
They reached the plane and he helped her up into one of the two seats in the cockpit. He handed her a headset before quickly jogging around to the pilot’s seat, jumping in, and putting on a headset of his own.
The slight hiss of the radio crackled before his voice echoed in her head. “Where is it that you want to go?”
Abby took a deep breath, shot him a sharp look. “Where the hell do you think?”
He nodded quickly, sheepishly. “Alright then. Off to the hospital. Have a preference?”
Before she could answer, a voice came across the radio. The stern, sharp voice of a woman annoyed.
“Derek,” the voice said. “Have you heard from Mr. Furey?”
“No, not a peep. Just picked up Ms. Wilson and heading up to Seattle with her to a hospital. Looks like she’s had a rough go of it.”
He hadn’t asked what happened to her, and that alone seemed odd. Abby felt like she’d managed to slip behind the curtain of the organization she’d worked for all these years. She’d never met her employer, never met Derek or this lady on the radio. Yet, somehow, they all seemed important to the organization; more important than herself.
“Abby Wilson is there with you?” the woman asked, curiosity in her voice.
“That’s right,” he answered. “The hero of the hour herself.”
“Let me talk to her,” the woman said.
“She’s here already.”
Curiosity piqued, Abby spoke into her microphone with a dry, raspy voice. “This is Abby.”
“Ms. Wilson. My name is Ginger Coleman.”
The name didn’t ring a bell.
“I work for the Director, as well.”
“Oh okay. Nice to meet you, I guess. Is there a point here?”
The line stayed silent. Abby looked to her pilot who gave her a shrug and a shy smile of endearingly crooked teeth.
Eventually, Coleman responded, “I don’t know how to put this, and now is probably not the best time, but I’m not letting someone die on my watch. Especially when they did nothing to deserve it.”
That just left Abby confused. She didn’t feel even remotely close to dying. Sure, she hurt every which way, and would probably be taking it easy for weeks to come. But death was not imminent. She had some gas in the tank, yet.
Abby chose her words carefully, slowly unfurling what she hoped was an appropriate response. “That’s very kind of you, Ms. Coleman, but I’m going to be just fine.”
“Not you, dear,” Coleman replied. “John Beatty. He needs to get to a hospital, and you’re the only person I can think of who might be on my side, here.”
Abby’s heart dropped. She gasped for air. Her eyes stung. And her lips turned up into a smile.
“He’s alive?”
“Barely.”
“But Furey said— “
“Mr. Furey lied to you, hon.”
Abby tried to process it. Why would Furey lie?
Without waiting for any response from Abby, Coleman turned her attention back to the pilot. “Derek.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Listen to me, and listen good. I don’t care what Furey told you to do. You come here. You get John Beatty and you take the both of them into Seattle for medical care. Do you understand?”
Abby couldn’t help but notice the worry across Derek’s face.
“But, ma’am, that’s not what he told me to do.”
“I don’t care, Derek. He’s busy with the extraction.”
Abby didn’t know the specifics of the organization. She didn’t know who Coleman was in relation to Derek. She didn’t know what the punishment would be if Derek followed Coleman’s new orders. But none of that mattered for the purposes of Abby choosing her side. Beatty was alive. She wasn’t alone anymore. Her life didn’t have to proceed in solitude.
Derek and Coleman bickered back and forth, exchanging ominous threats and fears of reprisal. Abby took the time to scan the small cabin. She clocked the dials and controls. The flight stick. The maps. The tape holding together more of the plane than she felt comfortable with.
And a leather holster tucked next to Derek’s seat. With a grimace, she reached across, grabbed the holster, dislodged the gun and pointed it at Derek’s head—all before he even registered that she’d moved.
“Do what she says,” Abby demanded.
Derek looked at her from the corner of his eye, his hands up in front of him. Derek didn’t seem like the fighting type. He seemed more like the do-anything-to-survive type.
“Don’t shoot me.”
“Then do what Coleman says.”
“Good girl, Ms. Wilson,” Coleman said on the radio. Apparently, the conversation had given her enough context clues to understand the situation.
“Fine,” Derek said with a sigh. “I’m starting the engine now. Don’t shoot.”
He lowered his arms slowly. Abby’s finger tensed on the trigger. If she shot him, she’d have no way to get to Beatty, but Derek was either too scared or too stupid to realize that. The engine of the plane roared to life, shaking and rattling from nose to stern. The propellers started turning, slowly at first, then whirring into a blur.
“Do you have to hold it so close to m’head?” Derek asked quietly.
Abby pulled the gun away slightly, keeping the muzzle trained on him. “Okay. But if you take me anywhere other than Beatty, I will shoot you. Even if it means we fall out of the sky. I have had a very bad day.”
Derek nodded. “Yeah, yeah. I got that, lady.”
The plane surged forward down the grass-paved runway, picking up speed until the plane lifted into the air. It rocked and bucked, shaking and shimmying to the point that Abby felt sure the bolts would unscrew themselves.
“Okay, Coleman,” Abby said. “We’re in the air.”
“I’ll have Mr. Beatty ready for you at the end of the runway. Thank you, Ms. Wilson.”
Abby didn’t quite know how to respond to that. It was Coleman doing her the favor, not the other way around.
“Of course,” Abby said. “See you soon.”
Perhaps she could have a happy ending after all. Abby tightened her grip on the gun, looked at her pilot, and tried to temper the hope welling inside her.
