The arrow twanged past my ear as I ducked and ran for the stairs, gasping for air and sanity.
“Don’t throw him over until I give you the signal!” Travis shouted to Brutus, giving me a few precious seconds. “I want to see him die!”
As he called out his orders, I practically flew to the bottom of the stairs and ran for the double doors that would get me back into the terminal.
“Fuggleduck,” I muttered when I saw they were closed tight. A quick yank confirmed they were locked, and I had a split second to get out of this alcove before I was trapped with crazypants Robin Hood.
I broke into a sprint toward the open runway as Travis hit the pavement behind me. There was no cover, but it was fairly dark—at least until each blossom of sparks and color lit up the night with heart-pounding booms. And I probably stood out like a giant marshmallow in my fluffy white dress.
I darted toward the crowd outside the terminal steps, then realized Travis could easily take out a lot more people than me if I went that way. I swerved just as another arrow whizzed past me, then pivoted and ran the other way, toward where the fireworks were going off. There were a couple of buildings over yonder, and I dodged between a few small planes parked on the tarmac as I aimed for whatever cover I could find.
This was a brutal game. I wasn’t much of a runner and wasn’t exactly dressed for track and field. Every time a firework dazzled the airport, I was lit up like a Japanese lantern in my dress, so I ducked to the left or right to make it harder for Travis to hit me. At least he was hindered by running, though when I glanced back, I sometimes saw him stop and aim, a terrifying sight that made me take even more evasive maneuvers.
As I ran well beyond the cluster of small planes, my knees and feet were already screaming, and my tight bodice wasn’t much help, either. Frankly, I was gasping for oxygen like a landed trout. I risked another look back at Travis, who was closing the distance as he left the airplanes behind him. Then I glanced up toward the observation deck and froze.
And screamed.
Two figures struggled there in the semidarkness. In a heartstopping moment in which time seemed to grind to a halt, one figure tumbled over the edge and hurtled toward the ground.
And didn’t move.
Dash. Oh, Dash.
“DAMN IT!” Travis had stopped, too, and shouted up at the deck. “I told you to wait!”
But his disappointment did nothing to deter him from resuming his chase. If anything, it egged him on. He roared, and despite his momentary pause, I felt him getting closer as I sprang forward, running flat out. I looked over my shoulder and saw him notching another arrow as he ran. He fired as I tried to pick up speed in my clunky saddle shoes.
“Ouch!” A sting zapped my leg like an angry hornet, prompting a stumble to my knees. I found my feet and took off again, shifting direction more often to make it harder for him. “It can’t be that bad,” I told myself, though the wound hurt like a lemon in a paper cut. “But if he got blood on this dress, I am going to be pissed.”
Maybe my thoughts weren’t rational. But at this point, what was?
The fireworks guys seemed oblivious to the little drama approaching them, but I was far from oblivious to their barrage. My eyes hurt with the launch of each brilliant starburst. My ears ached and my entire body trembled with the blasts as I zigged and zagged closer to their source.
Illuminated by the explosions and light-reflecting smoke, two men in hard hats wielding flares walked around clusters of crates filled with tubes, setting the rockets off.
Another arrow bounced off the pavement next to me. Just how many freaking arrows did Travis have, anyway?
“Hey!” I hollered to the fireworks crew, partly in warning, partly for aid. “Help!”
One of them looked up. And then he stiffened, wavering, gasping in pain.
I clutched my own chest in sympathy. “Oh, no.” One of Travis’s arrows had found its mark.
The man collapsed backward onto a particularly large cluster of unfired shells. His flare flew out of his hand and clattered into the middle of the stack. I could see an arrow sticking out of the man’s shoulder—his chest? His neck? Would he live? I already blamed myself as I contemplated whether to keep running to the men or find another shelter.
It took only a split second for my choice to be made for me.
“Arnie!” the other man screamed, dropping his flare and grabbing his friend, pulling him off the pile of fireworks.
But even as his pal hauled Arnie away from the mortar rack, it was too late for anyone to grab the wounded man’s flare. There was a sizzle and an initial fountain of sparks, followed by an earth-shaking, unraveling blast of light and noise and smoke. It was as if someone had declared war on Lakefront Airport. The rolling flare set off several fuses at once, and the fireworks set off one another, shattering the fireworks structure and shooting off like Mount Vesuvius on a bad day.
I didn’t even have enough breath left to curse. Bits of flaming fireworks shot at me and around me. One burning pea-size chunk hit my glasses so hard it cracked a lens, so I thanked them for their service, tossed them over my shoulder and adopted a new course. Too bad. I really loved those rhinestones.
I veered away from the explosions, exhausted yet fueled by fright. Mortars shot past me, exploding against the pavement, flying toward the building, the runway, the screaming, fleeing spectators. One rocket tore into a small plane, which went up in a blast of fire. Sparks and acrid smoke obscured everything, and I choked on the foul air as I tried to get oriented. Each near miss roasted me with heat; the incessant, air-shaking concussions hammered my ears. Distantly, sirens blared. I almost didn’t have a spare thought for Travis and his arrows, until another whizzed by my head.
Amid the din, I had the weird idea that someone much closer was shouting at me. And then, zooming out of the boiling smoke and sparks and flashes and darkness, an open golf cart hurtled toward me, its headlights barely penetrating the smoggy haze. A security woman drove it, and Neil, bless him, was in the passenger seat, leaning out the side, screaming my name.
“Neil!” My voice cracked, but I found a new burst of speed and headed for him as Travis’s hysterical laughter cackled in my wake, a high-pitched counter-note to the cannon fire, the raucous swarm of fireworks toppling and exploding all at once.
Neil grabbed my hand and swung me up onto the back-facing seat, and I clung to the cart as it turned hard and wheeled away from the war zone, leaving Travis screaming “Squirrel-fuckers!” just behind us.
I held my breath as Travis paused, notched an arrow in the bow, drilled my eyes with his gaze and took aim.
Until a mortar blasted into him and he went up in flames.