Theo pulled his Swiss Army knife from his pocket and was fumbling to open it, not even wanting to think about how bad it would get once they were free-floating again, when they all heard the mechanical whap-whap-whap of a fairly large helicopter close to the ground.
Theo had never been so glad to see a flying aircraft before in his life. He and the kids stood and waved and screamed, and oh, thank you, Jebus! The copter spotted them.
Theo had taken EMT classes in school. He’d gotten his degree in management, but he’d known what he’d wanted to do. Sticky was his home—he wasn’t going to desert his mother or any of the people he’d grown up with just because he’d gotten out and gotten his degree. So he figured the EMT classes would make him a shoo-in for Imelda’s job when she retired. One of his classes had dealt with extracting people from difficult circumstances.
He was not surprised when the small figure in the flight suit stood at the cargo door and dropped a harness down to the raft. The kids helped him raise Thelma up, and Theo watched in concern as that same small figure helped her out of the harness and then lowered it again. This was usually a four-man operation. A pilot, a spotter, someone to work the crane and someone to work the passengers. What in the hell kind of operation had only one person working the crane while someone else flew the helicopter?
But the hose was getting pulled tight, and the raft would be taking on water soon, so Theo figured maybe they didn’t have a choice in the same way he and the kids hadn’t had a choice when they’d hopped aboard Thelma’s porch. When the harness came down again, he turned to Maisy, but she squeaked nervously.
“I’ll do it,” Skeet said, smiling at her. “I’ll go first, and then you’ll know it’s safe, okay?”
“Be careful,” she said, lip wobbling bravely.
Skeet gave her that game smile from a face that would maybe get handsome one day but right now was dominated by a willful nose and a bony jaw—and ears. He let Theo help him into the harness, and they watched as he went up. Theo held his breath when the single person by the crane helped him in again.
“Mr. Wainscott,” Errol said softly. “That don’t look right. That girl up there—she’s not that big. That job looks like it takes more people.”
“I think it does,” he said, also softly. “But if that’s all they got, that’s all they got.” He gave Maisy an anxious look, and Errol nodded.
The harness was lowered again right when their makeshift raft began to bob, tugging at its anchor on the tree.
By the time Maisy got hoisted up, Theo was half-tempted to cut the raft loose and take his chances. The girl up top had been replaced by a much larger man—one who’d yelled at Maisy to get her to stop freaking out, which Theo approved of heartily—but the helicopter was as buffeted by the wind as the raft was by the current and the tree.
Still, he watched as Maisy got lifted up, up, up, holding his breath with the hope that the girl would make it onto the helicopter and be safe. God, please, he just wanted those damned kids to be safe. He didn’t want to think about the damage to the town or to his home, or how the recent wildfires had taken almost all that was left of the valley and now there would be nothing to keep people in Sticky at all.
Just let the kids be safe. That’s all. That’s—
Theo watched as the copter almost upended sideways, and then, in an act of incredible bravery and stupidity, the guy who was helping Maisy get into the copter all but threw her inside.
And fell right out of the helicopter and down toward the oak tree.
That’s Not How This Works
THE water was cold enough to steal Spencer’s breath, even through the flight suit, but his coms helmet remained on, which meant his overwhelming physical sensation was Elsie’s voice puncturing his eardrum by screaming his name.
“Spencer! Spencer! Goddammit, you lazy fucking cowboy, answer me!”
Hard to do when underwater.
As soon as Spencer submerged, he spread his arms and legs, slowing his plummet through the freezing mountain water, which was good, but it also opened him up for impalement from the wicked spars and branches of the oak trees, which was bad. He wrestled for a moment with the tree, swearing in his head if not out loud. Finally he grabbed hold of some sort of line—he’d opened his eyes in the water, but the darkness and the stinging didn’t give him much clarity. He grabbed the ropelike thing, which felt spongy underneath his flight glove, and pulled, dragging himself up at the same time as whatever he was holding on to gave way from its perch on the tree and he found himself being dragged behind a large floating craft.
His friend the oak tree gave him a vicious stab in the side, and he hauled himself above water, sputtering and swearing, shouting “Fuck!” into coms that weren’t supposed to get wet and were crackling in and out.
“Spence! Buzz crackle… at… ou?”
Spencer looked up and saw Elsie had righted the chopper, and he was getting dragged down current behind the unlikely raft. The rope—fuck, was this a garden hose?—was getting winched up, and he was grateful he didn’t have to haul himself the whole way.
“Get them to safety,” he gasped. “I’m fine. Come back for us.”
“Can’t… eave… ou!”
Bless her. “You can and you will!” he shouted, then sputtered through another mouthful of water. “Get those kids to safety, then get Glen Echo and Damien fucking Ward back here to bail my ass out of the fire. That’s your plan, Elsie,” he gasped. “Now go!”
Her next words came in loud and clear. “Don’t fucking die!” And then the wind shear and the choppiness of the water eased off as she pulled the copter up and into a more controllable altitude. As the aircraft moved away, he saw the bay door close and gave a sigh of relief. At least Colonel hadn’t followed him. Thank God.
Although he had a feeling that before this was over, he was going to miss his damned dog.
The edge of the raft was looming, and he realized that he was going to have to grab what looked like a porch rail and pull himself to the front of the raft itself. He was too big to get between the first slat of the rail and the surface of the raft, dammit. He wasn’t quite there.
With a grunt and a heave he started pulling himself along the edge of the raft, swearing as some of the rough edges of hastily cut posts ripped through his flight suit. He was going to be hamburger by the time he got aboard! As he made his way, he was aware that the last rescuee was urging him on like his own personal cheerleader, and if Spence could have talked through the cold and the pain, he would have told the guy to shut the fuck up and get off his back. Spence was getting there, goddammit, and he didn’t need any help.
When his knees hit a mostly submerged set of stairs, he wanted to laugh, but he wanted to get out of the water even more.
He dragged himself up the stairs, only peripherally aware that someone had grabbed the back of his flight suit and was hauling at it to help him up.
Finally, he was on the deck proper, and with a heave and a grunt, he rolled over until he was flat on his back and looking up at the stormy sky that was still dumping rain on his upturned face.
“Well,” he said, breathing heavily. “That sucked.”