Page 102 of Deadly Strain

“We’re leaving hot. Smoke, you and Clark take first and second seats. Hernandez, Runnel, the doc, March, and I will strap down in the back. Is the formaldehyde and the crate of supplies the doc wants in the bird?”

“In and secure,” Hernandez said.

“Smoke, Clark, go.”

They disappeared into the darkness.

The men rearranged themselves to surround her, Sharp in front, Hernandez, Runnel, and March on either side and behind her. She missed the signal they had to have been given, because they moved as one, almost carrying her along in their rapid walk to the helicopter.

She got in and sat when one of the men pushed at her to do so. Buckling up her harness took only a few seconds, but the machine was still silent.

A few seconds later, the engine started up, its high-pitched whine a shock in the velvet quiet of the night. Normally, it would take a few minutes before they would take off, but not this time. They went airborne so fast, she was sure her stomach was still on the ground.

The engine whine continued to rise until she feared her ears would burst. Then the entire machine shook with enough force to make her cling to her jump seat, her harness unable to protect her from shudders groaning through the metal.

Grace clenched her teeth and prayed they didn’t take off, just to fall out of the air and crash.

Someone grabbed one of her hands, forced it to let go of her seat and shoved something plastic in it.

She brought it closer to her face. A barf bag.

Funny.

The whole aircraft shuddered hard. Again and again. Something pinged not far from her head.

“We’re taking fire,” Sharp yelled in her ear. A hand pressed against the back of her neck, forcing her to put her head over her knees. “Head down.”

The helicopter flinched from several more blasts and gunfire.

On the other side of her, someone grunted in pain.

She turned her head, but it was too dark to see who’d been hit. She turned the other way and yelled at Sharp, “Who’s sitting on the other side of me?”

“March.”

“I think he’s been hit.”

Sharp swore and unclipped his harness. He went around her and reached out to the man next to her.

Grace put her hand on March’s shoulder so she could at least feel if he was responding to Sharp. Beneath her hand, he took in a breath and she could feel the vibration of his diaphragm as he answered Sharp’s questions.

Sometime during their conversation, the noise and vibration of artillery and bullets disappeared.

“How bad is it?” she yelled in March’s general direction.

“It feels like a laceration,” Sharp told her. “Not a bullet wound. He took it across the shoulder.”

“Can we turn on some lights now? I could bandage him up if I could see what I was doing.”

“Sorry, Doc, we’ve got to run dark or risk getting fired on again.”

“Isn’t that illegal?”

There was a pause. “Back home it sure is, but this isn’t Kansas, Doc.”

Well, she certainly felt like a fool. “Right. Sorry.”

“Never apologize for being a law-abiding citizen,” Sharp said. “We all wish we were home.”

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