Page 112 of Forbidden
It’s time to say goodbye.
35
LORENZO
I pause to make a split-second decision. Fly out of here, right now. Use five minutes of fuel to get us somewhere safe. Trust Storm’s body can fight off hyperthermia. Trust, she does not get frost bite, and lose fingers or toes. Trust she does not die, right now.
Or, remove her wet clothes, hold her in my arms, cold and wet. Likely, die with her here, alone on the coast.
My decision is made for me, when the chopper drops and starts to sink in the swampy island.
I vault into my seat and grab the two control columns. As I yank the chopper off the ground, and up, bubbles come from the little muddy island, and it disappears into the sea.
I try the radio again, and my cell. Nothing! No coverage of any kind.
As soon as we’re high enough, I nose the chopper back down, and we accelerate, fast across the water. As we skim the near frozen surface, I know there is a good chance Storm will die. For now, there is nothing I can do, nothing in the world.
I hit a switch, and it feeds audio to speakers in the back. “Baby, you need to get out of the wet clothes, and you need to do it fast.”
Storm does not move, she will likely be shutting down. “Storm, fucking listen to me!”
She is now curled up in a ball, and one of her arms falls open. The terrified falcon leaps from her, and it flaps, and climbs away.
“Storm, emergency blanket. In the kit. Get it around you, NOW!”
Several long seconds later, Storm rocks, in her daze. A wet glove then pulls off another, and it reaches out. The hand is already turning blue. It is more of a claw, and shaking.
I feel sick, and snarl, as I point the chopper down the coast and head directly for The Hamptons.
Finally, Storm’s numb fingertips find the first aid kit, and the tin foil like emergency blanket. Slowly she pulls it over, and she finally envelopes herself in it.
It may be too late, and pointless, but it is what it is. As she rolls onto her back. She looks up, and I feel sick.
I want to tell her not to die. And tell her I love her, but I worry it is not the time and place. For some stupid reason, I suspect we will have another moment.
“Just one,” I growl low as I look down at the fuel gauge. “Just one.”
The fuel gauge begins flashing red.
“Dear, God!”
At least if we die, we die together.
Storm and the falcon look at each other in the back, and we streak down the coast making a B line for home.
I fly us ridiculously low, not wasting fuel on gaining height. I also know I will need to drop us onto the deck, as soon as we run out of fuel.
Losing all power high up, is one thing.
Losing it low, and dropping us down, gives us a better chance to live.
I check an electronic screen, and map again. There is still nothing out here. No towns. No cities. No anything. “Fuck,” I yell, as my jaw clenches tighter.
I know we’re close to running out of fuel, and I can hear the chopper sounding different. As I peer into the back of the chopper, I see Storm rocking.
Finally, the northern end of the Hamptons appear, and I streak us over the cold waters.
I try the radio again, and this time, it works. I call Alfred, and I tell him to run a bath fast. The old man sounds confused, but I demand he do it now. I then command him to call the closest doctor and fast.
