Page 44 of Stilettos & Whiskey
I released my harness and opened the helicopter door. The wind buffeted me. To the east a towering bank of dark grayclouds filled the sky. A monsoon storm was coming. “We need to be gone before the storm hits.”
“Your crazy mother enjoys getting caught in a haboob. Me, not so much.” Brent attached the belay line to his harness and rappelled down.
Thecrackof a high-powered rifle sounded. An instant later, a bullet whizzed by my ear and struck the fuselage. “Fuck! Brent! Look out!”
The sniper fired off a volley of lead.
Brent’s belay line broke. With a cry of horror, he fell to the ground and didn’t move.
Another bullet zipped by me. “Shit!” I quickly shut the helicopter door.Thunk. Thunk. Thunk. Thunk. Thunk.I shuddered. That was too damn close.
“November-nine-seven-eight-alpha-whiskey, someone is shooting at us,” Mom called on the radio.
The static almost drowned out the dispatcher’s voice, “Say again, November-nine-seven-eight-alpha-whiskey.”
The copter vibrated so badly, my teeth rattled.
“This is November-nine-seven-eight-alpha-whiskey, we are declaring an emergency.”
Bulletholes peppered the windshield and the helicopter spun wildly. “Mom! Are you hit?”
“Buckle up,” Mom shouted. “We’re losing oil pressure, and I need to land before the engine shuts down.”
More rounds thudded against the metal.
My hands shaking badly, I struggled to fasten my harness. This day was going from bad to worse.
Mom’s voice remained steady as the helicopter shook violently and spun in a circle. “Mayday! Mayday! Mayday! We are going down!”
A scream tore from me as the helicopter dropped from the sky. It hit the ground hard and skidded along a ridge for a goodten feet before slamming into a huge saguaro cactus. I sagged against the seat in relief. We weren’t dead.
“The engine is on fire,” Mom warned.
Releasing my harness, I grabbed the fire extinguisher and put out the fire. “I never, ever want to do this again, Mom.” I glanced over my shoulder. She was slumped over the controls. “Mom!” Sheer horror swept over me. “No, no, no. You are not dying on me; do you hear me!”
“Not dead,” Mom gasped. “Just shot.”
A cold dread tightened my stomach. “Where?”
“Shoulder.”
Damn. Brent had the medical bag. “Do you have a spare first aid kit?”
“Next to the AED.”
I hurried over and grabbed it. “Once we get the bleeding stopped, we need to move. That sniper is still out there.”
“I caught a brief glimpse of him. The sniper is dressed like an Apache warrior,” Mom gasped.
Was there a full moon tonight? Shit, there was. “If he shoots at us again, he’s a dead man. I’ve had my fill of crazy people today.”
“It’s probably Pete Thurman. He’s a slightly mad treasure hunter, but I’ve never seen him dressed like an Apache warrior before. He lives in a cave near Weaver’s Needle.”
I helped Mom out of the pilot’s seat and over to the gurney. God, there was so much blood. Fighting back my panic, I gave Mom my“everything is fine”smile. “Let’s have a look.” I unbuttoned her shirt and examined the wound. “It’s a through and through.”
Mom’s cellphone rang. Her teeth clenched against the pain, she answered it, “Stone.”
While Mom relayed the situation to her captain, I bandaged her shoulder. My cellphone rang. I glanced at the caller ID. It was Dad. Did he know we had crashed? Probably. “Garza.”
