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CHARLIE

O ne of us will die.

That was my oath for Carter Blaize as I unloaded my machine guns on him. But the slippery bastard banked out of my line of fire, breaking off his attack on the dragons to focus on me.

Seeing the queen fall, seeing Essa diving to save her mother, knowing the pain she must be feeling—those were stronger fuels than petrol could ever be.

But Blaize’s plane was faster, newer, and more maneuverable. And I was already in trouble. Blaize turned faster than I could, accelerated and managed to loop in behind me.

Now, he was on my tail. I banked left, he banked left. I banked right, he banked right. I climbed, the engine roaring with strain, then stalled and turned suddenly to get the drop on him—one of my favorite moves—but he knew that trick too well and broke right before I could get a good shot at him. Then he was coming around, behind me once again, his guns thundering, tracer rounds streaking past. I dove and tried to loop behind him but he kept up, firing down on me and punching a hole in my fuselage.

This son of a bitch…

He was good. His reflexes. His anticipation. Better than any ace I’d trained with.

He was on my tail again, and closing. All I could do was jog back and forth, left and right, to keep him from getting a bead on me. It felt inevitable that he’d catch me sooner or later—but I still had a few tricks up my sleeve.

Closer. Come on, buddy. Just a little closer.

I let him feel like he was closing in on me, reeling me in like a fish.

Then I cut the engine and cranked the flaps, nearly stopping in the air and turning on a dime. It was a dangerous move. As my momentum stalled I had no control; I only had to hope I’d spin far enough to get him in the bead of my guns.

I held my breath as the engine stopped the world hushed, the wind whispering around me. Turn. Turn. A little farther…

The plane pivoted in the air and he came in front of my crosshairs. Now! I opened fire and watched the flaming tracer rounds as they hit the Silver Wraith. Punching through a wing, pinging off the engine housing, then—click.

No!

I squeezed the trigger again and again, but nothing happened. The gun was jammed.

My plane, stalled and front-heavy because of the engine, nosed down and fell in a spiral. I grabbed the choke button and the throttle and tried to crank the engine up again. It coughed and grumbled, but didn’t start.

I was vaguely aware of the Wraith firing on me, holes bursting in the fuselage of the plane around me, canvas flapping.

I fired the engine again. Fired it again. Fired it again. Nothing.

The sea was spiraling up to meet me, a fatal impact. I was vaguely aware of Blaize peeling off, banking again to attack Essa and her mother down in the water.

“Come on, you dumb son of a bitch!” I shouted at the plane. The vast ocean spun up toward me. The engine heaved and coughed and stuttered as I tried to fire it again.

And again.

And again.

And one last time.