Page 40 of Falling for the Playboy Pilot

JANNA

I gripped the edge of my seat as Pickle lifted us off the ground. The wind was picking up, which was a clear sign the fire was getting closer. Fires created their own weather. It was the perfect storm. The winds. The high-pressure system that moved in.

There was a tiny part of me that was thrilled to be getting to see all of it. But the rational part of me knew it was a total disaster. It wasn’t exciting. It was horrific and it was only going to get worse.

And the last place I wanted to be to watch the apocalyptic event was a fucking helicopter. I hated helicopters. I’d probably said that a hundred times today alone.

It didn’t get any less true with every passing minute I had to be in the flying tin can. In a plane, at least you knew where the wings were. In this? No wings, just spinning blades that didn’t do much to combat gravity. I might as well be riding a lawn chair tied to a blender.

With the ash and smoke, the rotors could stop spinning at any second. And there were no wings to gently glide to the ground. Nope. My little ride would turn into a fucking boulder. Nothing but dead weight falling out of the sky.

Pickle looked over at me, grinning. That was the Pickle I knew. “I promise I know what I’m doing,” he said, voice half-laugh. “But you’ll want to keep that seatbelt snug.”

I tightened the belt. I didn’t see how being strapped to my seat was going to make a difference when we were falling out of the sky. Down was down. The ground was the ground. It would hurt whether I was in a chair or slapping against the pavement.

“This is why I don’t trust any vehicle without wings,” I shot back.

We rose, harder than I expected, leaving the asphalt behind. A wall of smoke loomed on the edge of town. It was awesome and horrible at the same time.

“We’re doing a sweep,” Pickle said into the mic. “See if there are any stragglers that didn’t make it onto a bus.”

I nodded and scanned the ground below while Pickle steered the chopper toward the flames.

The heat hit us like opening an oven door.

The helicopter’s cabin turned into a furnace.

Sweat beaded on my forehead under the helmet.

The boob sweat was unreal. My feet were hot.

I had no doubt if I put my hand on the floor I would feel the heat.

The air coming through the open side hatches wasn’t relief—it was scorching wind that felt like it could melt my lungs.

“Shit,” I muttered, pulling at my flight suit. The fabric was already sticking to my skin.

Pickle’s voice crackled through the headset. “Yeah, it’s about to get a lot worse. Hold on.”

A violent gust of superheated air slammed into us from the side. The helicopter lurched hard to the right. My stomach dropped as we tilted at what felt like an impossible angle. I gripped the seat so tight my knuckles hurt.

“Sorry about that,” Pickle said, fighting to level us out.

Another blast of scorching wind ripped through the cabin. I swore I could smell my hair singeing. This was like flying straight into hell. The air shimmered with heat waves, distorting everything below us into a nightmare landscape of orange and black. I prayed no one was down there.

We banked over Main Street. I forced myself to look down despite the nausea building in my throat.

The town looked like a ghost town. Cars abandoned in driveways.

Windows dark. A few scattered figures running toward the evacuation point, but mostly just empty streets waiting for the fire to claim them.

“Chopper One to Chopper Two,” a voice came through the radio. “We’ve got three more from the assisted living center. Looks like the town’s clear. Heading back to base.”

“Copy that. We’re doing one more sweep of the residential area, then we’re out of here.”

The wind gusts were getting more violent, more frequent.

Each one felt like a giant’s fist trying to swat us out of the sky.

I had a vague memory of a movie, King Kong.

My dad loved the old school King Kong movie.

That was what it felt like. A giant gorilla swatting at our helicopter.

I could taste ash and smoke even through the ventilation system, and the heat was becoming unbearable.

“This is insane,” I said, wiping sweat from my eyes. “How do you guys do this?”

“Very carefully,” Pickle replied, his knuckles white on the controls. “And with a lot of prayer.”

I continued to scan the ground for anyone that might not have gotten out in time. I hated that I might not be able to see them if they were there.

“We’re clear above the fire wall. See anyone?” His voice was strained as he fought to keep the chopper steady.

That was when I saw them.

Two figures stumbling through the smoke about three blocks east of Main Street. A man and what looked like a teenage girl, moving way too slowly. The wall of flames was maybe two hundred yards behind them and closing fast. At the rate they were moving, they’d never make it to the evacuation point.

“Pickle! Two o’clock, about three blocks out. Two people on foot.”

He banked hard right, and I got a better look. The man was limping badly, leaning heavily on the girl who couldn’t have been more than sixteen. She kept looking back at the approaching fire, terror written across her face even from this distance.

“Shit,” Pickle muttered. “They’re not going to make it.”

“Can you get us down there?”

“Not supposed to land in an active fire zone.” He was already descending. “But fuck protocol.”

The helicopter dropped way too fast. My stomach shot up into my throat as we plummeted toward a small patch of asphalt in what looked like a school parking lot. The landing was anything but gentle. We hit hard, the aircraft bouncing once before settling with a jarring thud.

“Go!” Pickle shouted. “I’ll keep her running!”

I unbuckled and jumped out before the skids had fully settled. The heat hit me like a physical blow, so intense I could barely breathe. My eyes started watering. The rotor wash nearly knocked me on my ass.

I ran toward the two figures, my boots pounding against the hot pavement. The girl saw me coming and waved frantically.

“Help us!” she screamed over the roar of approaching flames. “My dad hurt his leg. He can barely walk!”

The man was wheezing, his face gray with exhaustion and smoke inhalation. I grabbed his other arm and we half-carried, half-dragged him toward the helicopter. Each step felt like we were moving through molten air. I couldn’t believe they had managed to survive at all.

“What’s your name?” I shouted to the girl.

“Emma! This is my dad, Joe!”

“Almost there, Emma. You’re doing great.”

The wind from the rotor blades was a blessing compared to the superheated air around us. I boosted the man up into the cabin first, then helped Emma climb in. She was shaking, whether from fear or adrenaline, I couldn’t tell.

“You’re safe now,” I told them, strapping them both in. “We’re getting you out of here.” I jumped back into my seat and buckled up. “Go, go, go!”

Pickle didn’t need to be told twice. We lifted off just as a shower of burning embers began raining down on the parking lot where we’d just been. The helicopter climbed steeply. I watched through the window as the flames devoured the park.

Emma was crying now, clutching her dad’s hand. The man’s breathing was labored but steady. Pickle maneuvered back to the evac zone. Another hard landing and I was out of the chopper. A team of firemen rushed over to help unload our precious cargo and get them on another bus.

“We’ve got to go back up,” Pickle shouted at me.

I nodded and hopped back in. I didn’t even have my seatbelt buckled before we were ascending. Pickle flew us back into the heart of the inferno. Rescues were going to be much harder and, sadly, less likely. But that didn’t mean we didn’t try.

The helicopter bounced and bucked as Pickle did his best. My eyes scanned the ground. I hoped like hell no one was down there. I spotted a dog running. He was smart enough to avoid the fire. Good boy.

Pickle did another pass.

I tapped the comm. “Base, this is Bravo-2. Area clear. Looks like evac’s been good. We didn’t see anyone stranded.”

Static crackled. “Grid’s golden. Get out of there. Return to base.”

Relief washed over me. I let go just enough to breathe. I could not wait to get out of the suit and the fucking helicopter.

But the calm evaporated instantly.

Flames along the tree line started swirling upward. A funnel. Every firefighter’s worst fear. I had read about one of the firenados actually causing a tornado that registered as an F2 on the Fujita scale.

The beast rising up grew fast. It was whirling, sucking air and fire into a terrifying column. We were riding right beside it, and it was alive .

Fuck King Kong, I was staring at God’s wrath. My eyes were glued to the scene. It was strangely beautiful.

One breath and everything changed. The air sucked away. The chopper’s nose dipped. Alarms screamed in my head. No. They weren’t just in my head. The helicopter’s control panel was screaming.

“Brace, brace!” Pickle called.

“Are we going down?” I shouted the question.

There was no hiding my terror. It was my worst fear coming to life in living color.

Pickle was talking into the headset, letting base know we were going down. I swallowed the fear and just held on for dear life. I decided at that moment I did want to be in my seat if the damn thing went down. I made sure my seatbelt was nice and tight.

It felt like we were a pair of shoes in a dryer being tossed and tumbled. All I could do was hold on. I glanced over at Pickle, who was in the fight of his life. I trusted him. I had to. It wasn’t like I had another option.

Reality tilted. The chopper pitched forward and Main Street came into view. If anyone was still down there, I hoped they saw us coming and got the hell out of the way because there was no choosing our landing spot. We dropped fast.

My heart locked. I shut my eyes, held the belt as Pickle wrestled the craft upright. Metal shrieked. I was certain I was going to die in a blaze of… not glory. Just a blaze.

Then contact. The skids smacked the asphalt with so much force I bit my tongue.

My tailbone felt like it was trying to jump out of my throat.

My head lurched forward and then back. The seatbelt dug into my body as it held me in the seat.

The chopper rattled and bounced twice and started to slide toward a building before it just stopped.

And then it was quiet. The engine died and the rotors slowed.

I shut my eyes and gulped in air. I was alive.

“You okay?” I whispered.

Nothing.

“Pickle?” I shouted his name.

No answer.

I turned to look at him and saw him slumped forward, his seatbelt holding his body up.

“Pickle!”