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Chapter Eighteen

Foster placed Mackenzie on the stretcher Zain had arranged on the floor, palming her cheek before taking a breath then shuffling into the cockpit and sliding onto the seat. Rain battered the bubble, a light spray misting through the bullet hole on the other side.

Mac’s blood stained his hands, the sticky feeling a reminder of all he had to lose. That she was counting on him to push past his fears.

To fucking grow a set.

He rolled his shoulder, clenching his hand a few times before gripping the controls as he pressed in circuit breakers and got everything rocking.

The nav system sprang to life, confirming every fear that this weather system was worse than anything he’d ever flown in.

That maybe this time, he really was pushing his limits too far.

Foster glanced over at the empty co-pilot’s seat, then back at the darkened horizon. Thunder rumbled in the distance, the gale force winds already buffeting the chopper.

A hand landed on his shoulder, and he looked up at Zain. His buddy arched a brow as he stared out at the horizon, wincing when the next boom of thunder rattled the aircraft.

Zain sighed. “I know we don’t have many options, Beckett, but even I can tell that nav screen isn’t looking very favorable.”

“It rarely does. You’d better buckle up. This isn’t going to be a fun ride.”

Foster turned, took a breath, then lifted off, battling the gusting winds as they pounded the machine, nearly spinning it when they abruptly shifted.

He adapted, nosing the bird forward as he picked up speed, keeping the aircraft parallel to the shoreline.

The clouds thickened around him, blocking out any hint of light until he wasn’t sure if it was day or night, the eerie gray blending in with the raging ocean.

He gained a bit of altitude, cursing when the aircraft started to buffet, the strong vibrations shaking through his controls.

He just wasn’t sure if it was the damage to the fuselage, some nicks in the rotors, or if one of the rounds had compromised the hydraulic line.

Either way, it meant the situation was only going to get worse.

You’re doing it, again, Beckett.

Foster jumped as the ghostly voice sounded around him, the wavering tone sending shivers down his spine. He glanced at co-pilot’s seat, again, ensuring it was still empty before shaking it off.

It wasn’t real.

It was just his nerves getting the best of him.

He could do this.

You never should have been out that night.

All he needed to do was focus. Everything was fine.

You’re the reason I’m dead.

Foster huffed out a series of rough pants, his chest squeezing so tight he could barely breathe. He tugged at his collar, Mac’s blood glaring up at him as he eased back on the controls, that voice taking on a life of its own.

An alarm sounded in the cockpit, some of the instruments edging into the yellow.

His comms buzzed as Chase clicked his mic. “Foster? Everything okay?”

He tried to answer, but he couldn’t form any words. A gurgled rasp sounded behind him, the familiar sound only ratcheting up the tension.

Sean was right. It was too risky. Too severe.

Another buzz followed by Zain’s hand on his shoulder, again, as he stood beside Foster.

“Beckett?” Zain motioned to the airspeed. “Buddy we’re slowing down and losing altitude.”

Foster blinked, scanning the instruments before shaking his head. “He’s right. I’m doing it again. Pushing too hard. Playing with your lives…”

“Whoa, slow down. Who’s right?”

Foster shook his head, banging on it with his other hand. “I never should have flown that night. I’m the reason he’s dead. Why you all nearly died. I… I can’t…”

Zain tightened his hold. “Easy, brother. Just breathe. Okay? Chase! I need you.”

Foster swallowed as a flash of lightning lit up the darkness somewhere out on the horizon, the accompanying thunder sounding louder. Closer.

The cockpit started closing in, all that blood and noise swirling in on him. He gripped the cyclic, looking for some sort of anchor when his comms chirped.

“Foster.”

He whipped his head around, his gaze clashing with Mac’s as her voice sounded softly in his ear.

She reached her hand toward him, giving him a slight nod. “It’s… okay.” She paused to lick her lips, every breath sounding as if it might be her last. “Everything’s going… to be okay. I’m right… I’m right here…”

Her hand dropped as she passed out, Chase cushioning her head when she went limp on the stretcher. The echo of her words hanging in the air.

He stared at her pale skin, all the fear and doubt burning into untamed rage. He wasn’t losing her. Not like this, and not because he was too damn broken to be the man she needed him to be. She’d already saved his soul. The least he could do was save hers.

He rolled his shoulder one more time, focusing on the map before shoving the cyclic forward, and picking up speed.

The aircraft shook, then it was screaming through the air, the rain streaking off the bubble.

He adjusted the controls, scrolling through the nav as he looked for any slight change in course that would save him even a second of time.

What could be the difference between Mackenzie coming back to him or fading for good.

He found a small pocket of less turbulent air and banked the chopper over, skimming past trees and towers as he dropped the bird even lower, avoiding the worst of the clouds.

Chase muttered in the back, a few of the words spurring Foster on. Another alarm sprung to life, the chilling sound cutting off the din behind him. He scoured the instruments, tapping the fuel gauge as the needle slowly inched down.

He punched in the hospital’s location, mentally gauging how far they could fly if their gas tank had been compromised as badly as he feared, and the answer wasn’t encouraging.

Chase buzzed the comms, glancing at Foster when he chanced a quick peek over his shoulder. “Buddy? While I’m thrilled you’re in the zone, should we be worried about that siren?”

Foster shrugged. “What do you always tell me? You worry about the patient, and I’ll worry about the aircraft?”

“Shit, it’s that bad?”

Foster cocked his head, lifting the bird up and over the rising landscape before dropping her back to tree height. “It looks like a couple of those bullets punctured the gas tank.”

“Which means…”

“We’re pissing out fuel at a… concerning rate.”

“How concerning, Foster?”

Foster sighed. “We’ll make it. You just make sure she does, too.”

Chase didn’t answer, and that heavy silence spoke volumes.

All the more reason to squeeze even more out of the chopper. Push it just a bit harder. Until a loud thud echoed through the cabin, the controls getting infinitely heavier.

Zain moved in beside him, sliding onto the other seat. “What the hell was that?”

Foster scanned the instruments, again. “Hopefully, just the hydraulics.”

“Hopefully?”

“There were bullet holes all over the fuselage. I have no way of knowing what damage they caused, so yeah. Hopefully.”

Zain muttered something under his breath. “Do you have any hydraulics left?”

“Nope.”

“Well, shit. Can you ease up at all?”

“That depends. Would you rather I baby her, and we run out of gas, or push it, and chance doing more damage?”

Zain coughed. “Is there a third choice?”

“Not one that I can live with.”

Zain nodded, then buckled up. “Then, give her hell, brother.”

Foster battled the controls, screaming over the Raven’s Watch hanger going some insane speed.

Twin vortices trailed out behind him as the rain swirled then blew away.

He followed the main road, dropping lower until he was damn near even with the semis kicking down the highway.

He kept glancing at the fuel gauge, hoping Atticus had calibrated it because if it was off even a fraction, they wouldn’t make it.

Knowing he needed to perform a running landing didn’t help any. Not when he wasn’t sure if there was even a suitable place to line up the aircraft, let alone drive it on. But he’d worry about that once he reached the hospital. Hell, he’d use the road if needed.

A string of power lines appeared in the bubble, and he barely got the machine up and over them before they’d scraped along the bottom of the skid gear.

Zain shook his head, looking as if he regretted claiming the seat. “I don’t know if you’re more intense than I remember or if I’ve just gotten soft.”

“It’s not you, buddy. And I promise our next flight won’t be like this, but…”

Zain reached over and gave his arm a squeeze. “I know. You do whatever you need to. We’ve got your six.”

“Then, scroll through that nav, and find me a place to run this baby on. Ideally, it’d be long and flat, but I’ll take whatever I can get.”

Zain didn’t even flinch, just started advancing the map, looking at anything remotely viable. “Looks like you’ve got two options. You can chance the driveway or there’s a set of ball fields just south of the hospital. And I doubt anyone’s using them in this weather.”

Foster looked over at the enlarged view of the map Zain had displayed on the screen. “The road’s downwind, and I don’t want to waste time going around. We’ll head for the fields and see if I can make the parking lot work.”

He didn’t add that it was a race to which would ground them first — the machine or the fuel. But Zain knew.

The storm raged around them, the wind and rain trying to blast the chopper out of the sky. Foster held firm, alternating his attention between the map, the fuel gauge and the landscape. Constantly adjusting the controls in an effort to get one more mile in before it all fell apart.

Chase was telling Mac to hold on in the background as that dot on the map seemed to stall.

Foster went against that voice in his head and coaxed a bit more speed out of the bird, fully aware he might eat up the remaining gas too fast. But he’d risk it if it meant he gained that extra minute. Got her to the doctors just a bit quicker.