Low above the trees raced the dark, humpbacked silhouette of a Blackhawk helicopter, showing no lights and with an orange aura behind the controls. Antoine.
“He’s not going to stop.” Jolie rubbed her hands together and flexed her legs.
I noticed the radio masts behind us. I’d forgotten to mention that hazard. Hopefully, Antoine had spotted them.
The helicopter roared over the resort like a specter. I got ready.
“You go left, I’ll go right,” Jolie ordered.
The Blackhawk rocked and altered its course for us. I aimed my jump for one of the main wheels hanging from the struts on either side of the fuselage.
The helicopter lifted its nose to decelerate. I adjusted my hold on Clayborn and kept him tight under my right arm. The helicopter rushed for us, as big and noisy as a locomotive tumbling off its tracks.
The wheel swung toward me. My legs snapped straight and propelled me through the air.
The tire slammed against my chest, and for an instant I panicked and thought I was going to bounce off. My left hand grasped the oleo strut and I swung my leg to sit on top of the tire. Jolie clung safely to the other wheel.
Clipped radio masts and a couple of dish antennas went whirling below us. I guess Antoine hadn’t seen them.
The helicopter dipped its nose and sped toward the Atlantic. We banked north over the sheen of the metallic water. Behind us we left the resort in shambles and chaos. Flames and smoke swirled from the annex. Dozens of flashing emergency lights clustered around the hotel. Spotlights knifed across the grounds and the walls of the buildings.
Jolie squatted in the cargo hold of the helicopter, her hair tangled by the wind. She shouted over the deafening racket: “Let me take Clayborn.”
I handed the alien to her and I climbed in.
I expected the Spartan interior of a military helicopter. This one had the upholstered seats of a limousine. I kept the cargo doors open to air out the smoke. I took the center seat behind the cockpit and strapped in.
Jolie climbed over the center console and slid into the copilot’s seat. She put on a headset.
Antoine peered over one shoulder back at Clayborn and me. He shouted, “Who is that ugly bastard? And where’s Carmen?”
I shouted, “She’s gone.” Saying those words brought the loss back and rekindled my guilt.
Antoine’s aura brightened with shock. “Where?”
“Where we can’t reach her.” Someone had to pay for the way I felt and I tightened the wire around Clayborn’s neck. “How can we get Carmen back?”
He gagged and managed, “What?”
I shouted louder, “How can we get Carmen back?”
Clayborn twisted his neck and turned one of his little ears toward me. “What?”
“You want to play deaf? We’d get to the questions later and I won’t be so polite.” I shoved Clayborn against the floor and used him as a footrest.
The helicopter kept close to the water and banked for the coastline. The inside of the Blackhawk was darker than the night. Antoine flew without needing the instrument lights.
He pointed to another headset hanging from the compartment ceiling. I pulled the headset on and the snug ear cups muffled the noise. I adjusted the intercom switch.
“Hear me okay?” Antoine asked, turning his face to me again. Jolie handled the controls. His voice crackled through the headset and his eyes glowed like red embers.
I answered yes and explained how we’d lost Carmen.
“Damn,” Antoine replied. “I stole this helicopter just for her. This plush ride belongs to the Department of Homeland Security.”
“She would’ve appreciated that.”
“So what do we do?”
I stomped Clayborn across his back. “We grill our stowaway.”
Jolie piped in, “I’ll supply the lighter fluid.”
Antoine clicked his intercom twice and turned around. He took over the controls and made a small adjustment to our course.
Lights dotted the shoreline. I guessed it was Parris Island, north of Hilton Head.
“Where’re we going?”
“I had this all figured out,” he answered. “I have a vampire friend in Green Pond. Runs an artists’ colony. The plan was to ditch the helicopter close by and then lie low for a while.”
“Good idea. We’ll do that then until Clayborn comes to his senses and tells us what we need to hear.”
Antoine announced that we were cruising up St. Helena Sound. The cool air swirled around us with the humid scent of swampy water. We flew across the ragged shore and over the black Carolina landscape. The moonlight glistened across the surf and the marshes. We flew for another minute. Below us the ground was mottled with the deep black of the woods against the pewter gray of the grasses.
Suddenly the instrument panel lit up. Static rushed through the headset and became quiet. The engines surged, then quit, and the roar of the helicopter was replaced by a foreboding silence. The helicopter yawed to the left. Antoine adjusted the controls and the Blackhawk settled into a flat glide. All the instrument lights went dark again.