Page 42 of Midnight Hunt

“Randy,” I wheezed.

No response.

With only a few yards to go, I gritted my teeth and pulled my body the rest of the way up. When the cockpit door wouldn’t budge, I used my good shoulder to force it open, barely managing to swallow a pained cry as the move jarred my injuries.

Squeezing past the busted door, I immediately spotted the pilot still in his seat. He was blankly staring up at the ceiling—with a shard of glass from the shattered windshield protruding from his left eye.

Bile rose up my throat. I turned and retched into a corner, then paused to stare at the dark blood I’d just vomited.

You need to stop moving and let your body heal, Vi, Sable spoke again, her worry clear.

I stubbornly shook my head again and stumbled from the cockpit. There was nothing I could do for Randy, but . . .

“I need . . .” I started, only to double over and cough up more blood. Switching to mindspeak, I finished,to find Griff.

And I need to find Whiskey, but you’re in no condition to—

She stopped as I lost my footing and practically slid down the slippery aisle. When I tumbled out of the plane and hit the ground, I couldn’t suppress a cry of pain this time.

See? You’re not as tough as you think you are, young lady. Take a second to—

She growled her annoyance as I continued to ignore her and lumbered to my feet once more. Pausing only a brief moment to scan my surroundings, I took off at an awkward gait. The trees and rain were thick, making it hard to get anywhere fast, but the desperation clawing at my chest drove me onward.

I needed to find Griff. I needed to find Griff.

Nothing else mattered right now.

The front half of the jet had plowed through the thick forest before crashing against the base of Mount Marcy. The back half, on the other hand, was nowhere to be seen.

“Griff!” I called out as loudly as I could, and my body rewarded me by succumbing to another coughing fit.

Pausing only a second to spit out more blood, I kept going, frantically searching for any sign of him. I didn’t know how much time passed, but I kept going and going, pushing my body to its breaking point.

Finally, it gave out on me.

As I crashed to the hard-packed earth, I cried out in despair. The wail rose into the night, transforming into a mournful howl.

Exhausted, I lowered my head, moments away from bursting into tears. That’s when I heard it. Over the wind and rain, a familiar voice answered my cry.

The voice was faint. Weak. But it filled me with so much relief that adrenaline surged through me, and I was on my feet a second later.

“Griff!” I shouted for the umpteenth time, and this time, he answered back.

I started to run, cradling my dislocated arm against my stomach so it wouldn’t flop around. I probably looked like a zombie on crack, but I didn’t care. All I cared about was getting to Griff.

“Griff!” I shouted again, following the sound of his voice every time he answered.

Half a mile later, my night vision spotted something bright up ahead. A patch of blond spiky hair.Griff’shair.

A sob tore from my raw throat, and I scrambled forward as fast as I could to reach him. He was lying beside the opposite bank of a stream, and I quickly splashed across. Still crying, I staggered up the bank and promptly threw myself beside him.

“I was so worried,” I got out between sobs, trying to hug him. When my dislocated arm wouldn’t let me, I sobbed harder. “I thought . . . I thought . . . I thought you weredead.”

He allowed me to cry for a moment, then reached up to feather a hand over my injured arm. “You’re hurt.”

“It’s . . . It’s dislocated. I’ll recover.”

It was then that I finally noticed how still he was. Glancing down, I immediately saw thetreesticking out of his chest.

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