Page 66 of Red Boar's Baby

Diana moved closer to him as the plane banked over the wreck. “They might think we’re dead,” she said softly. “If I saw that, I might think there were no survivors.”

“Not with enormous letters reading SOS next to it.”

Diana started to answer, but just then there was shouting from up the hill. They looked up and saw Farley’s small figure at the top of the slope that led to the spring, naked to the waist and waving wildly with his uninjured arm.

“Damn it,” Costa muttered. “I knew we shouldn’t have helped that guy.”

“He wants to be rescued worse than we do,” Diana pointed out. “He might not realize who they are, either.”

The plane roared over them so low that they could make out every detail. It tilted a wing slightly, and Costa caught a glimpse of a sunglasses-wearing person looking down through the window.

“No way they didn’t see us that time,” he murmured. “You want my boots?”

“They’ll just swim around on my feet, worse than nothing. Actually, I think it makes more sense for me to shift. You can carry my clothes, and I can get up to the gun faster than you can.”

“Yeah, that’s a good?—”

The engine noise of the plane dropped abruptly to a different register. It was circling, coming back, flying slowly. As it all but coasted over them, the side door opened and someone leaned out.

“Down!” Costa barked before he even saw whether the figure had a gun, but he wasn’t wrong. A spray of bullets raised puffs of dust and scattered rock chips around them. Diana screamed and threw her arms over her head. Costa pulled her close to him, arms around her as the hail of bullets died away and the plane sped off to bank wide across the sand.

“You okay?” they gasped out at the same time.

“I’m fine!” Diana said. “What do I?—”

“I’m fine too.” Costa gave her a little push. “You’re right! Shift and go for the gun!”

“What will you do?” she asked, hesitating in the act of stripping her jeans off.

“I’ll go a different way. Meet me at the spring.”

Diana nodded and her clothes dropped to the ground. The heap jerked around as the roadrunner extracted itself from the borrowed shirt, and then she sped off up the hill, low to the ground and moving fast.

Costa scooped her clothes up and tied them hastily around his waist so he had his hands free and wouldn’t lose them. Without anything to wear at all, she would be stuck as a roadrunner permanently, unless she was willing to risk the hazards of walking around in the desert completely naked.

Meanwhile the plane was coming back around in a big circle. He was terribly exposed here. Shifting would be no good to him; he would just make a boar-sized target of himself.

Trying to stay low, he ran up the hill, dodging and jinking and ducking among the boulders. Another shot chipped some rock close enough that the flying shards stung his face and arm.

Then the plane was over and rising sharply to avoid hitting the cliffs along the edge of the valley.Gotta get up to those,he thought,that’ll give them something to think about.

He scrambled over the top of the hill and saw Farley some fifty yards away, barefoot and wearing nothing but jeans.

“I didn’t know they were going to do that!” Farley yelled. “I swear!”

“Sure you didn’t!”

“I’m serious! You guys helped me, I want to help you, but I don’t know what to do. Where’d your girlfriend go? Is she okay?”

Costa decided to believe him—but not too far. “We got separated, so I’m not sure. What are they going to do next?”

The plane made a wide circle and then came in low over the sand, raising a trail of dust.

“I think they’re landing,” Farley said. “They haven’t been able to get you from above, so they’ll go on foot. I can lie to them, tell them they hit you.”

Costa shook his head. “They’d want to see the body. I’m not that good of an actor, especially if they decide to make sure the dead guy isn’t getting up again.”

Farley winced.

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