Page 67 of Red Boar's Baby

The plane landed near the wreck. Three guys piled out, all of them carrying guns. As soon as the last guy was out, the plane immediately spun up its engines and turned around with the clear intent of leaving.

“Going back for reinforcements?” Costa murmured.

The plane was having trouble. It slewed around in the sand, trying to take off, laboring to avoid getting stuck. Meanwhile, the three guys spread out among the rocks. It was clear they had a fix on the location of the fugitives as seen from the air and were trying to outflank them, but with only three guys, it was going to be hard.

Costa’s thoughtful gaze fixed on the plane, which was still struggling to take off. “Want to try to hijack a plane?”

“What?” Farley said.

“You can fly it.”

Farley gestured feebly. “Not with one arm!”

“Good thing we have another pilot, then.”

* * *

Diana had encountered a minor but, in retrospect, predictable problem.

She found the gun where Costa said it would be, although she had to hunt around a little; roadrunners weren’t extremely strong in their sense of smell. Once she found it, she shifted human and pulled it out.

And there she was. Bare of ass and sandy of feet, crouching beside a boulder with a gun in one hand, all too aware of the breeze on her skin.

Roadrunners couldn’t carry guns.

She wondered if she might be able to hold it in her beak—but, although she was large for a bird (a full-grown roadrunner was about two feet long counting the tail), she wasn’tthatbig. Like all birds, she was extremely light, under a pound in spite of her size. The gun probably weighed more than she did. There was a good chance she’d fall flat on her face if she tried to carry it as a bird.

“I feel like a pin-up in the Playboy version ofGun & Ammo,” she murmured, looking down at the weapon in her hand.

The plane had roared over low a minute or two before she transformed, but she realized it hadn’t been back in a while, and the engine had shifted into a low register that suggested it was on the ground. Peering out from behind a boulder, Diana watched three gunmen jump down from the doors and start off up the hill, spreading out with purpose. They were aimed at an angle away from where she was, presumably towards Costa.

Diana ground her teeth at her sense of helplessness. What was she going to do, run at them stark naked waving a gun? Wobble towards them as a roadrunner with her beak clamped on a gun she wasn’t even sure her neck muscles could lift?

She had never regretted her shift form before, but right now it would be extremely helpful to be something slightly more badass. And larger. A tiger would be nice. Maybe a T-rex.

The plane swung around, pointing down the sandy basin like a runway, and Diana tensed.They’re going to act as spotters for the fighting team from the air.It was the only thing that made sense, especially with the way the machine had been buzzing them earlier. With the pilot able to report on their locations over the radio, the gunmen would have them captured in no time—or worse.

But the plane was having trouble. Its first attempt at a takeoff aborted in a wild sideways skid. It came around sluggishly, making a big circle to take another run at it. The tires were meant for runway landings, not sandy desert soil.

Diana glimpsed swift, furtive movement among the rocks. Costa? She couldn’t tell; she had also lost sight of the gunmen in the boulder-strewn wasteland, glimpsing them only now and then as they made their way through the brush and rocks.

She returned her anxious gaze to the plane. If it got off the ground, they’d had it. She wondered if it was possible to shoot at it from where she was, but she doubted that even a crack shot could have done it from this far away with such a small gun. And she definitely was not that.

“Where’s Quinn when I need him?” she muttered, knowing it was completely petty—buthewas the one with a grounding in field tactics. She had no idea what made the most sense to do now, or even what shecoulddo.

The sound of crunching footsteps on gravel announced someone behind her, and Diana spun around, half rising from her crouch and aiming the gun. She found Farley in the act of wildly raising his good hand to cover his eyes.

“Jeez! I’m not looking at you! Don’t point that at me, I’m on your side.” All of this came out in a rapid-fire whisper. Farley crouched down, keeping his eyes covered, and whispered, “Are you still pointing the gun at me?”

“Yes! Where’s Quinn?”

“Costa? He sent me to find you, told me where you’d be. He’s trying to get to the plane.”

“He’swhat?”

Even as he said it, the pilot finally managed to find some purchase on the loose surface, and the plane turned and straightened out.

There was movement behind the burnt-out hulk of the wreck. Diana rose again, peering over the boulders. She was greeted by the sight of Costa’s great, humped, ursine shift shape, running flat out across the sandy valley bottom toward the plane that was even now gathering speed to take off.

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