Page 10 of Mile High With the Bikers
We roll over, fighting for control of the weapon. He grunts in pain as I get a fist into his side, but then the fucker knees me, way too close to the family jewels. Turns out even a weasel can fight when he has to. He yanks his arm free and turns the gun on me. Fuck.
He pulls the trigger and the gun clicks.
Thanking whatever guardian angel I might have, I grab his hair before he gets the idea to fire again and yank his head towards me, slamming my forehead up against his. Our skulls crack and a lightning bolt of pain shoots down my spine. He reels away, clutching his head with one hand and the gun waving wildly in the other.
“Gun!” I shout, fighting the nausea to throw myself at him and at least block the bullet.
Eyes still unfocused, he pulls the trigger again. I feel the force of the bullet pass through my hair right before a loud crack behind me gives way to a screeching whistle and my ears pop. I'm gonna fucking kill him. I don’t care if we’re all dying anyway, I want to personally wrap my hands around that scrawny neck of his and watch the light die first.
The fasten seatbelts sign dings on, and an alarm kicks off, warning us that the cabin is depressurizing just in case we didn’t notice. A moment later, bright orange oxygen masks drop from the ceiling. I rip one out and throw myself towards Sal, fully intending to choke the fucker out with it.
“It’s going!” Shrapnel yells.
Shit. I spin and watch just as cracks form around a dime sized hole in the window. Everything stops for just a moment, before a whole new storm hits the cabin when the window collapses, leaving a gaping hole in the side of the airplane. The guy fighting closest to the window screams as the sudden decompression yanks him off his feet and turns him into a human plug. We all watch in horror as his head and left side get sucked straight out of the plane, leaving the rest of him dangling inside for a moment. Bull lunges to grab his legs but it isn’t fast enough. He gets pulled through with a sickening thud.
Jesus Christ.
Papers fly off the table, but the involuntary sacrifice of that one guy gave everyone else time to get away from the danger zone. I don’t know shit about planes, but I’ve got a feeling we are fighting against the clock here. There’s only so much air and we can’t fight and mask up at the same time. Whittaker is out of sight, hidden behind two guys in suits.
Sal grabs my leg. “I don’t wanna die!”
“Then maybe you shouldn’t have started waving a fucking gun around in a plane!” I growl, kicking him off. Fucking waste of air.
Me, Bull and Shrapnel meet up a good distance from the hole. A massive fucking headache pounds behind my eyes. Is it the air? Or head-butting that asshole?
“Go check on Rory. I don’t know the mask situation or if she knows what the fuck is happening,” I tell Shrapnel.
He nods, yanking down a mask and taking a few deep breaths before passing it to Bull and going to find her. The plane lurches and we stagger. It feels like we’re descending, fast, but if it’s a choice or we’re plummeting to our deaths is yet to bedetermined. The constant dinging of the fasten seatbelts sign is starting to feel like a form of torture by dark comedy. I take a hit of air, not realizing until I do exactly how much we’ve already lost.
“Plug the hole?” Bull suggests, gesturing to the massive table.
I shrug. “Can’t hurt.” The only problem is that it’s bolted to the fucking floor. “A fucking hand here!”
A handful of people join us, lining up on the side opposite the hole, including an older lady who has more balls than a lot of the cowering assholes in here. The first try does nothing. There’s a sharp creak on the second, and the third push finally breaks the table free from the floor.
It fucking works! Mostly.
The top of the table slams into the wall, covering the gaping wound in the side of the plane. It’s about as airtight as a porcupine’s condom, but nobody is going to end up flying free. Shrapnel is back, with a terrified Rory clinging to his side, face sheltered against his chest. They have a portable oxygen canister. I don’t fucking know this girl, but until we’re safe on the ground, as far as I’m concerned, she’s our responsibility.
“Everyone okay?” Shrapnel asks, arm around Rory protectively. I feel a small twinge of jealousy, but these boys are my brothers in everything but blood. I trust him at my back and I trust him with her.
“We’re good.” Bull says with a slight wheeze, giving a thumbs up.
“Rory?” I run my fingers through her hair, pushing it out of her face so I can see her beautiful eyes. “You alright?”
She thinks real hard on it, like she's having to mentally check that every part of her is still attached, but in the end, she nods. “Yeah, I think so.”
The plane suddenly pulls up, knocking everyone around all over again, but the table is big and heavy enough that it only shifts a little. Rory and Shrapnel stagger into me, and I get an armful of curvy blonde. Too bad there isn’t much time to appreciate it.
“How do we get to the cockpit?” I ask Rory.
She’s looking around and doesn’t seem to notice. Whittaker probably hired her because she’s young and beautiful, not for her air safety training.
“Hey, pretty lady,” I say gently. “Cockpit?”
“Oh! Right.”
With her guidance and Bull’s bulk, we push through the room full of idiots who are coming to terms with the idea that they might survive this flight after all. The door is already busted in when we get there.
