Chapter Six

“Holy shit,” Nate blurted under his breath, scrambling to tighten his lap belt. There were no windows back here. He couldn’t tell where they were, how far up they were. Or whether the pilots had managed to wrestle the plane around to get back to the runway in time.

All of a sudden the loadmaster appeared at the front of the cargo bay, his face grim. “Brace, brace!” he yelled, strapping himself into his own seat.

For a second Nate stared at him in disbelief. Jesus Christ, they were gonna crash?

His heart pummeled the inside of his ribs as he doubled over, put his head between his knees and clamped his hands behind the back of his neck. There was no time to panic, or pray.

He thought of Taya and their unborn child. His mind latched onto an image of her smiling up at him on their wedding day. The sun glinted off the tangle of dark curls pinned up on the crown of her head, the spray of flowers tucked there glowing in the late afternoon light. Her gray eyes were luminous as she gazed up at him, and so full of love and trust that for a moment it was hard to breathe.

His stomach lurched as the plane suddenly tipped sideways, dropping faster.

Please God, I don’t want to die.

They hit the ground hard with a bone-jolting, sickening metallic crunch.

Nate’s chin slammed into his right knee. Blood filled his mouth. The plane bounced upward for a second, enough time for a spurt of hope to burn through the shock.

Please, please…

But it was smothered when they smashed into the ground again a heartbeat later. His breath hitched as the aircraft flipped to the left and continued to skid on its side, the terrible scream of tearing metal shrieking in his ears as the wing behind him was ground away.

The lights went out, dropping them into complete blackness that was even more disorienting when the aircraft flipped upside down and kept sliding.

Nate squeezed his eyes shut and hung on, now upside down in the jump seat and held in only by the belt across his lap. He swallowed more blood, his heart lodged at the top of his throat. It seemed to go on forever, the broken fuselage bouncing and pitching along the ground. Finally it lurched to a stop, wrenching another grunt out of him as it snapped him sideways in his seat toward the cockpit.

In the eerie, stygian blackness, it took a moment to register that they’d stopped. That he was still alive.

He thrust one hand up to brace himself against the ceiling, and fumbled with the other to get the buckle of the lap belt undone.

“Anyone hurt?” Tuck called out beside him.

Groans and cries of pain answered him, then a few positive responses.

Nate winced as his head and shoulder slammed into the roof when the buckle released. He scrambled to his feet, shot a hand out to grab for something to orient himself with. It landed on something hard and solid. A shoulder.

He squeezed tight. “Bauer?”

“Yeah. I’m…okay.” His teammate was struggling to find his footing.

“Doc, you good?” Tuck asked from his left.

“Yep.” Who was hurt? He glanced toward the closed tail ramp. No way they were getting out that way. Searching around, his gaze caught on a small amount of daylight coming in across from him. A hole had been torn into the belly of the starboard side fuselage, just behind the wing.

The groans and cries around him grew louder, mixed with frantic, stressed voices from the other taskforce members onboard. Nate started toward the opening, barely able to tell which way was up. But they had to get out in case—

The unmistakable scent of smoke and jet fuel hit him.

His chest constricted. Fuck. “Everybody get out, right now.” He lurched forward, struggling to find his footing in this strange new terrain. “There’s a fire.”

Someone was already at the opening, banging at the side of the aircraft. Coming closer, Nate made out the silhouette of someone struggling to get the emergency exit door open. “It’s jammed,” the familiar voice said. Cruzie.

Nate headed over to help, bumped into someone on the way. He didn’t stop to see who it was, just made for the door as fast as he could. All the gear they’d brought on board was scattered all over the place, rendering any of their tools and equipment useless because they couldn’t spare the time in searching for any of it.

Together, he, Cruzie and the third man shoved and fought with the hatch. Nate gritted his teeth, his back, arms and legs straining against the unforgiving wall of metal standing between them and freedom.

A small explosion sounded up near the cockpit, sending a bolt of adrenaline surging through his veins.

Goddamn it, no. He was not dying in here. He wasn’t burning to death, trapped in this metal coffin.

A snarl of animal determination grated in his throat as he pushed, pushed with the others.

Metal squealed as they forced the hatch outward, fraction of an inch by torturous fraction of an inch. “Again,” the third man ordered.

Evers.

Nate obeyed, putting everything he had into it, knowing his life and everyone else’s depended on them getting this bitch open.

Pre-dawn light streamed in through the tiny gap between the edge of the hatch and the fuselage. “Come on, you fucker,” Nate growled, his entire body burning with the effort, sweat slicking his face and spine.

One more coordinated, mammoth heave and something snapped. The hatch swung open. Only a couple feet, but it was enough.

He glanced left, horror washing over him as he took in the situation outside. The plane had plowed through some trees into some sort of field, and the devastation to the front of the aircraft was hard to take in. The nose and cockpit were gone, sheared away by the force of the crash. Flames already licked at the front of the wreckage, creeping aft. Smoke billowed out in thick, black clouds that stung his eyes and the back of his throat.

Throwing an arm over his nose and mouth, Nate coughed and ducked back inside. “This way,” he called out to everyone. “Go out here and run right. Get as far away from the plane as you can. Hurry.”

His first impulse was to locate all his teammates, make sure none of them were hurt, but every moment they stayed in here increased the chances of them dying. Two of the guys had located their rifles and had switched on the tac lights, providing some illumination in the interior.

Stepping out of the way to let the others by, Nate reached for the first person who got close to him—a female. “It’s about a five-foot drop,” he warned her, helping her into the doorway, and wrapped a steadying arm around her waist. She was shaking, hitching in little breaths as she stared out the partially-open hatch at the ground below. “You’ll have to jump.” And she had to do it fast, to clear the way for the others. They didn’t have much time before the flames reached the spilled fuel. A few minutes at most. Maybe less.

She nodded, gripped the sides of the opening, and when he let go, jumped. She hit the ground and fell to her knees, but got up and staggered away to the right, toward the edge of the field they were in. Nate reached back for the next person.

One after the other he helped the passengers escape the wreckage. Thick, acrid smoke spilled in through the open door, and it was getting damn hot out there. Too hot. Then a familiar voice called out from behind him.

“Doc, need a hand here.”

Nate spun around to find Vance half-carrying an injured male agent toward the door. His teammate’s face was drawn tight with pain, and the man he carried had a head wound that had covered his face with blood.

“I gotcha,” Nate managed with a cough, grabbing hold of the injured man’s waist and relieving Vance of the full burden of his weight. His other teammates were busy gathering the rest of the passengers and herding them toward the door. Nate studied Vance’s face. His teammate was definitely hurt. How bad, Nate couldn’t tell yet.

Come on, come on. Hurry.

They both stepped aside to let Tuck escort another female agent out of the plane. When their team leader hopped down with her, released her and turned back to them, Nate and Vance lowered their patient to him. The man’s knees buckled. Without a word Tuck slung the guy over his shoulders and started hustling away from the plane.

Nate glanced left, fear starting to override his control. The flames were spreading ever closer. Even if the whole plane didn’t blow, in another minute it would be impossible to escape the fire.

“We’re clear. Let’s haul ass, boys,” Cruzie said from somewhere behind them. The remaining members of the team jumped out through the ruined hatch. Nate went last, holding his breath, squinting through the stinging smoke. The fire was spreading faster now. Thing was gonna blow any moment.

He ran after the others, heading through the battered cornfield.

Thirty yards away from the plane, he heard it. A thin, panicked cry for help behind him.

“Don’t leave me! Please, help me!” The terror and desperation in that voice raised the hair on the back of Nate’s neck.

He whipped around, scanning through the rolling smoke, shock jolting through him when his gaze landed on someone dragging himself away on his belly from the burning wreckage. The man wore a flight suit.

One of the flight crew, and he appeared to be hurt bad.

Nate started running toward him, the taste of blood strong in his mouth. Vance had stopped too, was heading back with him. Nate waved him away without slowing. He was closer than his teammate, and Vance was hurt. “I got him! You go!” Several other teammates had stopped as well, were turning back to help.

Ignoring them, Nate put his head down and ran as fast as he could, covering the distance to the man in a matter of seconds. Heat seared his face, neck and hands as he approached, but he kept going.

The wounded airman was sobbing on the ground, his legs stretched out behind him as he clawed his way toward Nate using just his arms. Poor bastard’s legs were on fire.

Heat blasted Nate’s skin, blistering in its intensity. He couldn’t stop. He was the wounded man’s only chance.

Skidding to his knees beside the man, Nate smothered the flames licking at the charred remains of his flight suit legs. There was no time to assess how bad the damage was, or worry about hurting the patient more by moving him. He reached under the man’s armpits, intending to haul him up and throw him across his shoulders.

“Julian,” the man cried out, twisting his head to look to the left.

Nate followed his frantic gaze, stifled a curse when he saw another crewman lying crumpled in the grass several yards away, his body partially obscured by the smoke. He was probably dead. Nate’s priority was getting his patient to safety.

“I got him,” a deep voice rumbled over his left shoulder.

Bauer appeared out of nowhere, grabbed hold of Nate’s patient and tossed him over one broad shoulder. Ignoring the man’s screams, Bauer reached down, grasped Nate’s hand and yanked him to his feet before turning and running away.

Nate couldn’t leave the other crewmember. The smoke was so thick he couldn’t see. Holding his breath, he was forced to get on his hands and knees and blindly grope around for him. His left hand made contact with something. A leg. He gripped it, pulled, his lungs screaming in protest.

Nate thrust his other hand out and grabbed hold of the flight suit, started dragging his patient backward. Suddenly his burden lessened.

Forcing his eyes open, he found Vance beside him. Unable to speak or dare suck in a breath due to the smoke, Nate pulled with him, finally cleared the blistering heat zone. Vance helped him lift the patient. Nate stepped closer, leaned down so Vance could drape him over Nate’s shoulders, and together they hurried away.

Another small explosion went off behind them.

Hurry. Faster. He squinted through the smoke, tried to find a safe path, but it was impossible to see more than six inches in front of him. His lungs burned, screaming from the effort of holding his breath through the exertion.

Four steps later, they gave up the fight. His autonomic nervous system took over, expelling the air in his lungs, greedily sucking in a breath. Nate was powerless to stop it.

He choked, gasped, pulling more smoke in.

No air. Can’t breathe.

His foot caught on something, and the added weight of his patient took him down. His knees hit the ground, hard, his spine compressing with a searing pain in his lower back. Nate strangled a cry and maintained his hold on the unconscious man.

Get up. Get up, or you’ll die.

He bared his teeth and forced himself upward, struggled to his feet and staggered onward. A gust of wind cleared the smoke a little. Through the inky haze he spotted Vance heading back for him. And behind him, the rest of his teammates, running his way.

Nate shook his head, the only way he could communicate at this point. He didn’t want them coming any closer in case—

The ground shook, rolling under his feet as a huge explosion ripped outward.

Nate’s gaze was locked on Vance, closest to him but still too far away to help. His teammate’s eyes widened, a look of stunned horror on that dark, smoke-smeared face.

It was the last thing Nate saw. The force of the detonation sent him and his patient airborne. A searing wave of heat blasted over his body, hurtling him headlong into the waiting darkness.