My breathing hitched and suddenly oxygen was in short supply, or maybe that was just me and my fear.
Another explosion tore through the air. Through the window I saw the right wing tear off. Pretty sure we needed both wings to fly.
Gar tried to taxi the plane away from the people chasing us, but it couldn't outrun a rocket. A final explosion ripped through the engine, tearing open the fuselage and tipping my world on its side.
Darkness overtook me and I faded into a world where Drake and I ran through flowers, only the flowers turned on us and spat poison at us. Something hit me and my vision spun, dizzy....
"Sam! Sam!"
My eyes cracked open. Gar held my head as he tried to unbuckle me from the seat.
"Sam, are you okay?"
Everything hurt, but I was alive. So, there was that. "What happened?"
He pulled me from my chair and propped me up against another seat that had turned on its side. "They hit us with an RPG and the plane tipped. We can't fly it. I'm sorry."
Something crashed into the plane door. Gar stood in front of me, gun ready.
He couldn't face off against them; he'd die. "Gar, you have to go. Please. Get out while you can."
"It's too late, Sam. I'll try to keep them away as long as I can. Can you walk? Crawl? Anything? Try to get away if you can."
Where would I go? How would I get out? I didn't voice my hopelessness, because really, what was the point? What more could he do?
The two guards from the office dropped through the hatch they'd opened—definitely guards who doubled as air traffic control, judging by the soldier-like way they carried themselves. The guards trained their guns on Gar.
The younger guard on the right spoke first. "Give us the girl, now!"
Gar didn't budge or speak.
I slipped into their minds, then whispered so only Gar could hear. "The one on the left plans to dive and shoot while the one on the right tackles you."
Gar shot the shoulder of the guard on the right and pushed me behind a seat. I'd never been in a shoot-out, especially not one in a steel tube with sharp, metal plane debris everywhere. This couldn't be healthy for the baby.
The ringing in my ears made the gunshots sound like they came from deep space, or one hundred leagues under the sea.
In that frenetic moment, I couldn't read anyone, couldn't help and couldn't escape.
All I could do was watch as a bullet pierced through the leather seat and into Gar's chest.
Tears choked my throat. I threw myself on him. "Gar. No. Please. Don't die. Gar."
The guards tried to pull me off of him but I held on. His eyes flickered open once more.... "Be safe, Sam. I'm sorry." ...and death stole him forever.
Memories flooded my mind like a tidal wave of displaced water trying to find purchase on the slippery shore of impermanence.
The first time he kissed his wife.
The first time he held his baby.
Friday night family nights with pizza and movies.
Normal scenes that didn't match up with the man I knew only as a guard.
But he wasn't just a guard; he was a husband, a father, a son. He was a man with a whole life slipping away.
Somewhere in the world, a wife lost her husband and a little girl lost her daddy, all because of me.
A sharp prick cut through my neck, and hot fire coursed through my veins, then all went black.
Chapter 18 – Sam
I fought against the consciousness that threatened to bring me back to a reality I had no desire to live in, but my body refused to stay in the darkness. Once again, I woke up in a hospital bed—a trend I needed to change—but this time I was strapped down to it. I flexed my legs and arms, pulling on the restraints, but whatever drugs they'd given me made me weak as a kitten. No matter. Even my full strength wouldn't have enabled me to break free.
My heart raced as panic gripped me. Gar's face had haunted my dreams, and even awake I couldn't tear out the memory of his death. His blood no longer coated my hands, but that did nothing to ease my conscience. I now understood how Lady Macbeth felt, the compulsion to wash and wash and wash away the guilt of a stained soul.
Of course, that kind of stain never washed clean.
A tear leaked out of the corner of my eye. If I couldn't stay lost in my own dreams, I had to stay focused.
The sterile room offered no unique markings or identifying traits, just a sink, chair, bed, stool, and empty tray. Standard medical supplies lined the walls. Nothing helpful.
I instinctively reached for Drake.
And I reached too hard. 'Sam!' His voice filled my head, crushing my mind with the volume.
"Ouch! Shhhh... don't shout. My head is already pounding."
'I'm not shouting.'
I tried dialing down my link to him, imagining it like a volume control; now that the speakers lay closer, I didn't need it so high.
'Are you okay?' His voice stopped splitting my skull.
"Yes. No. I don't know. Drake... Gar is dead. It's my fault!"
'No. It's their fault, Sam, never yours. Where are you?'
I projected my room to him, and he did the same. Our rooms were identical, but that didn't mean much.