Emily Locke 01 - Final Approach

Scud’s body. There was a hunting knife on the floor behind him, its awful blade wet with my blood. I turned the beam onto my leg. The denim covering my wound was dark and warm. I held the flashlight beneath my chin and took off my belt. I tied it in a crude knot above the gash and limped toward the door.
    Through its window, I saw the men in coveralls disappear around the nose of the plane and heard the thump of the office door closing. In front of me, the Otter’s fuselage had been fully loaded with the wooden crates from the truck. They were stacked horizontally, nearly to the plane’s ceiling. Only a few square feet of unused space remained in its tail. I decided to find out what Trish was hauling and closed a hand around the doorknob.
    But as I pushed the door open, I spotted Clement on the far side of the plane, near the office. He was facedown in a puddle of blood that had spilled from his chest or abdomen, I couldn’t tell which. I concentrated on his back and noticed a subtle rise and fall.
    I stepped back into the dark training room and pulled my phone from my pocket. It wasn’t until I saw the phone in my hand that I realized I was shaking. I told the 9-1-1 operator to send an ambulance to Gulf Coast Skydiving, and added that the police and FBI should come too. I dropped Clement’s name and said he’d been shot but was still breathing. Then I hung up. I had to see inside the crates before Trish’s people came back.
    When I stepped out into the packing area, it was all I could do not to kneel beside Clement and beg for what he knew about my family. But he’d been shot too close to the office. There was no way to get to him without being seen.
    I winced when I climbed the portable stairs leading to the Otter’s open jumpers’ door, but I got inside quickly. I stayed low and fumbled with a latch on the nearest crate. It popped open.
    Three others remained. Once opened, maybe I’d know what was going on.
    I popped the second latch. Something inside might lead to Casey.
    Maybe even to answers about Annette.
    The office door swung open. I crouched and froze.
    Castors squealed in the packing area, followed by the rhythmic clang of something being wheeled up a loading ramp. I listened while the back door of the U-Haul slid down and was latched into place.
    Heavy footsteps reverberated through the room, growing louder as their owner drew near. I squeezed into a narrow gap between the far wall of the fuselage and the wooden boxes that had been crammed inside.
    “Decker, what’s this?” The speaker seemed suspicious.
    My hand went to my pocket. I wondered if I’d dropped something.
    “Not mine,” Decker answered. “Maybe the Fed’s?”
    Silence followed.
    “Check your shoes.”
    It hit me: they’d found blood. Had I bled a trail through the Otter? I applied pressure to my leg and waited.
    “My bad,” I heard. “It’s me. Must’ve walked through it.” Then, louder, he added, “Trish! Kurt! All yours.”
    The portable stairs scraped something as they were pulled away. I started to panic. What if I couldn’t get off the plane? Failing to include Richard was proving to be a very stupid mistake.
    An engine started, the one to the moving truck, and my breath quickened as its hum faded.
    Then the office door pushed open and smacked shut. A moment later, the plane bobbled as people climbed in through the pilot and co-pilot doors. Trish was talking.
    “He said he was here, and now he won’t answer his phone. You boys get us on our way, then have a look around. If we don’t leave now, we’ll miss the drop.”
    Someone rolled down the jumpers’ door on the side of the plane. I felt hot. Burning spasms shot through my calf.
    A new engine rumbled. It was the tow tractor, here to pull us to the field. The plane lurched forward and we rolled over a bump. I hoped it wasn’t Clement.
    When the Otter’s engines whirred to life, I checked my watch—1:48 a.m. We accelerated, bumping over pits and mounds on our way down the grass runway. The wheels touched off and the nose inclined, and I expected crates to topple over me, but they didn’t. I could look through a window, but not well enough to see below.
    We banked hard to the right, and shortly afterward, we banked right again. Trish was heading west.

Chapter Twenty-four
    Fifteen minutes later, my main concern was the throbbing, stinging gash in my calf. I needed to stretch and check my leg.
    The cabin was unlighted and loud with the humming of