Becky Avella - Crash Landing

“Got any ideas?” he asked Deanna.

Her head rocked against his back. “No. But I think you’re right—we need to get our hands free first.”

Sean stared at his feet. Maybe he could rub his wrists against the edges of his cowboy boots and break the tape. But that would be as slow as trying to chew through it.

“Wait.” Sean sat up straight. “What kind of boots are you wearing?”

“Ropers.”

“Lace-ups?”

“Yeah, why?”

He had an idea, and it just might work. “If you lean forward, could you reach your laces?”

“Probably.”

Her laces should be thick enough to get some good friction. “Unlace one just enough to get it up to your mouth. If you can bite down on it and pull it tight enough, it’ll give you something to saw against the tape. Can you do it?”

“I’ll try.” She folded over in half and followed his instructions. He tried to keep his weight off her. “Got it,” she mumbled. She sat up and he rolled back.

“Okay, now, keep it really tight.”

The desire to be free pulsed through him. It was so hard to sit still, to be helpless like this. He could feel the rocking motion behind him as Deanna slid her wrist up and down the bootlace. “You gotta hurry.”

“Almost got it,” she said. There was a manic tone to her voice. Her enthusiasm was contagious. “It worked! My hands are loose!”

“Good,” he said. “Now your ankles.”

“There!”

The sound of ripping duct tape that hit his ears might possibly have been the most beautiful sound he’d ever heard. His idea was working. He could almost taste freedom. But in the distance, the pilot jumped down from the plane.

“He’s coming, Deanna. You’ve got to hustle.”

“Almost done...”

Hurry!

And then he felt it. The tape around their torsos was loosening. He reached for Deanna and covered her hand, stopping her before she got too zealous ripping the tape off them. “Wait. Go really slow. We need him to think we’re still tied up.”

They helped each other pull it off as nonchalantly as possible. When they got it all off, Sean mashed the spent tape into a ball. They were free.

“For this to work, we’ve got to surprise him,” he said. “I’ll jump him as soon as he’s close enough.”

“He’s still got the shotgun,” Deanna said. “And he’s got my pistol and your knife.”

“What else can I do? If we go running now, he’ll shoot us for sure. And if we wait any longer, whoever he’s working with will get here and he’ll know we were lying. Either way, we end up shot.”

Knowing they were actually free and still not being able to act on it was its own form of torture. Sean kept his eyes on the man ambling toward them, trying to calculate when he should make his move. How close should he let the other guy get before he attacked?

Somehow Sean would need to leap from a sitting position and strike before the guy could raise his shotgun and shoot. Or worse, grab the knife and stab Sean. He shuddered. Knives were ugly business.

Deanna’s breaths were shallow and getting more frequent behind him. His fingers found hers behind him, and he squeezed. The blurry vision, the pain in his head, it would all have to be ignored. He was getting Deanna out of here. Impossible odds or not.

“Get ready,” he whispered.

With each step the guy took toward him, Sean prepared to jump. The pilot was getting closer to them. Could he see the tape was gone yet? Sean forced himself to relax, to look bored. Just a little bit closer, closer. Now!

Sean sprang from his spot, scrambling to get his body upright fast enough to have an advantage. Diving forward, he tackled the pilot like he would a calf for branding. They hit the ground hard.

Sean was on top. He’d had the element of surprise he wanted, but the pilot was scrappy and strong and recovered quickly.

The gun fired, the blast ringing in Sean’s ears, but he wasn’t too deaf to hear Deanna screaming. Was she hit?

His heart pounded as he wrestled and grappled with the man struggling beneath him. Sean fought to keep the shotgun pinned to the ground without letting the man slip out from under him. He ducked to avoid a head butt, and the pilot’s head connected with his shoulder instead. Sean needed to gain control of the shotgun before he got his face blown off. He shoved his right forearm across the pilot’s neck, pressing hard on his windpipe. The man’s face was purple, but he hadn’t stopped fighting.

Sean caught sight of Deanna in his peripheral vision. “Run for the plane,” he panted.

“Not without you!”

Her arms raised above her head and he saw she held a large stone. She dropped her hands fast and crack. Sean winced at the sound of stone against skull, but she’d done it. The fight was over instantly as the pilot’s writhing body went completely slack.

* * *

Bile burned Deanna’s throat. She covered her face with her hands, hearing again that horrible sound. Had she killed him?

Sean’s larger hands covered hers. They were warm and gentle as he peeled her hands away from her face. He placed the pistol she’d lost into her right palm. Then he closed her fingers around it. She kept her eyes squeezed shut. If she’d just killed that guy, she didn’t want to see it.

“You did the right thing,” Sean said, his voice kind. “I need you to open your eyes so you can help me with him before he wakes up.”

Her eyes popped open. “He’s not dead?”

Sean chuckled. “No. He’ll have a nasty headache, but he’s alive.” Sean rubbed his own head. “For some reason, I don’t feel much sympathy. Can you do something to ground his plane? I don’t want him flying away before I can get the sheriff out here.”

“I’ll need your knife.”

Sean knelt beside the groaning man and retrieved his knife and his cell phone. “Hurts, doesn’t it, buddy?” Then he handed Deanna the knife and said, “Make sure he’s stuck here.”

As Sean worked on tying up the pilot with the remaining duct tape, Deanna jogged for the Arrow. First she punctured each tire with Sean’s knife. Even on a paved runway, a pilot would need tires to take off. Without them, on this uneven ground and grass, takeoff would be impossible. But just to make sure he was truly grounded, she located the magneto line to the engine and sliced it at each end, then pocketed the cable. She surveyed her work. Satisfied, she rejoined Sean.

“That will have to do for now,” he said, tossing the empty tape roll against the shed. “It’s not tight enough but we’re out of tape.”

“Well, even if he gets out of the tape, I guarantee that airplane of his isn’t going anywhere soon.”

“Good work,” Sean said, then returned to searching the pilot. “Let’s see what we can find out about our friend here.”

“That he’s up to no good?” Deanna scoffed.

Sean pulled out a wallet and then an ID card. “Hmm... Nathan Reid from...” Sean looked again at the card. “Nathan Reid from Vancouver.”

He tossed the wallet on the ground but pocketed the card. “Here you go, dude.” he said. “I’ll keep your ID so I can bring Sheriff Johnson a little souvenir.” Then he grabbed the hard-won shotgun and stood up.

“He’s Canadian?” Deanna asked.

Sean nodded. “You’re a little south of your border, Nathan. What are you doing trespassing on my land?” The pilot said nothing.

A twig snapped somewhere in the distance, and Deanna jumped, her eyes scanning the meadow.

“Let’s get out of here,” she whispered, stepping in the direction of her plane, but Sean held back.

“What’s the matter?” she asked.

Sean’s jaw twitched. “I can’t leave until I get some answers.”

The hovering shroud of smoky haze contributed to the scary-movie feel, and Deanna’s unease was growing by the second.