Killer Summer

51

Kevin watched out the small window in the jet’s emergency door, his face pressed against the glass, as the ground beneath them raced past illuminated by the orange flames coming from the engine.

He held fast to the door’s handle as the brakes squealed. The plane shuddered, then slowed. A cloud erupted from the engine, followed by darkness. The fire was out.

There were no runway lights, no outbuildings visible.

“Ready?” Kevin said, the plane rolling to a stop.

Summer didn’t answer, paralyzed by all that had just happened.

“Matches!” he said. “I forgot the matches.”

Despite herself, Summer pulled open a drawer in the galley and grabbed a pack of matches. She wasn’t as far gone as he thought.

He yanked on the handle, pushing the door open and grabbing a suddenly unwilling Summer.

“It’s still moving,” she protested.

“We’re going, anyway,” he said.

Holding the squirming Summer around the waist, he began lowering her to the ground.

“Tuck and roll,” he said, and let her go.

As an afterthought, he tossed out the knife. He couldn’t jump with it in his pocket.

He lowered himself, getting his feet going in the direction of the plane, and let go. He slammed to the surface and rolled, surprised to find it was a dirt-and-gravel strip, not a paved runway. He stood up and took inventory-both elbows were scraped up, as was his right knee, but otherwise he was intact-and then ran back to find Summer. Risking use of the flashlight, he located Summer sitting up but in shock. She had a pretty bad raspberry on her right temple, and the hair on that side of her head was bloody and matted.

“You okay?”

She nodded.

“Anything broken?”

She tested her limbs, then shook her head.

A loud crash came from the direction of the still-rolling jet. It had hit something. A final screech of the brakes was followed by silence-total, utter silence-the kind of silence Kevin knew from his time in the wilderness. He switched off the flashlight. The sky was filled with a million stars piercing the rich blue glow, another sign of their isolation. They weren’t anywhere near the lights of civilization.

The starlight was enough to see shapes by. There was a small plane, a piece of its right wing missing, pushed off to one side of the runway about twenty yards behind where the jet had come to a stop. That explained the loud crash.

“Come on!” he said, trying to help Summer to her feet. But she just sat there like a sack of cement. “Summer!”

“I can’t do this,” she sobbed. “I give up.”

“No, no, no-no giving up.”

He pulled her to her feet, took her hand, and hurried her down the runway, all the while searching for the knife. He flicked on the flashlight, revealing sticks, a couple fist-sized rocks, and a glint of metal. It was the blade of the knife. He flicked the light off, then ran in the direction of the knife.

“Hey!” a man shouted out.

Kevin couldn’t risk using the flashlight again. He dropped to the dirt and felt around with his hands. Summer was at his side also searching.

“What are-”

“The knife,” he said.

“They’re coming!”

“Got it!” he said, adding, “We’re out of here.”

They ran for the woods.

“We’re going to be okay,” he said. “Just don’t slow down. And don’t look back.”

“Okay.”

More shouting came from behind, as a faint beam of light cast their shadows in front of them. Kevin led Summer off the dirt strip, grass whipping their ankles. They passed a shed, then jumped a small stream. An imposing hill rose up darkly in front of them.

“Stairs!” she said, tugging him to the left.

“No! That’s what they’ll think,” he answered, pulling her to the right.

The light from behind grew brighter, their pursuers gaining on them.

Kevin and Summer fled through the trees and up the hill, their footfalls quieted by pine straw. They headed right, away from the stairs, but climbing, always climbing, dodging the black tree trunks, weaving around opaque outcroppings of rock.

A voice called out from behind, followed by the pounding of their pursuers’ feet on the stairs. The faint glimmer of white teeth appeared on Kevin’s dark, sweating face. He was smiling.