Point of Origin

24

IT WAS A dark speck at first, flying after us, directly in our path and gaining on us. As it got closer it became white. Then it turned into a Schweizer with sunlight glinting of f the bubble. My heart jumped as I was seized by fear.

'Lucy!' I exclaimed.

'I've got it in sight,' she said, instantly angry. 'Fuck. I don't believe this.'

She pulled up on the collective and we began a steep climb. The Schweizer maintained the same altitude, moving faster than we were for as we gained altitude, our speed dropped to seventy knots. Lucy pushed the cyclic forward as the Schweizer gained on us, swerving in closer on our starboard side, where Lucy was sitting. Lucy keyed the mike.

'Tower. Unidentified aircraft making aggressive moves,' she said. 'Will be making evasive maneuvers. Contact local police authorities, suspect in unidentified aircraft known armed and dangerous fugitive. Will avoid built-up areas, will take evasive actions towards water.'

'Roger helicopter. Am contacting local authorities.'

Then the tower switched to over-the-guard frequency.

'Attention any aircraft, this is Wilmington tower on-guard, aircraft traffic area is now closed to incoming traffic. Any ground traffic halt movement. Repeat, aircraft traffic area is now closed to incoming traffic. Any ground traffic, halt movement. All aircraft this frequency, immediately switch to Wilmington approach control on Victor 135.75 or Uniform 343.9. I say again, all aircraft this frequency immediately switch to Wilmington approach control on Victor 135.75 or Uniform 343.9. Helicopter two Sierra Bravo, remain this frequency.'

'Roger, two Sierra Bravo,' Lucy returned.

I knew why she was heading toward the ocean. If we went down, she didn't want it to be in a populated area where others might get hurt or killed. I also was certain that Carrie had predicted Lucy would do exactly this, because Lucy was good. She would always put others first. She turned to the east, the Schweizer following our every move but maintaining the same distance behind us of maybe a hundred yards, as if confident that it didn't need to be in a hurry. That's when I realized that Carrie had probably been watching us all along.

'It can't go over ninety knots,' Lucy said to me, and our tension was rising like heat.

'She saw us come in straight to the field earlier today,' I said. 'She knows we haven't refueled.'

We flew at an angle over the beach and followed it briefly over bright splashes of color that were swimmers and sunbathers. They stopped what they were doing and stared straight up at two helicopters speeding over them and out to sea. Half a mile over the ocean, Lucy began to slow down.

'We can't keep this up,' she told me, and it seemed a pronouncement of doom. 'We lose our engine, we'll never make it back, and we're low on fuel.'

The gauge read less than twenty gallons. Lucy pushed us into a sharp one-hundred-and-eighty-degree turn. The Schweizer was maybe fifty feet below us and head on. The sun made it impossible to see who was inside, but I knew. I had not a single doubt, and when it was no more than five hundred feet from us and coming up on Lucy's side, I felt several rapid-fire jolts, like quick slaps, and we suddenly swerved. Lucy grabbed her pistol from her shoulder holster.

'They're shooting at us!' she exclaimed to me.

I thought of the submachine gun, the Calico missing from Sparkes's collection.

Lucy fought to open her door. She jettisoned it and it tumbled through the air, sailing down and away. She slowed our speed.

'They're firing!' Lucy got back on the air. 'Returning fire! Keep all traffic away from Wrightsville Beach area!'

'Roger! Do you request further assistance?'

'Dispatch land emergency crews, Wrightsville Beach! Expect casualty situation!'

As the Schweizer flew directly under us, I saw muzzle flashes and the tip of a barrel barely protruding from the copilot's window. I felt more quick jolts.

'I think they hit the skids,' Lucy almost screamed, and she was trying to position her pistol out her open door and fly at the same time, her shooting hand bandaged.

I instantly dug inside my pocketbook, dismayed to realize my.38 was still inside my briefcase, which remained safe inside the baggage compartment. Then Lucy handed me her pistol and reached behind her head for the AR-15 assault rifle. The Schweizer swooped around, to pursue us inland, knowing we were cornered because we would not risk the safety of people on the ground.

'We've got to go back over the water!' Lucy said. 'Can't shoot at them here. Kick your door open. Get it off the hinges and dump it!'

I somehow managed, the door ripping away as rushing air blasted me and the ground suddenly seemed closer. Lucy made another turn, and the Schweizer turned, too, as the needle on the fuel gauge slipped lower. This went on for what seemed forever, the Schweizer chasing us out to sea, and our trying to return to land so we could get down. It could not shoot up without hitting the rotor blades.

Then at an altitude of eleven hundred feet, when we were over water at a hundred knots, the fuselage got hit. Both of us felt the kicks right behind us, as close as the left rear passenger door.

'I'm turning right now,' Lucy said to me. 'Can you keep us straight at this altitude?'

I was terrified. We were going to die.

'I'll try,' I said, taking the controls.

We were heading straight toward the Schweizer. It couldn't have been more than fifty feet from us, and maybe a hundred feet below when Lucy pulled back the bolt, chambering a round.

'Shove the cyclic down! Now!' she yelled as me as she pushed the barrel of the rifle out her open door.

We were going down a thousand feet per minute, and I was certain we would fly right into the Schweizer. I tried to veer out of its path, but Lucy would have none of it.

'Straight at it!' she yelled.

I could not hear the gunfire as we flew directly over the Schweizer, so close I thought we would be devoured by its blades. She fired more, and I saw flashes, and then Lucy had the cyclic and was ramming it into a hard left, cutting it away from the Schweizer as it exploded into a ball of flames that rolled us almost over on our side. Lucy had the controls as I went into a crash position.

Then as suddenly as the violent shock waves had hit, they were gone, and I caught a glimpse of flaming debris showering into the Atlantic Ocean. We were steady and making a wide turn. I stared at my niece in stunned disbelief.

'Fuck you,' she said coldly as fire and broken fuselage rained into sparkling water.

She got on the air, as calm as I had ever seen her.

'Tower,' she said. 'Fugitive aircraft has exploded. Debris two miles off Wrightsville Beach. Negative survivors seen. Circling for signs of life.'

'Roger. Do you need assistance?' came the rattled response.

'A little late. But negative. Am returning to your location for immediate refuel.'

'Uh. Roger.' The omnipotent tower was stuttering. 'Proceed direct. Local authorities will meet you at ISO.'

But Lucy circled twice more, down to fifty feet as fire engines and police cars sped toward the beach with emergency lights flashing. Panicked swimmers were running out of the water, kicking and falling and fighting waves, arms flying, as if a great white shark were in pursuit. Floating debris rocked with the surge. Bright orange life jackets bobbed, but no one was in them.