Assassin Territory [Assassins Book 1] (3 page)

“Don’t worry, honey. If we crash I’ll take good care of you,” Lando said to her, though his tone and meaning were anything but protective. His intent was clear as he looked her body over in a lingering fashion, Christy shuddered, frightened further. The storm was no less menacing than Lando. She shifted to lay her head on Sam’s shoulder in concern.

“Hey, buddy, why don’t you shut up?” Sam snapped at him, wrapping a snug arm around Christy.

“Let’s all just calm down. I want everyone to tighten their seatbelts, just as a precaution,” Howard interfered, his tone calm.

Howard was having trouble controlling the plane as it dipped and rose; obviously, he didn’t want a brawl breaking out. Howard keyed his mic and spoke into his headset.

“Flight center, Balter, come in please.” No response. “Flight center, Balter, this is November 701. Do you read? Talk to me.”

The radio seemed to come to life and they all heard a broken, “Come in November 701.” More static. “This is November 321.”

“What’s with the clouds? 701,” Howard asked and he peered through the window as though searching.

“Storm…” came a static, broken reply for all to hear.

“Say again?”

“Storm…” once more a broken reply as the radio became worse.

“I’m changing my heading to my alternate route,” Howard replied.

Again an unintelligible response, then static.

The plane shifted toward a new direction. Yet, what Howard hadn’t heard was critical. It was the storm that was changing its heading and he was to in fact remain on course. His new coordinates would take them directly into a raging bitter wind of icy sleet and rain.

Christy hung onto her seat for dear life. The plane dipped and swayed, jerking their bodies about as the wind howled with intensity. They were thrown about like a child’s plaything. The sky darkened to a pitch black, except for the occasional brilliant flashes of lightning, giving them brief, terrifying glimpses of their dismal surroundings. Christy looked to Sam, seeking comfort, but what she saw in his petrified gaze was less than encouraging. He was as terrified as she was, his hands turning white at his powerful grip on the seat.

Howard struggled to keep the plane on course, a struggle he was fast losing. The sleet was battering the wings mercilessly, the ice clinging and building into heavy sheets.

“What’s happening?” the officer called over the noise of the storm.

“Pitot might be frozen. Airspeed is all over the place. And the vacuum pump is probably pooched. I can’t control our altitude. Without visual hues in the horizon, I can’t tell if we’re flat and level or banked into a turn.” The engine roared. “God damn it, we’re plummeting in a deep bank.” All watched as Howard mightily tried to control the aircraft, he keyed his mic again.

“
Mayday.
Mayday. Mayday.
121.5. This is November 701. We are going down. Repeat,
we are going down.
Mayday Mayday Mayday.
Fifty miles north of…”

Howard never finished his sentence. The plane suddenly shifted on a severe updraft, swooped abruptly, and nosedived. Howard slammed forcefully sideways against the window, cracking the glass with the intensity of the sound blow. He slumped, his bloodied head falling forward onto his chest, his eyes now gazing sightlessly.

Christy screamed in terror as the plane plummeted to the earth. Its memento gaining, an ominous rushing sound surrounded them, washing over them like a flowing current of terror.

She clutched at Sam’s arm in horror, pulling at him frantically, seeking even a small measure of comfort, wanting him closer. All rational thought eluded her. She had fled from her abusive relationship in terror and now this. She was certain they were all going to die…

* * * *

“Take these off,” Lando demanded of his handcuffs to the officer. He held out his arms, thrusting the cuffs in his face. The officer stayed immobile for a moment, but Lando remained persistent until finally eliciting a response. The officer struggled to release him, fumbling with the small key as though in a daze, while the plane bumped and weaved. Lando grabbed the key with his fingers and managed to release himself.

“Help me,” Lando yelled over the storm, springing to his feet, but none moved to offer aid. He struggled with Howard’s seatbelt in an attempt to move him away from the controls. The space was tight with Lando’s large build. He pulled the slight man’s body awkwardly sideways while battling the resistance of the shifting plane.

Lando grabbed the controls and, with incredible strength, yanked at the yoke, but was unable to pull the nose of the plane up. Frantically, a thought came to mind about the parachutes Howard claimed were aboard, but he dismissed the idea. They would undoubtedly crash before he could find one, get into it, and open a door. Realizing there was no hope, the crash inevitable and there was no alternative to the unavoidable occurrence, Lando jumped into his vacated seat and snapped his seatbelt on.

“Put your heads down,
we’re gonna crash
,” he yelled back behind him. Christy continued to scream in terror and Sam remained unmoving. “Heads down,
now,
” Lando bellowed out once again, his gaze locking with Sam’s terrified eyes. Sam blinked at him uncomprehendingly for a brief moment. Lando was about to howl out another command, but Sam grabbed Christy by the neck last moment and pushed down hard. Lando watched as Christy fought with him, now consumed with her fear. The large man threw most of his body over her, protectively pinning her with his somewhat larger bulky frame.

The last image to capture Lando’s attention was a brief silhouette of the top of a very high, massive tree. The dark startling green flashed, then disappeared within a sheet of misty, hazy snow. He was correct in his assumption their downward spiral was close to an end. He braced himself and wrapped his arms around his head; he squeezed his eyes closed. The first horrendous jolt sent him into unconsciousness, and Christy’s screams of terror faded in the blackness.

The small plane’s right wing slammed into the top of an enormous coniferous tree, sending the craft spinning sideways as the wing was ripped off like the sickening loss of a limb. Another battering ram pummeled the left wing, splintering it, in the unavoidable collision. The remainder of the aircraft struck the ground with a heart-stopping jolt, flipped, struck, snapping the tail, then flipped once more to rest against an ancient tree trunk beyond. The behemoth, battered and damaged with old age, had suffered its last assault. With a painstaking slowness, as though loath to give up its final breath, the tree creaked, cracked, roots tore from the ground, its insides shattered, imploding, sending it to its final resting place…but it wouldn’t rest alone.

Christy heard a horrendous crack from above her head; her body was jerked and pressed painfully double. Sam’s body weight increased; the pressure became unbearable, overwhelming, and then smothering. Christy gasped for air, struggling. Her screams turned to a strangled cry as she fought for her last breaths. The noise of the storm and her whimpers gradually faded in Christy’s ears as her breathing slowed to the point of being almost nonexistent. The black, evil cold that had surrounded her became soft, warm, white clouds with a gentle, enchanting breeze that encouraged a response with clear, sweet air; it stirred her.

“
Christy.
” She heard a voice. It was faraway, dreamy in quality, and familiar.

“Mom?” Christy called.

“
It’s all right, honey. Everything will be all right,
” her mother soothed.

Christy reached for her mother’s hand in an eager gesture, but her mother’s sweet features—shimmers on a pond—faded. The luminous, gentle light grew fainter and once more surrendered to the hideous, frightening darkness. The storm’s fearsome noises pounded out around her. Terror of the unknown enveloped her.

“Mom?” Christy called again. But she was gone. “Mom.
Mommm!
” Christy screamed over and over until her breath escaped her. “Don’t leave me all alone again…don’t leave me,” she sobbed, her voice cracking.

But she
was
all alone. Christy slipped into oblivion, giving up her fight, and allowed the darkness to take her this time.

* * * *

Christy woke in a daze. She could feel the icy rain beating down on her wet, frozen face. A cold, biting breeze ruffled her clothing, and she shuddered. “Mom?” Christy choked. Her throat was raw from screaming and she could barely make out her own pathetic cry. Her entire body throbbed in agony when she tried to move. No one answered. Realization dawned. She had been in a plane crash.

“Sam?” she whimpered out instead; again, no response.

She noted absently his body was no longer pinning her to her seat. She waved her hand in front of her through the pitch-black night, and connected with another human form.

“Sam?” She sobbed with tremendous relief. She wasn’t all alone. When Sam failed to answer, she remained unconcerned. She had drifted in and out of consciousness. She felt around for her seatbelt and unclasped it. Shifting closer to Sam’s comforting body, Christy grabbed at a limp, heavy arm and placed it around her. She snuggled in closer to him, placing her head on his sodden shoulder, sheltering her face from the cold dampness of the whipping wind. She balled her fists under her chin with her arms pressed tight to her chest for warmth.

“It’s okay, Sam. We landed. It’s okay now,” she croaked out. Then, pulling Sam’s jacket securely around them both, Christy once more succumbed to oblivion.

When Christy again woke, the freezing rain and wind had stopped. Light was dotting the horizon through cracks in the trees, reflecting off the battered plane. She glanced around in confusion. She noted Sam, still unmoving, beside her.

“Sam?” Her throat remained raw and painful. She shook him. Sam’s head fell forward at an odd, grotesque angle. Christy sat back, filling with apprehension. “Get up, Sam. Please,” she quietly pleaded, her eyes tearing misted her vision, her reasoning faltering to deny the obvious. Christy reached out a cold hand and ran the backs of her fingertips with tenderness down his roughened face after she righted his head back into a more normal position.

“Never mind, Sam, you sleep for a while longer. We were very busy this week. You need your sleep.”

Christy pulled his arm around her once more and again placed her head on his shoulder, squeezing her eyes closed at the sudden hurtful, knowing pain in her breast. Sam was gone, her only friend; the pain was unbearable, sleep was safer.

* * * *

A set of dark eyes had been watching the exchange. Lando knew Sam was dead, as were the others. Only he and Christy had survived. He’d felt her weakened pulse after pulling Sam’s large body off her. Sam had almost suffocated her, trying to shield her from impact, and Lando was surprised she awakened at all. Lando then spent a great deal of time rummaging through the plane, finding anything useful, mindful of his own aches and pains as he hadn’t escaped the crash unscathed. His head throbbed from the blow that rendered him senseless, but he refused to dwell on it. The emergency
locator transmitter on the plane was gone; they were all alone. Tampering with the beacon was a risk Lando and the cop had to chance. No one would have a clue where they crashed.

The first item he grabbed was the officer’s gun. He dumped Christy’s duffel bag out in search of anything that would aid in his survival. Now that Christy regained consciousness, he thoughtfully wondered what to do with her. If he left her alone, the elements would kill her…eventually. Perhaps it wouldn’t be a slow and agonizing death. In her state, he doubted it would take too long to succumb; her small body and hands shook, and she seemed to be hallucinating. He heard her pitiful cries for her mother, she thought the deceased man to be only resting; her mind must be gone from the shock. He knew he should put her out of her misery; it would be the only merciful solution. Yet, assassin though he was, Lando had never once killed a woman. He’d never even entertained the idea. He felt they were too defenseless; the very idea sickened him. Grimly, he was reminded that
that
particular idiosyncrasy was why he was in this precarious predicament now.

Lando’s acute hearing pricked, and he noted the curious sound he was now hearing was her humming. Her body rocked back and forth like a small, frightened child, her eyes were opened wide as though unable to take in everything…or perhaps to see a place beyond her terror. A slight, painful groaning could be heard occasionally from the back of her throat. She probably wouldn’t even notice his approach. Sighing, he resolved to just get it over with.

It was a damn shame; she was such a pretty little thing. Moving forward with grim determination, Lando hardened his heart. Not a difficult thing for him to do, really. He often wondered if it was even in there.

Christy’s humming ceased on an abrupt note as she caught Lando’s movement from the corner of her eye. She glanced up as he approached her, his gaze locked with beautiful doe eyes. Lando stopped less than a foot away. He heard her whimper; her straining body cuddled up closer to Sam. Her tiny body pressing into the dead man. One by one her tears began to fall.

“Please,” she begged, her breath ragged. “Don’t hurt me.”

Her voice was sweet and broken. She blinked those doe eyes trying to clear them. He could tell she knew what he was intending. She could no doubt see it in his cold, soulless black eyes, his calculated approach, and the set of his emotionless expression. It was the expression he used for his marks; it was his mask, and his shield. He had seen the look in the mirror often enough; he was a scary bastard. He knew she could tell he was going to kill her, and she was completely defenseless against him.
Damn.
He’d been certain her mind was gone, he could see it wasn’t. With her sensing his intention, this would prove to be more difficult.

“It won’t hurt, sweetheart,” Lando soothed.

“Please don’t,” she begged again; her body cringed at the sound of his deep, guttural, voice. Her gaze looked imploringly into his; her eyes overflowed with frightened tears. She pulled on Sam’s cold body in an attempt to hide under him. Lando ran a cold hand over his face.