Page 114 of Falling for the Playboy Pilot

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JANNA

Igripped the edge of my seat as Pickle lifted us off the ground. The wind was picking up, which was a clear sign the fire was getting closer. Fires created their own weather. It was the perfect storm. The winds. The high-pressure system that moved in.

There was a tiny part of me that was thrilled to be getting to see all of it. But the rational part of me knew it was a total disaster. It wasn’t exciting. It was horrific and it was only going to get worse.

And the last place I wanted to be to watch the apocalyptic event was a fucking helicopter. I hated helicopters. I’d probably said that a hundred times today alone.

It didn’t get any less true with every passing minute I had to be in the flying tin can. In a plane, at least you knew where the wings were. In this? No wings, just spinning blades that didn’t do much to combat gravity. I might as well be riding a lawn chair tied to a blender.

With the ash and smoke, the rotors could stop spinning at any second. And there were no wings to gently glide to the ground. Nope. My little ride would turn into a fucking boulder. Nothing but dead weight falling out of the sky.

Pickle looked over at me, grinning. That was the Pickle I knew. “I promise I know what I’m doing,” he said, voice half-laugh. “But you’ll want to keep that seatbelt snug.”

I tightened the belt. I didn’t see how being strapped to my seat was going to make a difference when we were falling out of the sky. Down was down. The ground was the ground. It would hurt whether I was in a chair or slapping against the pavement.

“This is why I don’t trust any vehicle without wings,” I shot back.

We rose, harder than I expected, leaving the asphalt behind. A wall of smoke loomed on the edge of town. It was awesome and horrible at the same time.

“We’re doing a sweep,” Pickle said into the mic. “See if there are any stragglers that didn’t make it onto a bus.”

I nodded and scanned the ground below while Pickle steered the chopper toward the flames.

The heat hit us like opening an oven door. The helicopter’s cabin turned into a furnace. Sweat beaded on my forehead under the helmet. The boob sweat was unreal. My feet were hot. I had no doubt if I put my hand on the floor I would feel the heat. The air coming through the open side hatches wasn’t relief—it was scorching wind that felt like it could melt my lungs.

“Shit,” I muttered, pulling at my flight suit. The fabric was already sticking to my skin.

Pickle’s voice crackled through the headset. “Yeah, it’s about to get a lot worse. Hold on.”

A violent gust of superheated air slammed into us from the side. The helicopter lurched hard to the right. My stomach dropped as we tilted at what felt like an impossible angle. I gripped the seat so tight my knuckles hurt.

“Sorry about that,” Pickle said, fighting to level us out.

Another blast of scorching wind ripped through the cabin. I swore I could smell my hair singeing. This was like flying straight into hell. The air shimmered with heat waves, distorting everything below us into a nightmare landscape of orange and black. I prayed no one was down there.

We banked over Main Street. I forced myself to look down despite the nausea building in my throat. The town looked like a ghost town. Cars abandoned in driveways. Windows dark. A few scattered figures running toward the evacuation point, but mostly just empty streets waiting for the fire to claim them.

“Chopper One to Chopper Two,” a voice came through the radio. “We’ve got three more from the assisted living center. Looks like the town’s clear. Heading back to base.”

“Copy that. We’re doing one more sweep of the residential area, then we’re out of here.”

The wind gusts were getting more violent, more frequent. Each one felt like a giant’s fist trying to swat us out of the sky. I had a vague memory of a movie, King Kong. My dad loved the old school King Kong movie. That was what it felt like. A giant gorilla swatting at our helicopter. I could taste ash and smoke even through the ventilation system, and the heat was becoming unbearable.

“This is insane,” I said, wiping sweat from my eyes. “How do you guys do this?”

“Very carefully,” Pickle replied, his knuckles white on the controls. “And with a lot of prayer.”

I continued to scan the ground for anyone that might not have gotten out in time. I hated that I might not be able to see them if they were there.

“We’re clear above the fire wall. See anyone?” His voice was strained as he fought to keep the chopper steady.

That was when I saw them.

Two figures stumbling through the smoke about three blocks east of Main Street. A man and what looked like a teenage girl, moving way too slowly. The wall of flames was maybe two hundred yards behind them and closing fast. At the rate they were moving, they’d never make it to the evacuation point.

“Pickle! Two o’clock, about three blocks out. Two people on foot.”