Page 120 of Falling for the Playboy Pilot

42

JANNA

Smoke swallowed everything. My lungs burned with every ragged breath. My eyes burned. Every muscle in my body was tight. I undid my safety belt but kept my helmet on. It wasn’t like it was going to save me from fire, but it felt like it offered some protection.

I stumbled out of Pickle’s chopper and limped to the other side where he was sitting. He sat motionless in his seat.

“Pickle!” I tried to shout but just ended up coughing.

I checked his pulse, which was steady. He was out cold but alive. I didn’t know what happened but I assumed it was the sheer impact that knocked him out. It had knocked the air from my lungs as well. I undid his seatbelt and gently removed his helmet. There was a small cut on his cheek and his nose was bleeding. I didn’t know what he hit or how bad his internal injuries were.

I grabbed Pickle under his arms and pulled him. He was heavier than I expected, dead weight that made my back scream in protest. I summoned every ounce of strength I could muster and managed to get him out of his seat. His head lolled to one side.

“Come on, Pickle. Stay with me.” I started coughing again.

I hauled him out, feeling a little guilty for the drop to the pavement. I couldn’t be gentle. I kept his head from hitting the hard surface at least. The rest of his body would be bruised but there was nothing to do about it. The pavement was hot enough to burn through my flight suit at the knees. My lungs felt like they were on fire, each breath a struggle against the thick, choking smoke that surrounded us.

I couldn’t carry him. Not far enough. Not fast enough. I tried the radio but it was dead.

The emergency kit. Every rescue helicopter carried one. I stumbled back to the chopper, feeling my way through the smoke-filled cabin until my hands found the canvas bag. Inside was a rescue harness and a small backpack with basic supplies.

My fingers shook as I strapped the harness around Pickle’s chest and under his arms. My hands felt clumsy, but I managed to secure the clips. I shrugged into the backpack and attached the other end of the harness to my belt.

“This is going to suck for both of us,” I muttered, testing the connection. “So you better goddamn live.”

His flight suit would protect him from the road rash. I crossed his arms across his chest.

The sky above us was an angry orange, like the inside of a furnace. Ash fell like snow, coating everything in a fine gray powder. The smoke was so thick I could barely see ten feet in any direction. I had to pick a direction and hope it was right.

I started walking, or rather stumbling, toward what I hoped was away from the fire. Pickle’s body dragged behind me, the harness cutting into my shoulders and back with each step. My legs felt like jelly, and spots danced in front of my eyes. The lack of oxygen was making me dizzy.

If I passed out, we were both dead.

It was dangerous to breathe all the crap in. I knew that but I didn’t have an option. I couldn’t just not breathe. Even though we were in the death zone.

My knees almost buckled at the thought. I’d watched the training videos. We didn’t even have a fire shelter to protect us. No one was coming. No one could see us through this smoke. The radio in the helicopter was either broken or the signal couldn’t penetrate the interference from the fire. We were on our own.

I kept moving, one foot in front of the other. The smoke seemed to be getting thicker, if that was even possible. My vision blurred, whether from tears or smoke inhalation, I couldn’t tell. Every breath was a battle.

It would be so easy to just lie down and close my eyes. It felt like I had taken a sleeping pill.

“Stay awake, Janna,” I whispered to myself. “Just stay awake.”

The weight of Pickle’s body felt like it was pulling me backward into the flames. My shoulders burned and my back ached. My legs were starting to give out. But I kept going because the alternative was unthinkable.

Through the haze, I thought I saw something. A break in the smoke, maybe. A direction where the air looked marginally clearer. It might have been wishful thinking, but it was all I could do to keep moving.

That’s when I saw it. Martha’s Diner.

It was crazy how hot it was. The wind was picking up and blowing the heat directly at us. A car alarm shattered the air. And then it stopped. The fire had claimed it. I knew it and it only made me push harder.

I kept moving the best I could, pulling Pickle along behind me as I coughed and spat. I could see clearer sky where the smoke thinned. That was my destination. It felt like it kept getting pulled back. And then I was there.

I collapsed on the front steps of the diner. The door was unlocked. Martha had probably rushed out without worrying about locking it. Locked doors wouldn’t keep out the fire. And I knew it wasn’t exactly a safe place. Nothing was immune from fire, but we had walls between us and ash wouldn’t be raining on our heads.

I dragged Pickle inside, choking on each breath. The dining area was smoky, but not as bad as it was outside.

We needed fresh air. I could feel my lungs burning. I took a few seconds to draw in a few breaths before I started dragging him again. I made my way into the kitchen and spotted what I was looking for. The walk-in cooler. I pulled open the door and was hit by a blast of blessedly cold air. The power was out but I remembered working at McDonald’s in my youth. The cooler would stay cool for a while and there would be little smoke penetration. It was temporary and wouldn’t stop us from burning, but it was all I could think of. I needed oxygen.