Page 69 of No Hope of Rescue

Ross peers at the message as I hold it up to him and frowns. “Garbage. But at least we know he’s in that cockpit.” He says this nodding and then returns to keeping the Bell in his line of sight.

I sit for a moment and stare at the weird text, trying to imagine how he probably sent it: without looking, in secret.

I press to return a text and stare at the tiny keyboard. The L is easy to find.

L and L? It takes a second to register.

“They’re going to Loveland!” I shout to Ross. He glances down again as I hold up the phone one more time and he nods. We both know I’m right.

It takes a second before I text Agent Trent, and I stop mid-text. But what about the numbers? The dollar sign?

I look at the keyboard again, then shake my head and hold it up a third time.

“Hangar number?” he guesses. “Sixteen? Seventeen?”

I finish the text and forward Brock’s entire message after mine. I glance at Ross, who’s on the mic, getting instructions from the Loveland terminal. The Bell suddenly lists hard to the left, and I watch as it starts a descent.

“He’s close,” Ross shouts. “Probably fifteen minutes out.”

We watch together as the Bell, trying to find purchase in the air, lurches downward. I’m so afraid he’s going to crash, lose control, or have a flashback to whatever horror he’s been through.

Suddenly, Ross rips the headphones off, and he’s grinning. “He’s fucking with them.”

“What?”

“He’s got total control. That takes balls.” There’s appreciation in Ross’s voice.

The helicopter drops quickly, as if on an air sheer, floats up, and then drops again.

Ross laughs. “No shit. Look at you go, Boss,” he says more to himself than to me. Then he raises his voice. “What happened in Afghanistan?”

“I don’t know. He won’t talk about it.”

“But it’s kept him from flying?”

“His brothers all say he loved to fly. Started when he was fourteen.” I shake my head.

“He was a medic?”

“Yeah. All I know is that there was an accident with his helicopter, and he was badly injured. Lost his spleen.”

“Jesus.”

“Yeah.”

“PTSD?”

There’s that word no one says. No one. Ever. It’s so stupid. I sigh and thrust my chin out. “Yes. He has PTSD and flashbacks. Sometimes, I mean. Now, I think only when he’s in the air.”

“But before?”

I nod. The last bad one happened last year, when there were some kids shooting off firework rockets back-to-back. He had to go sit in the truck for a while.

“This is a trigger.” Ross stares at the Bell.

“I’ve never seen him up in the air. Ever. This is only the second time. The first was with you, to save Codie.”

Ross nods again and then leans forward. The Bell is dropping. Quickly.