Page 27 of Cockpit
“You shouldn’t be fly—”
“Our ETA is roughly thirty minutes out.”
“Ten-four. Keep us apprised. Staff will be on standby.”
“Will do.”
The doors open on the chopper and a burst of cold wind whips inside as the crew yells codes to each other above the roar of the rotors. I look back to Alyssa, my flight nurse, who looks wary as she glances at the weather whipping around us before looking at the patient that she’s helping to load. She meets my eyes briefly, and the subtle shake of her head tells me that the patient is worse than she thought. The medic from the ambulance doesn’t move from astride the patient as the stretcher is secured, and I overhear something about fingers holding the femoral artery.
The doors close as more codes fly between the crew in a symphony of chaos we all understand.
I look back, and for a split second, the crew parts, revealing the face of our patient. Fucking Christ. Blood covers every part of her except for a small section of her face, a face I know. Her petrified eyes are wide open and unresponsive.
Reese Dillinger.
I clench my jaw and turn forward, my hands gripped on the cyclic stick so I can take off as soon as everyone is clear.
Precious seconds tick by as I jog my knee and wait. This hits way too goddamn close to home.
Holy shit.
C’mon.
Tick.
C’mon.
Tick.
C’mon.
Tick.
I get the all clear, and with a deep breath, lift the bird up into the swirling wind. We’re jolted violently to the left by a pocket of air when we clear the trees, and Alyssa yelps in reflex, but there’s fear in her tone.
“Hold on,” I murmur to myself, with a quiet will to make this flight as quick and safe as possible to give Reese the biggest chance of survival.
I think to our interaction over the years. Elementary school with her hair in pigtails. Middle school with braces on her teeth. High school when she was suspended for helping steal our rival’s mascot. Hanging out at the mall. Birthday parties. She was a part of my memories growing up, even if she wasn’t front and center. A child of privilege and little responsibility but good, nonetheless.
The sounds of vitals and the determination of my flight crew sound off in my headset, spiking my adrenaline so high my hands start to shake.
She doesn’t have time.
Reese and her date, part of my circle of friends in the limo on the way to prom.
The ride is rough. We’re pitched every which way as my copilot and I battle for an equilibrium of sorts.
Reese strutting her stuff in her cheer uniform during a pep rally.
We pass over the highway. We skirt around a small aircraft that has even less business being out in this weather than we do.
Reese showing up to see if she could do anything to help me after Claire up and left. My pushing her the hell away because I didn’t need anything or anyone. I was too scared. Too angry. Too everything.
“She’s coding. Christ. Levi, grab it tighter!” I hear from the back, and I can only assume Levi is the paramedic whose fingers are currently somewhere in Reese’s leg, pinching her artery closed.
She’s just a patient. A faceless patient.
But she isn’t. She’s Reese.
