Fox blew out a breath. “Plane takes thirteen. Eleven women with me and Zak.” He pointed. “Helicopter takes Pav, you and Sasha.”
“Excellent.” The pilot grinned. “You fly, yes?”
Pav met his gaze. “Yes.”
“Fine. Let’s get this show on the road.” Fox stalked out of the hangar, and Harper followed, jogging to keep up.
Her hands shook, so she pressed them against her thighs and forced her brain into gear. When she looked back, Pav was tracking her, his face unperturbed as if he’d already decided she could handle this.
“Polina.” Her voice came out steady when she arrived back at the jeep, stronger than she felt. “Sasha will go in the helicopter with me. You’re with everyone else on the plane. Help them board.”
Polina nodded, climbing out of the relative warmth of the jeep. Women clung to one another in tight knots. Polina moved among them, coaxing them apart, but some wouldn't let go.
Harper helped Sasha from the back, one hand clamped over the wadded strip of torn shirt pressed to the wound beneath her ribs. Blood had already soaked through the fabric and warmed Harper’s palm.
Don’t think. Don’t count. Don’t weigh one life against another.
Behind her, the men maneuvered the maintenance platform toward the open hangar doors, rusty wheels shrieking across cracked concrete. Pav and Zak handled the tail while Fox pushed from the side, the pilot barking directions over the wind.
Once outside, Pav dropped beneath the fuselage long enough to release something Harper couldn’t identify. Then he moved to the skids and kicked free the locking clamps.
He made a rolling motion with his hand. “Push.”
The helicopter rolled backward off the platform and dropped onto its skids.
Harper guided Sasha across the tarmac as the rotors creaked overhead in the rising wind. The younger woman sagged heavily against her, clammy and trembling, each step weaker than the last.
Before Harper reached for the door, Pav appeared beside them. He took Sasha’s weight without a word and lifted her into the rear seat as if she weighed nothing.
“Headlights!” Zak’s shout bellowed above the wind.
Lights in the distance. Multiple vehicles. Coming fast.
“Three minutes.” Zak jogged toward the plane. “Maybe less. Let’s move people.”
Someone wailed as the women stumbled toward the plane. Harper came up the rear, her frozen hands firm on the straggler’s backs. “Come on. You’re doing great. Up the stairs. That’s it.”
A strong hand grabbed her arm, and she spun. Thom.
He pulled her into a tight hug and kissed the top of her head. “Pav’s the best. He’ll get you out.”
Over his shoulder, Pav was securing Sasha into the rear seat of the helicopter.
“See you on the other side. Go.” Fox released her and gave her a gentle push. “Zak, let’s get this fucking bucket in the air.” He slammed the plane door shut and locked the lever.
Harper ducked and ran across the icy concrete. Pav was already in the pilot's seat. She glanced into the back. Sasha was strapped in, eyes closed, head lolling—but breathing. The makeshift bandage was still in place, dark and wet beneath Harper’s hand when she reached back to check it. Still bleeding, but slower.
Satisfied, Harper dropped into the co-pilot's seat.
Pav worked through the startup sequence with precision, fast and confident, as if this was something he’d done before—not something he hoped would work.
The door didn’t close all the way. She yanked it shut with a grunt, metal grinding, and the latch caught with a click that felt way too fragile.
She pressed back against the seat for a moment. “You can fly this?”
Pav didn’t look at her. “Yes.”
His hand moved to the ignition. Twisted. The engine caught, the entire frame vibrating.
