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He put the car in reverse, backed up, put it into what was left of first and slammed into the van again. The van slid sideways and Emerson put his foot to the floor and shoved the van and all its occupants over the edge of the cliff.
No one said anything. Everyone just sat there breathing. Hard to believe the horror was over. Hard to believe they were alive. Riley kept looking at the spot where the van had disappeared. She was blinking tears away, waiting for Rollo to climb back up, like a hockey-mask-wearing killer in a cheap horror movie. But Rollo remained out of sight. The monster didn’t rise again.
“The Siddhar’s not going to approve of this,” Emerson said. He rested his forehead on the steering wheel. “Is there something wrong with my head? I have a splitting headache.”
Xandy reached around and untied Riley. “We need to leave before the aliens return,” she said.
Riley shrugged out of the ropes, got out of the car, and walked to the edge of the cliff with Emerson. They looked down at the white van. It was upside down at the bottom of the mountain. It was far away but they could see that it was smoking. There was an explosion, and the van was consumed by a fireball. Black smoke billowed off the van and was carried away on the air currents.
Emerson wrapped his arm around Riley, hugged her into him, and kissed her on her forehead. “Crap on a cracker,” Emerson said.
—
Riley got behind the wheel and gripped it hard to keep her hands from shaking. She put the car into gear and very carefully drove down the mountain. She got to the highway and turned to Emerson.
“Now what?” Riley asked.
“I don’t mean to complain,” Günter said, “but I’d really like to see a doctor. Or at least get some more of those drugs. I’m in agony here. Sorry.”
“We’ll get you help soon,” Emerson said. “I’d like to get out of the area first.” He turned to Riley. “Take the Saint Rose Parkway exit and turn right on Executive Terminal Drive.”
Riley looked over at Emerson. “You have a plane?”
“Yes. Of course.”
“Why didn’t we use it to get to Nevada in the first place?”
“Aunt Myra needed it. Dr. Bauerfeind was in seclusion in Vancouver, and Aunt Myra was kind enough to pick him up in my absence. I suppose I should consider getting a backup plane, but I’ve never needed one before.”
“But the plane is here now?”
“Hopefully. I suspected we might need a fast getaway so I asked Aunt Myra to hop down here and wait for us once she secured Dr. Bauerfeind.”
Riley followed Emerson’s directions to the airport and looked at Xandy in the rearview mirror.
“What about Xandy?” Riley asked.
“I’m going home,” Xandy said. “Put me in that fancy plane of yours and drop me off in Des Moines. The hell with aliens. I’m going back to being a dental hygienist.”
Henderson Executive Airport had twin runways, a tower straight out of the 1940s, renovated like a museum piece, and a state-of-the-art sleek modern traffic control center.
There were several hangars and a fleet of corporate jets sitting out on the blacktop. Riley parked at the private terminal, and they loaded Günter onto a rolling luggage rack and followed Emerson inside. Emerson found his pilot and they were escorted out to the plane, leaving everyone in the terminal open-mouthed in shock at the bedraggled, blood-splattered group.
Emerson owned a G550 configured to comfortably seat twelve. It flew with two pilots and a flight attendant, a stocked galley, a pleasant lavatory, and a fully functioning office. The interior had high-gloss wood trim and soft cream-colored leather seats and couches. The exterior of the plane was gleaming white with a majestic royal blue “M” that swooped along the sides like an eagle flying in for the kill. The guest towels in the lavatory were also monogrammed with a royal blue “M.”
Aunt Myra was in the open doorway of the G550, smiling at them like she was welcoming them to a barbecue.
“Well, there you are!” she said in her Appalachian drawl. “I was getting ready to send out the bloodhounds.”
“We were delayed,” Emerson said. “We’ve sustained some injuries, I’m afraid.”
A couple baggage handlers hauled Günter off the luggage rack and carried him up the stairs to the plane. Aunt Myra got him settled onto one of the couches and buckled him in.
“We’ll sit you up for now,” she said. “After takeoff we can lay you down and make you more comfortable.”
“Alcohol would help,” Günter said.
“We got plenty of that,” Myra said. “Pick your poison.”
