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“He’s fucking with you. Autopilot is doing most of the work right now,” Oz tells her.
She looks at me, and I wink at her. “You want to learn how to fly a plane?”
Her eyes widen comically. “Are you crazy?”
“Surprisingly, he’s not. Our gramps had us tested,” Oz jokes, but Salem doesn’t take her pretty eyes from mine.
I don’t think I’ve ever met anyone with eyes as captivating as hers. I must have been staring longer than I realized because she bites her lip before looking away.
“It’s called heterochromia. The two different eye colors. My mother and grandmother both had it, too,” she says softly.
“It’s hereditary?”
She nods. “It’s weird, I know. Trust me, people love telling me how freaky they look.”
“People are dicks.” Oz sighs. He’d know, he’s a dick.
“They’re not weird. They’re beautiful. You’ll have beautiful daughters one day if they have eyes like their mama.”
She swallows hard, looking lost for words. “I don’t know about that. Not sure I want to bring kids into this world.”
“It’s not all bad. Some people live in blissful ignorance of the shit we’ve experienced.”
“Must be nice,” she murmurs.
“I don’t know. Nice sounds boring.”
“Really? Because nice sounds safe to me.”
I can’t argue with that, so I don’t. Instead, I start pointing out the instruments and explaining what they’re used for.
“What’s that one?” She points at the red light that just came on, making me frown.
I hit a few other buttons to override the error, but the red light remains. “Jump up a second for me, Salem.”
Hearing the tone in my voice, she does as I ask.
“What’s wrong?” Oz asks, looking over at me.
“Says we’re running low on fuel, which I know is bullshit.”
“We need to call it in any way,” he states, his voice serious.
“Salem, I want you to head back and take a seat, and strap yourself in for me.”
“What is it? What’s wrong?”
“Nothing, hopefully. I just prefer to be cautious.”
The worry on her face is clear, but she doesn’t make a fuss. Instead, she does as I ask and moves back as far as the seats facing us.
“Oz, call it in.”
Oz hits the mic and makes the call. Because of the nature of our work, we’re officially not in the air. A plane with our destination was filed, but the only accurate information was the flight path. Everything else was bullshit to keep us under the radar.
The problem is, everything put in place to keep us safe may be the very thing that kills us because the only thing beneath us is a fucking jungle. The plane veers violently to the left as an alarm blares.
“Shit, fuck, we’re leaking fuel.”
