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“I think it’s coming back,” she murmurs, sleepy. She sounds like she’s already dreaming.
“I won’t let it happen.”
It’s half lie, half hope.
I hold onto it for as long as I can.
* * *
The night windgusts through the open side panel of the helicopter. A constantwhump-whump-whumpfrom the rotors hurts my ears. We’re high above the ground, hidden by cloud cover, flying over a country we’re ostensibly not at war with.
Ollie pats my arm and gives me a thumbs-up. His smile is big in the dark, white teeth flashing, and one of his dark curls has escaped his helmet.
“No.”
He motions by his ear and shrugs. Then he punches me lightly on the bicep and mouthscalm down, motherfucker.
I can’t calm down. Usually, our helmets have radios. For this mission, we’re using a simpler version so if any one of us is caught, the hostiles won’t be able to listen in.
“Ollie.”
I grab him above his elbow, but the rotors are so fucking loud. I might only have a few words to explain the situation and stop it from happening.
But I can’t open my mouth.
I can’t think of what to say.
He pats my hand and laughs at me, saying something else I can’t hear. It ends withseriously.It’s one of our oldest jokes. He says I take things too seriously, but that’s how you get into the Special Forces in the first place. You take things seriously.
“Ollie.” It takes an unreal amount of energy to get his name out of my mouth. “Don’t.”
“Don’t what?” he shouts. Then he grips my arm easily, so fucking easily, like he’s sure we’ll both make it to the ground.
“Thirty seconds,” the commander calls. I can’t see him. His voice came from somewhere behind us, but I can’t turn my head.
“Thirty seconds,” Ollie calls back. He gives me a little shake and pulls me to sit beside him, our legs dangling out over thousands of feet of open air. I stare into his eyes. They’re still dark, still dancing, still alive.
“Fifteen seconds,” the commander calls. “Final checks.”
Ollie’s hands move over his parachute pack. I do the same thing with my left hand and take his elbow in my right. His packisn’t there.There are no straps to check, no buckles to snug down. It’s not there, but his hands move like it is.
“You don’t have a chute.”
This isn’t—fuck. This isn’t how it happened. He had one, but it didn’t work.
This is not how it happened.
“Five,” the commander calls. “Four. Three.”
“Ollie, you don’t have a fucking chute.”
He doesn’t hear me. When the commander gets to one, he tips himself out into the clouds, and I go with him.
It’s a count of ten until we’re supposed to deploy the chutes. Ollie does his count out loud. I’m already trying to get out of mine, but the damn thing won’t release. It has its claws in.
He still hasn’t let go of me.
“My chute.Fuck.” It’s a terror-laced shout in the wind, and I shove aside the certainty that this has already happened, that it’s already over, and grab his uniform jacket. Grip his front straps with fists.
