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Callie was pushed forward in the crowd of people. One of the soldiers had untied the pilots, but she was in the aisle, already out of the cockpit, just trying to get off the damn airplane. People were pushing and shoving past. Callie clutched her broken arm, dizziness washing over her.
“Affirmative,” a muscular man in fatigues at the middle exit said into his mouthpiece as she was shoved forward. “The bomb is off the plane. Repeat. The bomb is off the plane. Roger. We don’t know if other explosives are hidden onboard. Over.”
Callie noticed the American flag on his uniform. Was he a SEAL? Some other type of Special Forces soldier? She had no idea what U.S. military members were stationed nearby. The U.S. didn’t have any bases in the Philippines as far as she knew.
She began to cry as she was shoved forward, and the soldier caught her eye and palmed her shoulder gently. She was almost as tall as him, but he seemed much bigger because of his broad shoulders and chest. She could almost feel the warmth and strength radiating off him. He was calm and in control, an anchor in the midst of the chaos around her. “It’s okay, ma’am,” he said gruffly. She looked at him tearfully, and he seemed to focus on her face for a moment before his gaze tracked to her broken arm. “I’ll help you,” he said, gripping her waist and lifting her toward the slide. He lifted her like she weighed nothing, his hands both gentle and firm. “I’ve got you,” he murmured. “You’re almost off the plane.” The man set her down gently on the inflatable slide, making sure she was steady, and then Callie was whizzing down it into the night.
Medics were rushing around her moments later, and she was lifted onto a gurney and wheeled off to the side, away from the doomed airliner. Callie blinked in the bright light as they rushed her into a triage area, shocked as someone began taking her pulse and assessing her injuries. She closed her eyes as people moved around her, feeling the prick of a needle being inserted into the vein on her hand. Cool liquid came into her vein a moment later, an IV drip set up.
Callie felt like she was in a warzone. Sirens sounded in the distance, and there were people around her moaning and crying. The floodlights and emergency vehicles in the dark night gave the entire scene an eerie feel. Somewhere in the distance, the hijacked plane still loomed, with the dead bodies of several passengers as well as the hijackers.
She shivered.
“Ma’am, tell us your injuries,” a voice ordered.
A thin blanket was draped over her, and then someone else was gingerly maneuvering her arm, wrapping it tightly to hold it in place. She felt cold, like she was in shock. Nothing about tonight felt real.
Callie had no idea how much time passed, but suddenly, the man who’d rescued her was there, sucking up all the air in the tent. “Are you okay?” he asked, striding over. He looked taller than before, larger than life next to the small gurney she was lying on. She could see his bulk and strength despite the uniform he wore. No doubt the guy was solid muscle beneath. He’d lifted her up earlier like she’d weighed nothing at all. At the moment, concern was etched across his gruff features. She took in his green eyes, the stubble on his strong jaw. He still wore his helmet and headset, his rifle slung across his back. He looked ready to charge back in and take down anyone who stood in his way. Inexplicably, she felt safer now that he was here. Settled.
“You saved me,” she said, her voice cracking.
“They hurt you,” he murmured. Although his voice was gentle, Callie could hear the anger tinged beneath. He cleared his throat.
“I think my arm is broken,” she whispered.
“Did they give you any pain medication?” he asked, his gaze tracking across the area around her. She was hooked up to an IV drip, and Callie assumed they’d put some type of drug in it. Her arm was still throbbing, but it was a dull ache, not the sharp pain she’d experienced earlier.
She nodded. “I think so. It doesn’t hurt as badly as it did earlier.” She cleared her throat and shifted, then whimpered slightly on the cot.
“What do you need?” he asked, his gaze intense.
“Water.”
He looked around again and then pulled his own canteen from his gear, helping her to take a sip. Maybe she should’ve been afraid of the large, muscular man beside her cot, offering her his own water, but Callie just felt...safe. “What’s your name?” she asked, after she’d swallowed a couple sips.
“Wyatt. I apologize for not introducing myself. My SEAL team was tasked to rescue you and the other passengers. I saw that you were injured on the aircraft and wanted to come check on you.”
“Wyatt,” she repeated quietly. “I’m Callie.”
He nodded, like he already knew that. He probably knew a lot of things about the situation that she didn’t. Callie had been stuck on the airplane for hours, at the mercy of the armed men. She had no clue if the hijacking was worldwide news, if her family was wondering if she was okay. Callie traveled so much; her parents mostly followed her social media channels to see where she was in the world. Had she even told them she was flying to Seoul? Probably not, she realized.
“It’s nice to meet you, Callie, although I wish it had been under different circumstances.”
“You and me both,” she muttered, and she didn’t miss the slight quirk of his lips.
“They’ll get you to a hospital. No doubt you’ll need a cast on your arm, but hopefully it won’t require surgery.”
She nodded, briefly wondering why he was telling her all this. Was he visiting other hostages turned patients in the triage area? She doubted it. She couldn’t deny she felt better with him here. The hijackers were all dead, from her understanding, but that didn’t stop the adrenaline and terror from coursing through her veins.
Wyatt lifted a hand to his ear, and she realized he was listening to something over his earpiece. “I’ve got to brief with someone. I’ll come back and check on you.”
“Okay,” she said, her eyes already closing. “Oh, wait! Did the other passengers get off the plane? I met a woman, Olivia....”
Recognition crossed his face. “Olivia is just fine. I’ll have the guys let her know you were asking about her. You’ll be okay, Callie,” he murmured. “You’re safe now.” Then his big frame was turning away, moving back out of the tent.
When Callie awoke next, she was being loaded onto an ambulance, the EMTs speaking rapidly in Filipino. Sirens sounded in the distance, flashing lights brightened the night, and teams of men rushed by. Someone was shouting orders in English, and she blinked. Was the FBI here, too? She saw the bold yellow letters on the back of a woman’s jacket.
Her head rolled to the side, and two men in camouflage jogged by, their combat boots pounding on the ground. Callie winced as the EMTs lifted her stretcher into the ambulance. The drugs they’d given her had made her incredibly tired, and her throat was raw from screaming earlier. She was drained. Exhausted. As they slid her stretcher into the waiting ambulance, she briefly wondered if Wyatt was still here.
