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The longer Judge and PJ were apart, the worse his gut clenched. The hospital wasn’t that big. Finally, they pushed through a side door and waited while the helicopter lowered to the ground. The side door slid open, blades still spinning.
The flight medic leaped down and helped get Mud loaded onto the aircraft.
Judge stood with his back to the helicopter, watching for the appearance of TCW attackers. Since he didn’t know all of them, he looked for anyone approaching the aircraft with a gun, a bulge in his pocket or any other kind of weapon. He felt defenseless without a gun or knife. But he had his body, his fists and years of hand-to-hand combat training and experience.
When the volunteer passed him pushing the gurney, Judge backed toward the helicopter, climbed on board and slid a headset over his ears. He leaned over to slide the door closed when a lone figure stepped out of the building, wearing black pants, a black jacket and a black baseball cap pulled low over his forehead.
“Anyone order pizza?” the pilot said into Judge’s ear.
“No. We have incoming,” Judge said into the headset. “Can we get off the ground before he reaches the aircraft?”
“Roger. Going up,” the pilot said.
The chopper slowly rose off the ground.
The man below increased his speed until he was running toward them, aiming a handgun at the helicopter.
“He’s got a gun,” Judge called out.
The pilot sent the chopper up and forward. As if leaning into the wind, the aircraft gained altitude faster.
A bullet pierced the window in the side door and hit the back of the seat in front of Judge.
In a combat situation, the helicopter would be equipped with a .50 caliber machine gun and a rocket launcher. This helicopter was a life-flight vehicle and wasn’t combat-ready. They had no way to defend the craft and the people inside.
All Judge could do was sit back and pray the bullets didn’t strike something important like crucial flight equipment that kept the chopper in the air or the pilot who knew how to land the chopper.
Judge held his breath until they were well out of range of the man and his gun. Only then did he release the breath he’d been holding.
“Everyone all right?” the pilot asked.
Judge glanced around at the medic kneeling on the floor beside Mud. He checked that the IV was flowing, that the bag was securely hung on a hook above and tucked the blanket around the teen’s body. Then he pressed his stethoscope to Mud’s chest and listened. How he heard anything over the roar of the helicopter engine was beyond Judge’s comprehension.
For a long moment, the medic listened. Finally, he hung the stethoscope around his neck and looked up.
Judge met his gaze.
The medic gave a thumbs-up signal, eased onto a bench and strapped himself in.
The pilot had called into ATC to report having been fired on. ATC let him know they’d notify the sheriff’s department immediately and asked if the aircraft was still flight worthy.
“All systems operating at one hundred percent,” the pilot responded. “Continuing on flight plan with patient.”
Judge sat back, in a far different place than he’d been when he’d shown up in Whitefish, Montana, with a vague plan of infiltrating The Chosen Way to learn where they were camped and who was in charge.
The few days he’d been in the camp had taken him someplace he’d never expected to be. All he could think about was PJ and the bond they’d formed over working out and training on a confidence course, learning how to pick locks and running through the mountains.
He had the overwhelming urge to tell the pilot to take him back to Kalispell and let him out there. He could find his way back to the camp and PJ.
Deep down, he knew TCW would pull up stakes and move within hours. Hank couldn’t get his people there fast enough. But he’d be with them when they did go. He’d have to lead them there.
“Judge?” the pilot broke through his musings.
“Yes, sir,” he responded.
The pilot raised his hand. In his palm was a cell phone. “Hank has a message for you.”
Judge grabbed the cell phone and read the text.
