They sped along at a frightening speed. Sheila looked up. Bird now was inside the helicopter. She was being hauled up. When she was at his level, he grabbed the side of the basket and pulled it close to the door.
“Get in,” he said.
The helicopter shook from the motion of the blades and bounced as if it was speeding along a rutted, dirt road. She pushed the towel from her shoulders. Freezing cold air whipped around her. The wet ends of her hair pelted her cheeks. She braced her feet against the skid. Bird gripped a bar at the edge of the door and extended his other hand to her. She grabbed it, pulled herself up onto the skid, and stepped into the passenger compartment. It was very spartan. Two bench seats faced each other. Bird sat down on one. She sat opposite him, shivering.
He reached over the seat into the pilot’s compartment and said, “Alex, my friend needs to borrow your jacket.” He flung a coat, obviously government issue, at her.
She wrapped up in it. Maybe the helicopter and Alex had come from Camp Pendleton Marine Base. He must be Alex’s supplier.
“I assume you have the drugs,” she said.
He pointed to the space under her seat. She reached down, found one of its straps, and pulled it up onto the seat beside her. “And my clothes?”
“Too trendy.”
She hated his superior attitude and dismissive grunts that served as communication. “I don’t supposed you turned off the lights and locked the door.”
“I took care of that, ma’am,” Alex said. “House keys are in the front zipper compartment of your bag.” That morsel of respect and common sense made her feel better. She could see how a captive could develop Stockholm Syndrome.
The helicopter dipped and turned and in a smooth movement landed in a parking lot behind an old strip mall. The back door of one of the shops was open. Dim light streamed from it casting a burly figure into silhouette. Bird said, “Let’s go shopping.”
They entered an Army Navy Surplus Store. It smelled like an old canvas tent. Survival gear filled every nook and cranny. Green and brown camouflage clothes stood in piles on shelves and hung on racks. None of them looked trendy.
“The usual, Keith,” Bird said to the burly kid. “Plus some clothes for her.”
Keith eyed her and said, “Cadet size ought to fit.” He motioned for her to follow him. He was about six feet tall, rotund, and had blond, curly hair held down by a bandana in a stars and stripes print. He pulled green camouflage tee shirt, pants, socks, and a man’s dress type shirt from piles and handed them to her. “You can change over there.” He pointed to an area behind part of a parachute thrown over a rope attached to the wall and a wooden vertical beam.
You can change rang in her head. She remembered when William had gone into the army. The first thing they did was take away his clothes, give him a uniform, and cut his hair. Then they taught him how to think and act like a soldier. She’d put on the clothes because she didn’t have any other, but she wasn’t going to be converted into a “lean, mean, killing machine.” She just wanted to deliver the drugs, make sure Tom was okay, and come back to resume her life, a messed up as it was at the moment. When she was dressed, she found Bird and Keith standing on either side of a glass case. It held an array of pistols and knives. Behind it stood a locked rack of rifles, some of which looked as if they could stop a tank.
“You ever fire a weapon?” Bird asked.
“No.” she said.
“Better just give her a knife,” Bird said. “Her hand’s small.”
Keith brought out one with a leather grip and a single edge blade, “Try this.”
She picked up the knife. Her reaction surprised her. It fit neatly into her hand and was well balanced. Holding it gave her what could only be described as a testosterone rush. Easy girl, she thought. Do not get sucked into Bird’s world.
Very exciting part. Liked the helicopter pick up.
Nice clothes
Posted by: She | August 21, 2006 at 04:46 PM