He tilts the plane to the side and banks us between another cluster of trees. Ahead of us is a tiny road that only goes a few hundred feet before twisting behind a ridge. He shoves the stick forward and brings us onto the narrow ribbon. The plane shudders horrendously. I’m thrown against the restraints. If I hadn’t put them on, I’d have been tossed out the window.

The plane skids down the road and twists to the side. We spin around and slide off the edge and fall backward down the other side of the ridge the road is on. A tree trunk clips the wing outside my door and rips it free. The plane keeps skidding and pinwheels again.

The left wing hits a tree and is broken off. The wing flips over the top of the plane. The tail section hits a log and crumples as we come to a jarring stop. My back feels like I just fell off a building and my head is rattled.

The pilot looks like he passed out. Damian’s drugs and my adrenaline have kicked in. I unbuckle my belt and leap out the open door and start running up the side of the ridge. It’s a hard climb up the dirt and gravel. I keep falling and have to use my bound hands to stop myself from slamming my head into rocks.

The plane has made a deep furrow in the dirt. I try to climb it and reach the road. I steal a glance back and see the man stumbling from the airplane. He’s got one hand over his side and another on this gun. He staggers and aims it toward me.

The gun clicks on an empty chamber. I turn away and keep climbing. Behind me I hear the sound of metal on metal. I ignore it until I realize it was the sound of an empty magazine being tossed at the plane. I hear the clicking of another one being slammed into place.

I see the edge of the road above me. I take two more strides and pull myself up to the asphalt and roll over. On flat ground, I hope I can outrun him in his injured condition. If I’m lucky he’ll bleed out.

I sprint down the road and away from the mountain. I hope to find help, but I know a road like this can seesaw back and forth for forty miles down the side of the mountain before reaching a town.

There’s a gunshot behind me.

I run.

65

I MAKE IT ANOTHER hundred yards before my legs feel like they’re melting through the road. All the drugs in my body and my exhaustion are starting to take their toll. I try to keep jogging. It’s hard with my hands still bound. The corners of my vision fade while my body resists the urge to black out.

I hear another gunshot and something whizzes past my ear. The sound echoes through the ravine we’re in. I look back. He’s only a hundred feet behind me. He has the gun pointed straight at me. He’s still holding his wound, but it doesn’t seem to have slowed him down.