A Sample from The Girl With Two Names: A Novel
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
Bill is lying still on a bench at the rear of the helicopter. I plead to sit with him but Nori buckles me into the copilot’s seat and leaves me there.
Tua glances across the cockpit at me with vague curiosity. He has deep-set eyes in a thin face framed by curls of graying hair that might have lent him a boyish look if it were not for the lines around the grim set to his mouth. He gives me a quick appraisal before turning his attention back to the instrument panel.
I concentrate on the noise of the helicopter coming to life. There’s a kind of refuge to be found in routine, and I count off each stage of the takeoff. One: The tick-tick of the igniters. Two: The whine of the starter. Three: The thud of fuel into the engine. Four: The rotors vibrating as they pick up intensity. This is the logical patterns I have trained to listen for, long before I met Nori. Now each mechanical note is another thin thread attaching me to sanity.
Tua brings us around in a sharp ascent over the clearing. The hut is a small box below us. The thin metal skin of the helicopter all there is to protect our frail bodies should our machine fall from the sky. Bundles of my father’s money and years of training have not enabled me to conquer my fear of heights. Only the exhilaration of being in control of the helicopter could overwhelm the dread.
I will not give up!
The G-forces push me into the seat as we descend in a twisting arc. Below us is the river, then the horizon flips and the rugged slopes of the hills float above my head.
“Look to the port side—ahh—to ya left!” Tua yells into the mic fixed to his headset.
Tua straightens up the helicopter and we swing past Paul as he trots his horse along a trail below the hilltop. A dark bulky object is tied across the rump of his horse.
Tua ascends again and brings us around behind the rider and horse. They have become small figures that zoom up as the helicopter comes in fast and low.
Why is Tua is buzzing Paul?
Rick appears behind the pilot’s seat. He’s holding a long object in his left hand, but in my harness, I am unable to turn to see what he’s doing.
Paul is gazing up at us. The shadow of his hat falls over his eyes. He gives a friendly wave, squinting behind his outstretched hand as he tries to better make out the chopper .
The big brown twists its head and staggers on the hardened edge of the narrow track but it manages to regain its balance.
The track they are on zigzags down the hillside into a cluster of trees midway down the slope. I catch the sound of the rear door sliding open.
The pilot turns his head and catches my eye for a brief second.
He is a troubled man.
I jump at the sound of a loud crack behind me. Nori is shouting over the engine noise, but whatever he’s saying is unintelligible. He sounds almost hysterical.
Paul has lost his hat. He ducks his head and shoulders behind the neck of the horse. The animal has turned. It gallops down the slope, its rider hanging precariously over one side.
Tua brings us into a rapid dive before rotating the machine. There’s another loud crack behind us, then the chopper soars over the tree line, and we turn to face the slope once more.
Nori continues to scream out words lost in the maelstrom of the chopper.
Tua stops the chopper’s rapid descent suddenly. I feel my torso compresses and my harness bites into me. I snap off the buckle and jump to my feet to make my way to the back.
We hover over the edge of the hill, drifting above a rippling, flattening sea of grass.
Nori has both hands above his head, grasping the rim of the doorframe. He doesn’t notice me standing behind him as he watches Rick secure a harness around a crumpled, motionless Paul.
I fix my eyes on the gap between the transfixed Nori and the open door.
Tua shouts a warning from behind, but he’s too late.
I hit the ground hard but my fall is broken by the tumble over the hard uneven slope. I roll onto my feet and run in a diagonal toward the thicket of trees below me. My sneakers slip and catch on the uneven surface. Several times I fall to the ground to scramble forward on hands and knees before springing to my feet again. I run faster than I have ever run before.
I crash my way through the bush, blindly slipping and sliding down the uneven ground. I use my shins, thighs, and chest to bust a path through the tangle of undergrowth in front of me.
A tree branch whips my cheek. I stumble blindly, unable to see through the tears. My foot catches on a branch or a stump and the ground smacks me in the face. I smell the moist earth and lift my head, blinking to clear my vision.
Through a mass of ferns, tangled and thick, I see a leveling off ahead. I get to my feet again and push on, driven by nothing but adrenalin. I no longer feel the sting of the coarse fern fronds that whack my legs and scrape my bare heels.
My legs give way and I fall face down into a matted carpet of damp rotting leaves. I twist my head to the side and lie there, gasping for air. There is no sound save my breathing, the warble of the bush birds, and the clatter and splash of rapidly moving water.
Light sparkles between the dark tree trunks. I sit on my heels and see that a few yards ahead of me, the riverbank drops away where the fast flowing floods have cut into the clay. A tangle of roots like mummified limbs protrudes into the current.
The metallic rhythmic beating of air is upon me without warning.
I know the rotors are shaking the forest ceiling opening it up so they can see what is on the ground. I peer up to catch the glint of reflected sunlight, but fuzzy dots of grit hang in my eyelashes, obscuring my vision. I wipe frantically at my eyes, hoping I am under enough foliage for them to miss seeing me.
I am a deer struck immobile in the undergrowth, aware too late I chose the hunter is on me. I leap to my feet and sprint.
The helicopter swings in a low turn as I run along the edge of the riverbank, trying to keep the sparse cover between my pursuers and me. Ahead is the lagoon. The noise of my pursuers fades.
They didn’t see me after all. I duck behind a thick trunk and bend double to get air into my lungs. I see blood pooling between my toes. I pull up a trouser leg and peer at the cut. It’s not so bad. I stumble to the water’s edge and splash away the grit around the broken skin.
It’s the glade down from the hut. The algae on the rocky bottom colors the water a dark bronze. The water here is so still I can see small shadows darting through the beams of sunlight. Metallic flickers beneath the surface.
I strip off my clothes and step into the lagoon. When I reach the middle of the pool I sink down until I feel it lap at the small of my back. The water has not yet been warmed by the sun, but it feels clean and soothing, like a balm on my torn skin. I crouch lower still until my shoul‐ ders sink beneath the surface.
The indents of my small narrow feet run down from the grassy bank and into the water. If anyone comes down the trail from the hut, they will see my prints too.
The air erupts overhead with the sudden and loud arrival of the machine. They must have swung around behind the hills before returning to the hut. They really did lose me.
The trees blanket the noise of the rotors as they touch down in the clearing. I listen to the sound of the turbine power down and the doors slide open. I hear the raised voices of Nori and his hired thugs, but they are too far away to make out more than the occasional word.
Nori’s tone is urgent and agitated and they argue. I don’t hear Bill’s voice.
I am trapped in the lagoon.
The river laps at my nose. I press my knees against my chest. My heart thumps in my ears so loud I might not hear my pursuers as they come down the forest trail. At last, I hear the metallic screech and thump of the chopper doors slamming shut.
END OF SAMPLE
Bill is lying still on a bench at the rear of the helicopter. I plead to sit with him but Nori buckles me into the copilot’s seat and leaves me there.
Tua glances across the cockpit at me with vague curiosity. He has deep-set eyes in a thin face framed by curls of graying hair that might have lent him a boyish look if it were not for the lines around the grim set to his mouth. He gives me a quick appraisal before turning his attention back to the instrument panel.
I concentrate on the noise of the helicopter coming to life. There’s a kind of refuge to be found in routine, and I count off each stage of the takeoff. One: The tick-tick of the igniters. Two: The whine of the starter. Three: The thud of fuel into the engine. Four: The rotors vibrating as they pick up intensity. This is the logical patterns I have trained to listen for, long before I met Nori. Now each mechanical note is another thin thread attaching me to sanity.
Tua brings us around in a sharp ascent over the clearing. The hut is a small box below us. The thin metal skin of the helicopter all there is to protect our frail bodies should our machine fall from the sky. Bundles of my father’s money and years of training have not enabled me to conquer my fear of heights. Only the exhilaration of being in control of the helicopter could overwhelm the dread.
I will not give up!
The G-forces push me into the seat as we descend in a twisting arc. Below us is the river, then the horizon flips and the rugged slopes of the hills float above my head.
“Look to the port side—ahh—to ya left!” Tua yells into the mic fixed to his headset.
Tua straightens up the helicopter and we swing past Paul as he trots his horse along a trail below the hilltop. A dark bulky object is tied across the rump of his horse.
Tua ascends again and brings us around behind the rider and horse. They have become small figures that zoom up as the helicopter comes in fast and low.
Why is Tua is buzzing Paul?
Rick appears behind the pilot’s seat. He’s holding a long object in his left hand, but in my harness, I am unable to turn to see what he’s doing.
Paul is gazing up at us. The shadow of his hat falls over his eyes. He gives a friendly wave, squinting behind his outstretched hand as he tries to better make out the chopper .
The big brown twists its head and staggers on the hardened edge of the narrow track but it manages to regain its balance.
The track they are on zigzags down the hillside into a cluster of trees midway down the slope. I catch the sound of the rear door sliding open.
The pilot turns his head and catches my eye for a brief second.
He is a troubled man.
I jump at the sound of a loud crack behind me. Nori is shouting over the engine noise, but whatever he’s saying is unintelligible. He sounds almost hysterical.
Paul has lost his hat. He ducks his head and shoulders behind the neck of the horse. The animal has turned. It gallops down the slope, its rider hanging precariously over one side.
Tua brings us into a rapid dive before rotating the machine. There’s another loud crack behind us, then the chopper soars over the tree line, and we turn to face the slope once more.
Nori continues to scream out words lost in the maelstrom of the chopper.
Tua stops the chopper’s rapid descent suddenly. I feel my torso compresses and my harness bites into me. I snap off the buckle and jump to my feet to make my way to the back.
We hover over the edge of the hill, drifting above a rippling, flattening sea of grass.
Nori has both hands above his head, grasping the rim of the doorframe. He doesn’t notice me standing behind him as he watches Rick secure a harness around a crumpled, motionless Paul.
I fix my eyes on the gap between the transfixed Nori and the open door.
Tua shouts a warning from behind, but he’s too late.
I hit the ground hard but my fall is broken by the tumble over the hard uneven slope. I roll onto my feet and run in a diagonal toward the thicket of trees below me. My sneakers slip and catch on the uneven surface. Several times I fall to the ground to scramble forward on hands and knees before springing to my feet again. I run faster than I have ever run before.
I crash my way through the bush, blindly slipping and sliding down the uneven ground. I use my shins, thighs, and chest to bust a path through the tangle of undergrowth in front of me.
A tree branch whips my cheek. I stumble blindly, unable to see through the tears. My foot catches on a branch or a stump and the ground smacks me in the face. I smell the moist earth and lift my head, blinking to clear my vision.
Through a mass of ferns, tangled and thick, I see a leveling off ahead. I get to my feet again and push on, driven by nothing but adrenalin. I no longer feel the sting of the coarse fern fronds that whack my legs and scrape my bare heels.
My legs give way and I fall face down into a matted carpet of damp rotting leaves. I twist my head to the side and lie there, gasping for air. There is no sound save my breathing, the warble of the bush birds, and the clatter and splash of rapidly moving water.
Light sparkles between the dark tree trunks. I sit on my heels and see that a few yards ahead of me, the riverbank drops away where the fast flowing floods have cut into the clay. A tangle of roots like mummified limbs protrudes into the current.
The metallic rhythmic beating of air is upon me without warning.
I know the rotors are shaking the forest ceiling opening it up so they can see what is on the ground. I peer up to catch the glint of reflected sunlight, but fuzzy dots of grit hang in my eyelashes, obscuring my vision. I wipe frantically at my eyes, hoping I am under enough foliage for them to miss seeing me.
I am a deer struck immobile in the undergrowth, aware too late I chose the hunter is on me. I leap to my feet and sprint.
The helicopter swings in a low turn as I run along the edge of the riverbank, trying to keep the sparse cover between my pursuers and me. Ahead is the lagoon. The noise of my pursuers fades.
They didn’t see me after all. I duck behind a thick trunk and bend double to get air into my lungs. I see blood pooling between my toes. I pull up a trouser leg and peer at the cut. It’s not so bad. I stumble to the water’s edge and splash away the grit around the broken skin.
It’s the glade down from the hut. The algae on the rocky bottom colors the water a dark bronze. The water here is so still I can see small shadows darting through the beams of sunlight. Metallic flickers beneath the surface.
I strip off my clothes and step into the lagoon. When I reach the middle of the pool I sink down until I feel it lap at the small of my back. The water has not yet been warmed by the sun, but it feels clean and soothing, like a balm on my torn skin. I crouch lower still until my shoul‐ ders sink beneath the surface.
The indents of my small narrow feet run down from the grassy bank and into the water. If anyone comes down the trail from the hut, they will see my prints too.
The air erupts overhead with the sudden and loud arrival of the machine. They must have swung around behind the hills before returning to the hut. They really did lose me.
The trees blanket the noise of the rotors as they touch down in the clearing. I listen to the sound of the turbine power down and the doors slide open. I hear the raised voices of Nori and his hired thugs, but they are too far away to make out more than the occasional word.
Nori’s tone is urgent and agitated and they argue. I don’t hear Bill’s voice.
I am trapped in the lagoon.
The river laps at my nose. I press my knees against my chest. My heart thumps in my ears so loud I might not hear my pursuers as they come down the forest trail. At last, I hear the metallic screech and thump of the chopper doors slamming shut.
END OF SAMPLE
YOU CAN READ THE NOVEL THE GIRL WITH TWO NAMES NOW BY CLICKING A LINK TO PURCHASE A COPY.
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