by Logan Ryles
Shouts and screams of pain and surprise filled the air. Wolfgang gripped the bike and jerked it to the right, hitting the throttle and hoping madly that Megan could navigate around the small knot of fighters. He powered onto another narrow foot track, taking himself out of the line of fire from the fighters behind, but he couldn’t hear Megan’s bike. He risked a glance over his shoulder as panic filled him, but still didn’t see her.
Wolfgang relaxed on the throttle and debated whether to stop, but a shower of exploding brick fragments pelting his head turned his attention upward. Megan crashed down an adjacent foot track twenty yards up the mountainside. Dirt and bits of rock showered from her rear tire as she powered along a narrow path with a row of shacks to her right and the roofs of the next row to her left. Wolfgang couldn’t see the attackers behind her, but dust exploded from the shanties next to her as bullets zipped next to her head.
Turn! Turn now!
Megan turned, yanking the bike to the left and flying off the track into midair. The bike rocketed fifteen feet out from the mountainside, her red hair torn in the wind like a crimson flag. Then she slammed into the roofs of the next row of shacks, sending another shower of shingles and dust exploding into the air.
Wolfgang gunned his bike, shooting forward as a bullet whizzed past his head. Megan shot off the low roof of the shack at the end of the line and flew, falling a full eight feet before her bike slammed into the track directly ahead of him.
Man, she’s got some nerve.
Wolfgang cranked the throttle again, racing to catch up with her. In the near distance, a four-way intersection appeared between the shacks, with the path ahead leading toward the east and an intersecting track leading down toward Rio to the left or farther up the mountainside to their right.
Megan hesitated a few yards from the intersection, then turned her bike cautiously toward Rio. Only a moment before she committed to the turn, an explosion rocked the favela, and smoke rose from that direction. Megan jerked the bike straight ahead again and flew across the intersection, catching air before she disappeared between shacks.
Wolfgang glanced to his left as his own bike rocketed across the intersection, and he saw Red Command soldiers moving up the hill, brandishing rifles. When they saw his bike, several of them pointed and shouted, then the lot of them opened fire.
Bullets smacked against the sides of the shacks closest to the intersection as Wolfgang blew down the next street. At every gap between buildings, Wolfgang looked to the left, and every time he saw more Red Command fighters running next to their current path, hurrying ahead to cut off the dirt bikes. For the moment, speed was on Wolfgang and Megan’s side, but as the track grew muddier and the shacks on either side grew closer, it became impossible to blast down the road at full speed.
We’ve got to switch things up.
Wolfgang’s mind spun, desperately searching for another way out. They needed another path down the mountainside, or barring that, a track that led into another favela without Red Command presence.
Then a new sound joined the clamor of battle, soft at first, but pronounced—a deep whoop whoop whoop that grew louder with the passing seconds. At first it seemed to come from behind him, and he thought it might be some kind of heavy cannon designed to blast through the shacks and blow them to hell. Then he realized the sound was actually coming from the sky itself.
Wolfgang looked up and saw a small black helicopter rocketing over the favelas, flying just high enough to avoid small-arms fire from the Red Command. It wove back and forth, never coming closer than a thousand yards from the heart of the conflict but always circling back to orbit over Vila Cruzeiro. White letters adorned its tail, and Wolfgang couldn’t see any weapons mounted next to the glass windshield.
Had the Brazilian military deployed an overwatch aircraft? Surely the Red Command didn’t own a helicopter. Maybe it belonged to a Brazilian news station and they were risking their lives to deliver a clear image of the erupting battle in Vila Cruzeiro.
Or . . .
Wolfgang twisted the throttle and surged ahead, catching up to Megan and riding only a yard behind.
“Megan!” he shouted.
She glanced over her shoulder but didn’t relax off the throttle.
“Up! Up the mountain!”
She frowned. “What?”
“We’ve got to get up the mountain!”
Megan shook her head. “There’s no way out! It’s a dead end.”
A hail of bullets ripped out of an alleyway to their left and assaulted the brick side of a shack as they both ducked and plowed ahead.
“Trust me!” Wolfgang said. Without waiting for her to agree, he took the next right and shot up the mountainside. All around him were clusters of shacks leaning in next to the narrow track but growing thinner as he progressed upward. Megan closed in behind him, but then the throaty rumble of her bike was joined by what sounded like a third and maybe a fourth motorcycle.
Wolfgang’s fears were confirmed as the scream of multiple dirt bikes joined his and Megan’s. He didn’t bother to look over his shoulder, already knowing what was closing in behind them as he twisted the throttle and felt it stop at max speed.
Brick and metal flashed by on all sides. The sun, now fully risen over the ocean, blazed into his eyes and forced him to squint, but Wolfgang didn’t stop. After a quarter mile, the favela vanished altogether, and the dirt track fed onto a paved road three times as wide as anything in the favela but still not broad enough for two lanes. The houses that clustered next to the favela tracks were replaced by tall jungle trees that leaned over the road and blocked out the brightening sky.
Wolfgang turned up the mountain, huddling close to the bike as popping sounds rang out from behind him. They were dirt bike engines backfiring, he hoped, but more likely gunshots. He searched between the trees for any sign of the sky or helicopter. The sound of the rotor still pounded in the distance, but trees now leaned over the roadway and hid them from view of the pilot.
I need someplace flat. Someplace visible.
Wolfgang’s mind clicked with a solution, and he committed to it without second-guessing himself. He didn’t have time to look over his shoulder for Megan. He didn’t have time to worry about the growing sounds of other dirt bikes closing in on him, focusing instead on the road, the trees, and the signs that directed him to turn left and then right.
In a blur, the mountainside grew steeper and the road wider. He passed park benches and bus stops, then the terminus of a sky lift that brought tourists up from Rio. Early morning workers gathered around the sky lift and the bus stop, apparently unfazed by the conflict in the favela only a couple miles away. Wolfgang wanted to shout at them to take cover, to hide from the horde of dirt bike–riding thugs hurtling toward them, but he didn’t have time.
He jerked the bike to the left at an intersection, passing a low building that featured trinket shops and a couple local restaurants calibrated for tourists. A motor whined to his left, and Megan pulled alongside him. She cast him a worried and confused glance, but he nodded reassurance and then powered ahead again.
The trees cleared almost as quickly as they had appeared, opening up onto the rocky crest of the mountainside. Rio stretched out in front of them, with the bay laid out like a painting and mountains rising beyond it. On both sides, the peak of the mountain dropped away into emptiness, with certain death awaiting any driver careless enough to slide off the street. Behind them, Wolfgang heard the roar of the pursuing bikes, as loud as a horde of bees closing in by the second, ready to consume them.
But salvation lay directly ahead, where the statue of Christ the Redeemer towered out of the mountaintop.
The road ended abruptly in a parking lot, with walking paths and stairs leading up to the several platforms encircling the base of the statue. Wolfgang ground to a halt and slid the bike into the curb, feeling Rose jolt and sink her fingers into his side in panic. He jumped off the bike, tearing her along with him, and snatched the captured pistol f
rom his belt.
Megan ducked, and Wolfgang fired his last three shots at the oncoming pack of fighters. When they saw the gun, they twisted out of the line of fire, crashing into each other and grinding to a halt. None of the three shots found a mark, but they sufficiently stalled the progress of their pursuers.
Wolfgang grabbed Rose by the hand and dashed up the nearest set of stairs, with Megan close behind. He couldn’t hear the helicopter anymore, but it was too late to change his plan. They were at the top of the mountain, with nowhere to run and nowhere to hide.
Wolfgang broke through the turnstiles blocking the path up the stairs, then he helped Rose over as Megan twisted through like a child. He couldn’t tell if she’d figured out his plan or was following him on blind faith. They cleared the next flight of stairs and broke into an open run past gift shops and more trinket booths, bursting onto the top platform laid out at the feet of the Redeemer.
Brazil lay exposed all around them. Green jungle rolled over mountaintops and reached for the horizon, while the Atlantic Ocean glimmered to the east, alight by the rising sun. The golden glow of that sunrise bathed Rio de Janeiro in the kiss of a new day.
Had it been another day without the threat of imminent death hot on their heels, Wolfgang would’ve stopped to breathe in the moment and the view. He would’ve held Megan and kissed her again and maybe said some stupid things about love.
But he ignored it all, letting go of Rose and looking skyward. He held out a hand to block the sun and searched for the helicopter. He couldn’t see or hear it, but the clamor of the approaching Red Command grew louder from the turnstiles.
Overwhelming desperation clouded his mind, and he ran to the far side of the platform and searched the sky again. Still, nothing.
“There!” Megan pointed toward the sea, where a column of smoke rising from the favela obscured the horizon.
Wolfgang squinted, leaning forward and shielding his eyes, and then he saw it. Reaching into his pocket, he wrapped his fingers around the flare gun, jerked it out, and cocked it in one motion. Then, he pointed it toward the sky and pulled the trigger.
13
The flare rocketed skyward in a shower of orange flame and sparks, soaring hundreds of feet and casting a tail of fire in its wake. It was a bright, desperate call for help.
For a moment, Wolfgang thought the helicopter had ignored it and was turning back toward the city. It was difficult to see through the cloud of smoke and glare of the sun, but the aircraft didn’t fly their way. It hung in the air on the far side of Rio—possibly hovering, or possibly growing more distant. Wolfgang leaned forward and uttered a soft prayer for help, just in case Christ the Redeemer was listening.
For seconds, the helicopter stuck in the sky like a black speck, then it swung into a wide bank before dropping its nose and shooting straight for the Redeemer. Gunshots cracked from behind them, and Megan and Wolfgang dashed for cover at the base of the statue, pulling Rose in next to them as the surge of Red Command thugs broke onto the platform and opened up with their assault weapons.
Bullets smacked against the base of the statue, sending bits of rock and concrete exploding in all directions. Wolfgang covered Rose’s head and pulled Megan close, now completely helpless against the onslaught. With every burst of gunfire, the bullets smacked closer to their sheltered position, and the voices of the fighters grew louder.
The chatter of a rifle joined the thunder of the helicopter overhead, and they looked up to see the side door of the aircraft slung open a hundred yards away. Kevin’s unmistakable form knelt just inside, a rifle clamped into his shoulder.
Wolfgang pulled Megan and Rose closer as the gunfire filled his ears. At least one Red Command soldier screamed, then a rifle clattered to the ground. Then Wolfgang saw Edric join Kevin at the helicopter’s door. He reared back like a baseball pitcher and slung a small, black object toward the platform. It smacked into the concrete as the helicopter shot overhead, then Wolfgang heard a pop, followed by a stream of smoke.
Within seconds, a grey cloud consumed the platform, blocking out the sun and choking the Red Command until their guns fell silent. The helicopter’s rotor blades grew distant, but Wolfgang knew they’d be back.
“Come on!” he shouted.
Megan bolted to her feet, and together they ran toward the edge of the platform. Wolfgang looked up once and saw the face of the Redeemer high above, staring down at the city with care and compassion. Wolfgang breathed a silent prayer of thanks, then stopped at the railing and looked upward. Random potshots from the soldiers behind them rang into the air as the smoke blocked their view and disoriented their ranks.
Wolfgang heard the helicopter again and felt the smoke blown away as the beat of the rotor blades descended on them from overhead. The belly of the chopper hovered fifty feet above them, and a rope ladder with metal steps fell from its side, crashing against the platform’s flagstone surface.
Wolfgang motioned for Megan to go up first, and she climbed until Rose had enough room to follow. The girl shook her head, her cheeks pale.
Wolfgang gave her shoulder a reassuring squeeze. “Climb up, now. It’s time to go home.”
She hesitated once more, but then harsh voices shouted from near the statue, and that was all the convincing she required. Rose climbed several rungs up, then Wolfgang put his feet on the bottom rung and gave a thumbs-up to the helicopter.
The chopper roared and swung to the left, lifting them over the rail and into midair. A bullet hissed past Wolfgang’s face, and another shot obliterated one of the metal steps, but none of them struck home. Within seconds, they were hundreds of yards away from the Redeemer, riding high above Rio.
And this time, Wolfgang took a moment to breathe it in.
The chopper flew to the outskirts of the city, touching down at the airport Charlie Team had landed at only twelve hours previously. Wolfgang stumbled to the edge of a hangar and rested his hand against the metal wall, feeling as if he’d just stepped off a swaying boat deck and could still feel the waves beneath his feet.
Megan puked in the dirt nearby, and Rose stood by herself and just cried. Wolfgang regained his balance, then looked up to see Lyle, Kevin, and Edric running toward them while the rotors of the helicopter spun to life again, and the aircraft soared away. Kevin and Edric looked rough—dirty and tired with torn clothes. Lyle’s shirt was stained with sweat, and his hair was a tangled mess.
But they’re all here. They’re all alive.
“Wolfgang, thank God,” Edric said.
To Wolfgang’s surprise, Edric wrapped him in a bear hug. He stood awkwardly and then returned the hug, patting Edric on the back a couple times. “All good, Eddie. All good.”
Edric released him with a sheepish nod, then repeated the procedure with Megan before turning to Rose.
As soon as the girl saw him, her whole countenance changed. She flung herself on Edric as if he were the last person on the planet. “Edric!”
Edric returned the embrace, and Wolfgang felt a twinge of surprise. He didn’t expect Rose to recognize any of them, but she clearly knew Edric quite well.
Does Edric know the director personally?
“Nice work,” Kevin muttered, jarring Wolfgang from his thoughts.
“Thanks,” Wolfgang said, meeting Kevin’s gaze. There was a cautious respect in Kevin’s eyes he hadn’t seen before, still clouded by the haze of battle. The look made Wolfgang uncomfortable, and he redirected the conversation. “Where did you find a helicopter?”
“After we got out of the favela last night, we needed a way to look for you without getting caught up in a warzone. The director hired a local guy.”
“He sure got out of here quick.”
“Probably because he wasn’t supposed to be flying that low over Rio.”
“Thanks for the flare, Lyle,” Lyle said, miming Wolfgang’s voice and making a face. “That really saved my bacon!”
Wolfgang laughed and slapped Lyle on the back, but he wasn’t looking at
him. Megan stood ten feet away, drinking from a bottle, and when she met his gaze and lowered the bottle, they stared at each other. Wolfgang’s mind traveled back to that favela shack when she kissed him. How she leaned forward and embraced him with nothing but her lips. And how the whole world and all its imminent dangers had just . . . faded away.
Wolfgang saw her now, dirty and battered, and wanted to run to her. He wanted to sweep her up, kiss her again, hold her close, and finally be himself with her.
But Megan turned away.
“When we land, the director will be present to meet his daughter. Everybody give him some space, okay?”
Edric stood at the front of Charlie Team’s Gulfstream, both hands on the back of a seat. After leaving Rio, they flew directly back to the States and were now ten minutes from their customary private landing strip outside of Saint Louis. Wolfgang had tried to sleep on the flight, but in spite of his exhaustion, his weary mind wouldn’t shut down. He kept thinking about the favelas and all the bullets that whizzed only inches from his head. He thought about Rose chained up like something in a horror movie, beaten and bruised, abused by animals who called themselves men.
But mostly, he thought about Megan. During the ten-hour flight, he made multiple attempts to catch her gaze or find excuses to speak to her. Megan avoided him, staring out the window for long periods of time in a silence so brooding that even Edric noticed and knelt beside her for a moment, putting a hand on hers and whispering something to her.
Eventually, Megan retired to the aft cabin where Rose slept, and Wolfgang sat alone and thought about their kiss. He thought about her smile and her little joke about him being a bad kisser.
