Before we dive into chapter four (which has an exciting ending but isn't really as action-packed as I might have made it out to be - sorry :/), I wish to thank everyone who has reviewed/followed/favourited my story so far! :D Your guys' support makes me really happy and also inspires me to write better so that you'll continue to enjoy my story. I have tried to thank everyone individually by PM but there are a few I couldn't reach: UneMouette- Thank you so much for reviewing, and I know what you mean - it's nice when an author's done their research. I've tried my best with all the sailing stuff, but I really don't know anything about it. So thanks for pointing out the inconsistency, I'll try to be more realistic in the future, I promise. And really, I don't mind, if you see anything else that's inaccurate please feel free to point it out! :) The Inner Titan- Thanks for your lovely review (you were the 1st, congratulations!) and also thank you for the follow. You're awesome! Differentbutunique- Thanks so much for the favourite and the follow- you really made my day.

Alright... *rubs hands together* Here we go!

CHAPTER FOUR

FATE STRIKES

Monique awoke when the early morning sun smacked her face. She squinted and blinked open her eyes, trying to make out her surroundings as sleep cleared from her mind. She rubbed her face, frowning. After a moment of abject panic, she remembered why she was curled up in an armchair in some stranger's hotel room.

"Tintin?" She stood up and tossed his coat on the bed, then dug for a comb in her bag to brush out her hair. Now that she was clean, her hair shone copper as the sun caught it in just the right way.

"Good morning, Monique," Tintin called from the hallway. "Did you sleep well?" He walked back into the room, grabbing more things out of cabinets. In his arms he held a duffel bag that Monique hadn't noticed the previous night.

"I suppose…"

"Splendid. We'll leave right away. Are you ready?" Tintin tucked his coat under his arm.

"I was born ready." She gave him a smile, throwing her bag over her shoulder.

"Good answer. Well, then, follow me." He set off down the hotel hallway, holding his suitcase and duffel in one arm and his coat over the other. Snowy followed at his side. Monique finished brushing out her hair and jogged to catch up.

"You're a fast walker," she said.

"Thank you." His mind was clearly somewhere else. "Let's see… I checked out, paid the tab…"

"Aren't we going to eat breakfast?" Monique asked as they passed by the hotel restaurant. Her stomach piped up in agreement.

"No time for that," said Tintin. Then he tilted his head, remembering something, and tossed a tangerine over his shoulder to her, seemingly from nowhere. "Have this," he said as she reached out and caught it with two hands.

She dug her fingernails into the gleaming peel, its tart scent released in a tiny spray of juice. Mmm. She bit into a wedge. It tasted like sunlight; sweet and golden and wonderful. Then again, when you're hungry enough, everything tastes wonderful.

As the sun came out into the world, so did the market; stands were just beginning to be set up in the cobbled streets. The smells from the tents were unbelievable as the food vendors prepared their wares. Clouds of smoke blossomed from the grills where meat sizzled, and the bright fragrance of pineapple came from the frenzied chopping in the fruit stands. Monique wound her way between preoccupied shoppers after Tintin, always three steps behind. Is he trying to lose me in the crowd or something? she thought.

Within a few minutes, they found themselves in front of a huge airfield at the edge of town. A hangar stood in the middle of it all, and off to the side sat a squat building that appeared to be the offices. Tintin opened the gate and walked towards the offices, Monique and Snowy trailing after.

"Closed until tomorrow!" Tintin cried, reading a sign that hung in the dusty window. He kept talking, but Monique wasn't listening. She and Snowy wandered into the open hangar. Right away her eye was caught by a small open-air plane sitting dead centre. It was a shining cherry red, Monique's favourite colour. She climbed up into it and admired the interior; black leather seats and, most interesting, a complicated panel of controls.

"Hey, Tintin, over here!" she yelled. Snowy, pacing beside the plane, gave a bark. Tintin hurried into the hangar and seemed surprised to see her inside the cockpit of the four-seater.

"Isn't it perfect?" she said, patting its gleaming side as he approached the plane.

"Yes, if only there were a pilot around to fly it for us." He stood beside the plane, looking up at her, arms crossed.

"Can you fly?" Monique asked, pushing some of the buttons. She pulled at the stick, earning a disapproving look from Tintin.

"Yes, I can, but that doesn't matter," he said. "We can't just-"

"What do you two think you're doing?" a voice boomed in Spanish from behind them.

Tintin and Monique whirled around to see a tall black-haired man in a pilot's uniform swaggering towards them, goggles hanging around his neck. A bushy moustache twitched below his slim nose, as if it too were suspicious.

"Good day to you, sir. We wish to rent a plane. Are you a pilot employed here?" said Tintin in perfect Spanish.

"Yes I am, I came to take that 'closed' sign because we're open today," the man answered in English, as he had detected the accent with which Tintin spoke. He turned toward Monique in the cockpit. "And you can stay out of the plane until you've paid, gracias."

She clambered out reluctantly and stood next to Tintin.

"Can you fly us to Belem, Brazil?" Tintin asked.

The pilot let out a soft whistle. "What are you going all the way up there for?"

"We'll keep our business to ourselves, but can you fly us there?"

"Si, yes. Twenty pesos an hour." The pilot took a rag from his pocket and wiped down the nose of the plane.

"Twenty pesos an hour!" Tintin frowned. "That's a bit steep."

"It is what it is. Would you like me to fly you there or not?"

"How long of a flight to Belem, in this plane?" Tintin put a hand on the wing.

"About two days, maybe less... but listen, I will give you a deal." The pilot stopped wiping and turned to Tintin. "For entire trip... 260 pesos. And I'll fly through the night. That's a very good deal. You pay now, otherwise, no deal."

"I'll take it." Tintin dug out his wallet and handed over the money. "I'm Tintin, by the way."

"Alvaro Vega." The pilot offered his hand and they shook.

"I'm Monique." She put up her hand briefly, and Alvaro nodded. Monique was glad he didn't move to shake her hand; his fingers were black with grease.

"I have a little chores, then we leave. One stop in the night to refuel; I will bring extra fuel. Otherwise, no stops." Alvaro busied himself with inspecting the plane and fiddling inside the engine. He pushed a large barrel of plane fuel into a storage space in the side. He stood back and wiped his greasy fingers on the rag then, satisfied, pulled the goggles over his eyes and climbed up behind the controls.

Tintin, Monique, and Snowy followed him into the plane and made themselves comfortable. Tintin took the seat right behind the pilot, shoving his duffel and suitcase underneath. Monique settled into one of the two back seats. Snowy stood on the seat beside her, front paws on the side of the plane, looking out ahead of them and panting. Oh boy, another plane ride! These always turn out interesting, he thought.

"Here we go!" said Alvaro as the plane jolted forward, then rolled on out of the hangar. Wind lashed at Monique's cheeks with growing sting as they gained speed, running with a bump and a shudder over the cracked pavement of the runway. The fence at the edge of the airfield seemed to be coming too close, but right before they reached it Alvaro tugged at the stick and the plane swooped upwards. Monique watched over the side with a breathless grin, as they took higher and higher to the sky. Buenos Aires shrank beneath them, until it resembled a tiny doll city and the people in it smaller than ants.

After the initial excitement of take-off, Snowy sniffed about the floor of the plane for anything interesting. Monique contented herself with watching Argentina as it rolled past beneath them.

It was the first time in years that she'd left the city. She had learned to love it; the music, the locals with their dark eyes and wide smiles, the dancing women, the swish of their skirts. Even walking the blocks between her neighbourhood and the nice side of town, watching the streets become cleaner, brighter. And people wore their hearts on their sleeves in Buenos Aires. She'd never gotten used to that. Gee, if only Alex could see me up here... The thought bit her back, and she shook it away.

They kept flying for the rest of the day. Monique shared a few carrots she had stolen from the market with Snowy, who didn't really appreciate vegetables but would eat anything if hungry enough. Neither Tintin nor Alvaro appeared to be getting hungry at all. Monique decided they were probably the type who didn't eat much.

Somehow, the hours slipped away into late evening, and the cool breeze biting at Monique's cheeks grew more mean-spirited. She slipped the notebook she'd been writing in back inside her bag and sank down in her seat, feeling her eyelids grow heavy. The hum of the engine, along with the gentle dip and rise of their course, churned out a soothing, consistent whirr, as the plane was slowly wrapped in dusky sunset light. Monique let her eyes fall closed.

She awoke the next morning to bright sunlight and silence. She stretched, Snowy hopping off her lap indignantly in response.

"Good morning, Tintin," said Monique, leaning forward in her seat. He started awake and looked around blearily for a moment.

"Oh, good morning," he said, smiling, but the smile dropped quickly. "Why are we landed?" He whirled towards the pilot's seat. "Where's Alvaro?"

The front seat held nothing but Alvaro's helmet; empty. All around the plane stretched an expanse of desert, course beige sand lifted by the winds licking over the landscape.

"Where are we?" Monique asked, a strange feeling of dread slowly settling into her stomach. Tintin hopped out of the plane.

"Alvaro!" he called. "Alvaro? Where are you?"

No sound returned but the windy silence of the desert, swallowing Tintin's voice in its vastness.

"Alvaro!"

"Tintin, it's no use. He's not here." Monique climbed down out of the plane behind him, carrying Snowy. She set him down and the dog ran up to the wheels of the plane to relieve himself. Finally! Snowy thought.

"But why... why would he leave?" Tintin shook his head. "I don't like the look of this at all."

"Where are we?" Monique asked again.

Tintin leaned down and gathered a small amount of dirt between his fingers. He sniffed it and touched the dirt to his tongue. Monique raised her eyebrows. I might be hungry, but I'm not desperate enough to eat dirt just yet. Tintin wiped his fingers off on his plus fours and nodded.

"Yes, we're in the salt flats of north-western Argentina. The Salar de Arizaro. Can't you smell the saltiness in the air?"

Monique took a deep breath and noticed that the air was thick with a strange salty essence. Snowy sniffed at the ground and gave it a few experimental licks.

"No, Snowy, stop that. You'll only make yourself thirsty." Tintin looked around. "We must be close to the Paraguay border. Why would Alvaro disappear? Where would he go? Is there a note in the cockpit, anything at all?"

Monique climbed back into the plane and looked. "Nothing." She shook her head, slipping back out and onto the ground. She spotted a small brown square of leather lying on the ground nearby.

"What's this?" She picked it up. "A wallet?"

"That's my wallet." Tintin narrowed his eyes, held out a hand and took it, tilting his head. Monique watched his mouth drop open as he opened it and considered the contents. "Crumbs!"

"What is it?"

"My money's gone!" Tintin looked around as if it might've just fallen out. Monique gasped.

"We've been robbed! Alvaro! That cheat, that good-for-nothing weasel! Boy, if I ever lay my hands on him, he'll wish he was never born!" Her fingers curled into fists.

"How did he get into my pocket and take my wallet without me waking up?" said Tintin in a perturbed murmur.

"He's probably a professional pick-pocket," said Monique, knitting her brow with a scowl. Tintin snapped his fingers.

"Of course! How could I be so stupid? The airfield really was closed, but to Alvaro we were the perfect opportunity to make a little money on the side. Perhaps he doesn't even work as a pilot there. And I was foolish enough to fall asleep. At least I always carry around some spare money in my coat just in case something like this happens. Belgian francs, but money nonetheless."

Monique cocked an eyebrow. "Nothing like being prepared, I guess."

"Well, this is a fine mess." Tintin crossed his arms and sighed. A barren landscape stretched in every direction around them. "Stranded in the middle of the desert with no pilot."

"No, we aren't." Monique perked up.

"Yes, we are."

"No, we aren't! We have you!" She broke into a smile. "You're a pilot!"

"I'm not a pilot. I just know how to fly a plane."

"What's the difference?"

"A license."

"Oh, come on, Tintin. Who's going to pull us over and ask to see your license at 5,000 feet?"

"We can't steal the plane! Who would fly it back to Buenos Aires?"

"I think..." Monique leaned against the side of the plane, grinning. "It would find its way back somehow, if the people at the airfield really wanted it. Besides, Alvaro stole your money! That alone more than justifies stealing the plane."

"It does not."

"What else are we going to do?"

Tintin thought for a moment, rubbing his chin. "Alright," he said at last. "I mean, we don't have much of a choice, do we?"

Monique shared a look of triumph with Snowy.

"But before I forget..." Tintin climbed back up into the plane, took the money out of his inner coat pocket and tucked it into his wallet, which went into his pants pocket. He heaved his beige duffel over the side and followed it out of the plane, balancing several maps and his compass in his arms.

Tintin sat next to his duffel and spread the maps out on the ground. "Right," he said. Monique plopped down next to him, and Snowy came over to walk across the maps, leaving dusty paw prints behind. Tintin brushed them away with a shake of his head. "Let's decide on our course. Hm... The fastest way to Brazil is that direction..." He shifted the map to properly orient their position, while referencing the compass in his hands.

"What's in the duffel?" Monique asked.

"Some sandwiches and water... I was saving them for later, but I thought you might be hungry now."

"What? You had sandwiches and you didn't tell me? I've been starving for nothing!" Monique zipped open the duffel and dug around until she found a brown paper bag. Inside it were the sandwiches, of which she selected one at random and tore into it. Snowy begged until he was rewarded with a bite.

"Well, it's a straight north-eastern course over the Amazon rainforest to Belem. But the problem is landing. We need a strip of unpopulated beach..." Tintin muttered, examining the map closely.

"How can you tell if it's unpopulated or not?" Monique asked through a mouthful of sandwich. "Do they have the little people painted on there?"

Tintin shot her a look.

"Would you like a sandwich?" She smirked and held the bag out to him.

"I suppose I better have one now before you and Snowy eat them all." Tintin took one and went back to the map. Monique dug further into his duffel and pulled out a bottle of water. She drank some, then poured the rest into Snowy's open mouth like a waterfall, though the stream often missed and hit the dog's nose or the dusty ground beside him. Monique giggled as Snowy lapped up the droplets from his face with a long pink tongue.

Tintin frowned, and without looking up he said, "Don't waste any more of the water, you two, we have to conserve it."

Monique stuck out her tongue at the back of his head. Then, bored, she amused herself by taking inventory of the other contents of Tintin's duffel. There was nothing exciting; his coat and some clothes. Monique held up yet another sky blue sweater.

"Is this the only shirt you wear?" she asked Tintin, laughing.

"Huh?" He turned around. "Put that back, please."

Monique suppressed a smile and folded the shirt back up, tucking it inside his duffel and zipping it. As Tintin folded up the maps, Monique climbed up to the plane and leaned over to slip the bag of sandwiches and a bottle of water into her own bag. She caught Snowy's eye and gave him a wink. I'm beginning to like this girl, the dog thought.

"Ah!" Tintin snapped his fingers. "I almost forgot. We need to fill up the plane with the extra fuel. One moment." He slid the maps into their compartment, the compass back into his pocket, then wriggled out of the plane once again.

Monique followed and watched as he opened the storage compartment and attempted to heave a large metal barrel out. The heavy, unwieldy cylinder fell from Tintin's arms, and jumped back as it landed with a 'thud!' on the ground and rolled forward. He pushed it upright and considered the hole on the lid.

"I bet that's where the hose goes in," Monique observed.

"Do you think so?" Tintin said in such a dry manner that it took Monique a moment to realise he was teasing her. He stuck his head inside the storage compartment and pulled out a strange black object with a long hose attached.

"A pump." He held it up. Before he could reach the barrel, Monique took the pump out of his hands.

"No, I don't think it goes on the barrel. I think it goes on the plane and the hose goes into the barrel." She crouched and went underneath the plane. "Now where is the fuel valve on this thing...?"

Tintin shook his head and went after her. "No, no, no. The fuel tanks are in the wings. And the pump definitely goes on the barrel."

"In the wings? They aren't, either! That's just dumb."

"I'm sorry, but that's where they are." Tintin took the pump out of her hands. "Here, let me have this, I'm sure it goes on the barrel..."

Monique rolled her eyes once he'd turned around. "That's never going to work," she told him.

Tintin turned back to her, affixing the pump onto the barrel's hole, and raised his eyebrows. "How many times have you fuelled a plane before?"

"How many times have you?"

"I'm just using my common sense." He shrugged, pulling out the hose.

"Are you saying I'm not?"

"I can't speak for what sense you're using."

"Oh, that's the limit. Fine. You do it, and see where your 'common sense' gets you." She stomped away and climbed back into the plane. She sat in her seat and listened to his progress, giving the careful appearance that she was petting Snowy without a care what Tintin was doing. There was muttering, a sudden hiss and then a yelp. Splashing noises and more muttering. Monique smiled.

A few minutes later, Tintin climbed back into the plane. The malodorous scent of plane fuel followed him in a smoky sweet cloud, and his fingers and shirt showed splotches of red; the stain of the fuel. He sat behind the controls for a moment, his silence daring Monique to say something, but she didn't. She went on petting Snowy until he cleared his throat and said;

"I fuelled the plane. It was quite easy, actually."

Monique nodded. "I could tell."

Tintin pulled the helmet and goggles over his head and began fiddling with the controls. "I got our course figured out, and I also have an idea of where we can land, so we're all set. There's only one more thing, to actually fly the plane..." he was muttering now, and Monique leaned forward to see what he was doing with the controls. After a few switches, the engine gave a hiccup, then rattled to life beneath them.

"Ah, that's it!" Tintin pushed the stick forward and the plane responded with a rush of movement, starting its roll down the dusty runway before them. It picked up speed, until the wind was roaring in their ears, and Tintin jolted the stick upward, the plane rising into the air in response. They quickly gained altitude after that, the gentle hills below them shrinking into ripples on a dusty beige puddle.

"There we are. We did it! We stole a plane!" Tintin laughed, slightly delirious from adrenaline.

"Hurray! Now do one of those barrel roll things!"

"No, certainly not. We are flying straight on to Brazil."

The day passed, calm and quiet, the soundtrack a purring engine. Monique entertained herself by playing with Snowy or doodling nonsense in her journal. After sharing another sandwich with Snowy for lunch, she leaned forward and peppered Tintin with questions about the plane;

"What does that button do?"

"I don't know."

"Can I press it?"

"No."

"What about that button?"

Eventually he suggested she let him just fly the plane and Monique, satisfied that he had been sufficiently annoyed, leaned back and returned to her journal.

What felt like years later, Tintin interrupted her composition of a ridiculous poem about Snowy by calling over his shoulder.

"We crossed over Paraguay. Now we're above the Amazon rainforest. Look!"
Monique tilted her gaze over the side to see the emerald canopy of the rainforest like a leafy ocean beneath them. She imagined monkeys swinging in the vines far below, and huge snakes winding around the ropy branches. Her mind went to a book she recalled reading once, or perhaps it was read to her, filled with colonies of wolves, a black panther and a bear... the title came to her suddenly; The Jungle Book. Monique contented herself with imagining how the rainforest below was just like The Jungle Book, where the wolves called to each other in the dead of night and birds sang in the day.

"Great Snakes!"

Monique was jolted from her quiet reverie sometime later by Tintin's outburst. He went on, panic in his voice, "There's something wrong with the engine."

Monique leaned forwards in her seat to look at the controls. A red light was flashing, never a good sign. "What do you think is wrong?"

"I don't know, but it's not responding very well to the stick anymore." Tintin jammed a few buttons but, in reply, the plane let out an odd yelp and a bang. It began to fly slower, sputtering angrily.

"Now can I press the button?" Monique asked.

"No!" Then, more to himself, he said, "This doesn't look good. We need to land right away." He reached for a switch to drop the landing gear then stopped, probably realising just when Monique did that landing would be impossible. She looked out on the surrounding landscape and saw only rainforest, a tall green carpet of treetops reaching up to the endless sky.

"Golly, what a sight!" she murmured.

"But I can't land," Tintin cried, pushing buttons and pulling at the stick with all his strength. The plane only gave a stomach-lurching drop of a few feet and continued to rattle as it picked up pace toward the forest.

Tintin let go of the stick. "We're going to crash," he said.

A current of debilitating terror washed over Monique's mind. She watched, numbly, as Tintin turned around, fumbling about under seats and in pockets for parachutes. He found only one. He held it up, set his jaw, and pushed it towards her.

"Monique." His eyes were locked on hers, unwavering. "Take this and put it on. Keep Snowy in your arms. Then get out of the plane and hold on to the side. Pull the cord when I tell you to." His voice was fast, struggling to be heard over the rattle of the plane.

"But- I'm not going to leave you. I can't-" She tried and failed to string words together. This was happening too fast to think. She felt regret, useless now, for having annoyed him earlier.

"You won't, but you have to trust me." He paused, demanded her gaze. "Do you trust me?"

Monique's throat seemed caught. The world jerked and stretched into a never-ending tunnel of blue sky above and green trees beneath, a tunnel through which they would hurtle forever. Caught between fear and death.

"Yes." Her voice was just loud enough to be heard. With that word, Monique's muscles began acting for her paralysed brain. She put the parachute on her back and grabbed a stunned Snowy with one arm. With the other she climbed onto the outside of the plane and held on. She moved automatically, like a robot being directed by someone else.

"When I say 'now', pull the cord," Tintin said to her, but just as he stood up, about to reach for her hand, they began crashing through the canopy. The branches broke as they hit the plane's nose, leaves flying into their faces like a horde of vicious, sharp-beaked birds.

Suddenly, before either could react, the cord was jerked backward by a branch catching its small loop, a chance occurrence. One split second of fatal bad luck.

Tintin reached for her hand. For a single space in time their fingers touched, but then they were jerked apart as the expanding parachute caught the branches, pulling Monique and Snowy into the thick green leaves. Her stomach dropped out of her body and fell hundreds of feet down to the ground. In her mind she was already falling, the scream already tugging itself from her lips. She struggled in the parachute, and before her brain could hardly process the image, watched Tintin and the plane disappear further into the green. The velocity of the plane, a giant metal insect, tugged itself down into the forest.

Over Snowy's urgent barks, one word reached her, "Monique!", and then she wriggled out of the parachute, clutched Snowy tight to her chest. They fell through the sea of cutting, biting leaves and branches, arms grabbing out to catch the girl and dog, stop their tumbling descent to the bottom of the green ocean. Monique wanted to scream, but couldn't open her mouth.

She closed her eyes and kept her voice coiled in her throat, praying to see daylight again.

My very first cliffhanger EVER! Hehehehe Now I know why authors use them so much, I just got a strange feeling of devilish joy.

Review? Pretty pretty please with a quiff on top? :)