Authors Note. This does get a bit nasty toward the end of the chapter, be warned, graphic and unpleasant violence, with few redeeming features:)
The plane...
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The Cessna Corvalis flew steadily through the night, skimming the trees of the Gila Forest of New Mexico. John had been frightened silly by Cameron flying so low. So far, she had missed both the trees and the constant rocky outcrops that dotted the Stygian gloom. To him, the land was a chaotic mix of murderous rocks and trees; to Cameron, merely something to fly past and over. With a HUD that responded instantly to instructions generated by her internal GPS altimeter, she was the ultimate "fly by wire" EFIS.
Cameron's sense of balance was controlled by her internal systems, which were electronic, not muscular or pressure derived. John's eardrums were giving him a seriously hard time. The plane was flying low over the forest, lower still when an arroyo or canyon was below, and then rising abruptly when the trees or rocky outcrops appeared.
Then, about two hours after the contretemps with Fort Huachuca control, they levelled out. John could see a road, lit with light traffic and sales outposts running north across the land beneath them. Farther on, he could just see the outline of Shiprock medical centre to the north.
Feeling groggy and pretty nauseous, John asked Cameron, "Not much farther?"
Cameron pointed out Shiprock and said, "About ten minutes. My power and influence as POTUS lasted a little longer than I expected." They both laughed out loud. John imagined his Platinum Princess stalking regally around the White House.
Cameron prepared the run in to Shiprock, steadying the plane and trimming it for landing. Suddenly she wrenched the yoke hard left and up. There was a tremendous explosion on the right side of the plane. John looked on in shocked horror as the outer part of the wing disintegrated and the engine block that it encased smashed up against the side of the cockpit, hitting Cameron in the head. The smell of kerosene filled his nose and the plane started to spin slowly, descending rapidly. Cameron was knocked out. Whether she was permanently disabled or it was a 120-second time out, he didn't know.
John's brain was racing, what the fuck was he going to do about this? They had no parachutes. Anyway, according to the altimeter, they were at 800 feet. Seconds from complete disaster, he thought grimly. So much for fate, I'm going to die in a burning plane wreck before Judgement Day even gets here.
The plane took a further violent leap across the sky and started to spin lazily in the opposite direction. Won't be long now.
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Humanity
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Constanza wiped Sarah clean after her visit to the rest room. Momentarily nonplussed at someone wiping her bottom gently, like a child, Sarah was moved by the kindness of the simple act Aware of the lack of dignity involved but striving to permit whatever was left, Constanza washed Sarah clean all over afterwards. She then removed Sarah's urine-soaked jeans and underpants, rinsed them out in the sink and left them to dry hanging on the wall. She gave Sarah a pair of boys shorts which were pretty baggy but would do for the time being and covered her modesty, just.
She washed Sarah's face and body as best she could, and although the water was cold and there was no soap, it was the most refreshing blanket bath Sarah had ever had. She hadn't washed for over 40 hours and felt truly lousy. After the bath, she felt part way human again. Bless you, little Constanza, she thought. If she got out of this, and she still figured that John and the Tin Miss might find a way, she'd have to see if she could find a way to thank Constanza.
Sarah had never been overly fond of the Tin Miss, but she would give a lot to see the coltan girl right now.
Constanza led her back to the chair of imprisonment. Then and re-attached her legs with duct tape. Thankfully not so tight this time. It was going to be a hair-stripping bastard to get the tape off her skin when/if this was all over. The handcuffs were still chafing her. Then Constanza hand fed her spoons of rice and beans. The food was more than good to her starving tongue and stomach. She wolfed it down as fast as each spoon reached her mouth. Sarah drank and drank the bottled water until her thirst was slaked. Glancing left, Sarah saw pallets of bottled water and packaged food behind fencing, toward the back of the warehouse.
Constanza patted Sarah on the head, and said, "I must go now, the men are all out on some trip, but I must cook for them for when they come back."
Sarah said, "Thank you, Constanza, muchas gracias."
"De Nada, Senora, let us all pray this goes safely."
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Golf Bag
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The big man walked slowly through the desert, till he found his destination, a rocky crop about five miles south of Shiprock airfield. He saw the sign for "Many Devils Wash", and the Red Rock Highway... very appropriate. This is a night for many devils and there will be plenty of claret fluid spilled, the man holding the golf bag thought. The golf bag was a full size, wheeled bag, which contained to the unsophisticated eye, a set of clubs.
A golfer would notice that there were only eight clubs in the bag, which left plenty of room for another large object in a tube.
There was a plane coming in tonight, a bird that contained two individuals who had pissed off the big boss of the Sinaloan cartel. Bad enough news for them on a normal day. These two had queered the pitch for everyone and his dog with their further antics. The cartel would probably have let go the killings. It didn't seem as if these kids would ever return to Chihuaha, so there was really no offense against the smooth running of the drug cartels. As far as the killings were concerned, anyway.
Stealing the drugs AND the money, well, that was a crime, and that couldn't be allowed. No sirree Bob, that right there had to be dealt with.
What these prize-winning dolts did was to shoot down a fucking border patrol drone! It was already the middle of a boiling summer, and the drone-splatting turned the desert into a barbecue of desperate men in uniform, all barking at one another in complete confusion. Even the creatures of the desert had gone off to find somewhere quieter.
Cops, military and the world and its brass hats descended on Juarez. The bastards were everywhere, even in the casa de putos! Cops stick their noses into things. Welcome as a ripe turd in a burrito, they sniffed around. It was impossible for an honest criminal to earn a living. When there were Americans loaded up with more money than sense, begging for dope. It just wasn't right!
The girls of the prostÃbulo had closed up shop for the duration, so there would be even more desperate men! These kids deserved the justicio that was coming their way, by his hand. In a few minutes, they'd be burning in wreckage and tomorrow, after the critters had found what was left of them, they'd be an unpleasant memory.
The airfield was closed, so any plane headed this way was his target. Jeez, it was hott'r'n hell here, how in tarnation did anyone want to live in the desert? Deserts were stuffed full of snakes, bugs, more bugs, and then even more bugs.
He prepared his equipment, an HN 5 (Hongying 5) Chinese variant of the Soviet Sam 7 (Grail) surface-to-air missile. The Chinese had supplied them to aid the FARC-EP in Colombia in their endless insurgent war. As always happened, some enterprising soul leaked them through to the criminal elements of the world. People like him, who were always ready to snaffle up unconsidered trifles.
He'd have preferred to take these two out quietly. A quick .22 in the side of the head beneath the ear as they sat at a restaurant. Nice, quiet, professional. Wham, bam, good night Irene, I won't see you in my dreams. Could even convince the man it had been a Mafia hit.
He didn't like making a big splash, it woke up the cops from their donuts and girl watching. The cartel wanted this killing noted by one and all. Maybe even the DEA. Who knew? He was just the tool of the hand with the money. He'd kill anyone and anything for the right cash. There was a stupid idea put about that assassins had a code of honour, that they would neither kill their own, or children below a certain age. He would kill anyone, and had, as long as the money was commensurate with the risk to himself. Kids, dogs, pregnant women, you pay, he'd kill.
Once you'd done the first few, they were all the same. Only the method changed.
In recent years, the drug outfits were better employers than most. So he had spent more time than he preferred in hotter places. As far as he was concerned, the only place to be near heat was on the beach.
He heard the Cessna before he saw it, damn! The kids were flying without lights of any kind. How on earth were they doing that? Flying low too. Hard to ensure at this low altitude that the heat from the ground wouldn't put off the heat-seeking engine of the missile. It was designed to home in on the heat of the engine, but at 500 feet or so, there would be numerous hot air eddies blowing up from the washes. Damn!
He loaded the missile launcher tube on his shoulder and put the targeting mechanism to his eye. Locating the plane again, he flicked the switch to "acquire target". The HN 5 whirred for a few moments, then he heard the low hum and the red dot appeared on the sight screen that told him the missile had acquired its target. He pressed the firing mechanism and the missile streaked away. Less than five seconds later he heard the impact and saw the explosion as the target was destroyed.
His job was over, and he began walking quickly back to his car. Time to go get himself a few cold beers. Something disgusting to eat, and a woman he could pay to abuse for the evening.
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No Fate
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John was outwardly calm, although his brain was racing. The entire cabin was now full of smoke and the stink of kerosene. Without thinking of the reason why, he reached across Cameron's knees and switched the plane's engines off. Maybe he thought that would lessen the risk of fire when they finally hit the ground.
As he switched off, he saw a large green handle to the right of the yoke. Above it were the words, Cirrus Airframe Parachute System. He thought he must have already crashed and was dead, his mind going through the last agonal nonsense before the lights finally went out. He shook his head, and looked again. Yep, there it was, Cirrus Airframe Parachute System, with a wonderful great big green lever. At this point, there was nothing else to venture, so he yanked the switch toward himself. No movement whatever. His heart sank.
The plane continued to spin, and now there was a horrible racket coming from the air frame, as if all the bolts and rivets were being squeezed out of their threads. He looked across at Cameron, and shouted that he loved her. He then reached across to the big green lever one last time. He pushed on it with all his strength. Suddenly, it clicked across to the right and a huge explosion started beneath him, then rocketed backwards. .
There was a hideous tearing as whatever he had put in place ripped its way out of the airframe of the Cessna, and the plane suddenly stopped its headlong descent. He could see the parachute filling above his head. Sweet baby Cameron, the bloody plane had a parachute, they might make it out of here alive after all.
John made certain Cameron was tightly braced in her restraining harness and squirmed back to his seat and fastened his own. The plane had levelled out, but was still headed for the deck at a fair lick. This was going to be a bumpy landing. John could hear Cameron's customary reboot whirr about ten seconds prior to hitting the ground and yelled, "Cameron, sit back in the seat, we're landing HARD." There was an almighty bang and the world turned upside down, again.
Something hit him in the side of the head, and he blacked out.
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The Perfect Landing.
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Walking quickly back toward his car, head down, looking out for snakes, the assassin did not see the Cessna parachute assisted landing. The geography of the situation put him three miles north and upwind of the landing strip. He hadn't expected to see or hear much, and that is exactly what happened. If he'd listened carefully, he'd have heard a slight crump as the undercarriage collapsed as the plane hit the rocks at 32mph. The wheels collapsed outward and the plane finished up on its belly, bodywork gaping open to the four winds.
Cameron reacted first, coming out of her 120-second blackout. As always, after reboot, she looked around for John,her John. She saw he was unconscious and smashed her way out of the fuselage and raced around to the other side. She tore the door off the plane one-handed in her rage and anxiety for John's safety. Unclipping his safety harness, she carried John fifty yards away from the downed plane, behind a rocky outcrop. She checked his vital signs. John would have a sore head, but there were no broken bones. She raced back to the plane and grabbed a tarp and blanket, and the carton of water.
She took all the guns and ammunition and lay the bags down close to him.
She took a bottle of water to John, and splashed him across the face. She hated causing him discomfort, and her emotion simulator was working overtime. A mixture of rage, sorrow, and concern for her man.
How did humans get anything done? Her emotions were in turmoil.
"Whoa, what?" spluttered John, "Jeez, my head hurts."
"John, I need you to listen hard."
John knew better than to ask questions when the coltan queen adopted that tone, "Go, Cameron. I'm on board."
"John, you know I don't want to leave you, but I need to go and get us a car, and I see one coming up 491. I can intercept it if I go now. I need you to promise me that you will wait right here. And stay awake, and-."
She was deliberately holding back the details of who was in that car, and what the driver had done to them. She knew John would be safe if he would stay put, and wait for her return.
"And, what? As if I didn't know." John sighed.
"And?" She grinned, "stay out of trouble."
John nodded, smiled and Cameron smiled happily in response. Her feelings, which had been full of rage and disquiet since the missile hit them, calmed when John grinned. Oh my, she couldn't wait to get fluffy with him again, as soon as this was over.
Cameron shook her head, realized she had to get going, and set off at top speed for the road.
The assassin, thinking happily of the woman he was going to fuck that night in his motel room. A few righteous beers and a tequila or five, would get him in the mood for her. He never saw the dust bunny flying like a zephyr across the desert canyon. He was imagining ripping that whore's clothes off with just the right amount of violence to scare her, but not get her screaming and wake the hotel manager.
Cameron was racing to intercept his car.
She had seen the missile and had jerked the plane out of the way at the last second which had saved both of them. The missile had taken off the right wing and caused the plane into a forced landing.
Her HUD had stored the point from where the missile had been fired. Together with its trajectory, and the point of impact, she could triangulate the would be killers current likely position. I-491 at this point, went up toward Shiprock and she could just intercept the car if she ran like the wind.
She ran as if the "Many Devils" of the wash were chasing her.
Cameron reached the road three minutes before the assassin. She stuck out her thumb, and smiled saucily for the mans headlights. He saw her, by the side of the road and his lizard brain took over instantly. She was so small, she would be easily overpowered and he could do with her as he wished. She was cute, though, such a terrible pity to reveal to an innocent girl like that what the world was like. Ah well, someone had to it, might as well be him, he thought. He wondered if she were a virgin...oh, that would be just too sweet.
He pulled over, and the teenager got in. She was adorable and he was just about wetting himself in anticipation of the pleasures of the night ahead. He was about to put the car in gear, when the girl reached her right foot across and stamped hard on the foot brake. Reaching underneath the steering wheel, she turned the ignition off and removed the keys. His hands tried to stop her, but her hand speed was like a rattlesnake strike. She'd hit and had retreated, done before the thinking.
He was about to reach for his pistol, stashed in the cross draw holster, when her hand once again gripped his in a vice.
"No, I want to talk to you first."
He knew he was in trouble and tried to open his the car door. He was gripped by an incredible force that slammed him back into his seat. A hand reached across him and locked the door.
"Don't do that again." She said.
"I may kill you." she said, with a steel hard glare that was beginning to turn his combat tested strength into cold fear. "You fired that missile at me and my man, while we were flying that Cessna. I liked that plane." Cameron continued, "We were doing you no harm at all, enjoying a night flight and you shot us out of the air."
The assassin blinked, and attempted to speak, "B, b, b."
Cameron cut him off coldly, "You intended for us to die. However, if you tell me quickly, who sent you. You might live."
She stared at him serenely, "We're not built to be cruel."
He started trembling, and made for the door again, this time she punched his left kneecap. The bones were crushed and he could feel the shattered splinters of his bones sticking out of his jeans. Blood and bits of flesh and fat, his, were oozing from his knee. He screamed in agony. Was this girl the devil incarnate?
"You are going to tell me exactly who hired you." She reached over and patted gently on his right knee. His eyes looked down at the tiny hand in fear. How could something so delicate be so powerful?
She stared at him, unblinking, "Or I will skin you alive. I have endless patience. I am entirely free of pity, and you will tell me." She took her hand off his knee.
He thought, one more try, "I'm just a working professional, this was a hit, nothing personal, Argh." He screamed again as Cameron crushed his left elbow into little pieces.
"Talk fast mister, how personal do you want me to get?" She held her right hand ready to strike, and then she did something that made him quake, this truly was "Many Devils Arroyo". Her eyes glowed bright red, how the fuck did she do that?
He started talking fast. Hypnotized with terror.
Cameron's would-be killer told her all about the man who had hired him. Full details of every name and address and every gang association in the town of Lomas Del Rey that he came from. Cameron would strike at his heart. Like this man, he was going to rue the day he ever set eyes on this pair of teenagers.
The assassin kept talking, stupid things Cameron did not need to know, drug deals, past hits. Cameron hit him sharply on the temple to knock him out. She then turned his head round completely, tearing the axis bone from the atlas and severing the spinal column. The man was dead before he knew it. While he probably would not have grasped the significance, Cameron was a very pissed off cyborg.
She grabbed his trouser belt and hefted him out of the car, dumped him in the truck bed and covered him with a tarp and some tools.
She started up the SUV, a nice old Toyota Land Cruiser and headed off, to her boyfriend waiting in the dark. .
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Boy meets Girl
John was trying not to fall asleep in the dark, he was bruised, battered and bewildered. In the course of the last 40 hours, they had: stolen a truck, then a plane. He had shot down a border patrol drone. Then during a drug deal for cocaine, they had shot and killed a dozen drug dealers who had been anxious to return the favour.
On the way back, Cameron had impersonated the President, and then they had been shot down by a SAM. Somehow, he had found a parachute in the plane and activated it. They had landed safely, but roughly, and the plane had been destroyed. He had banged his head, and Cameron had gone off somewhere and he hoped she was due back soon, so he could sleep.
He was looking up at the clear desert sky, dotted with stars, a wonderful sight. Then an even more wonderful sight hove to, it was Cameron in some SUV she'd purloined. She pulled the wagon up right close to him and he saw her beautiful brown eyes in the windshield and he was about ready to drop right off into la land.
Cameron looked deep into his eyes and said, "How are you feeling, John."
"I'm okay, Cameron, a bit battered and I need to sleep and eat, but by the look on your face, I'm not going to get either, am I?"
She smiled, "I did manage to grab a couple of Burritos from the El Taco E Coli on the road back. Would you like a couple?"
"Oh, Cameron, I love you soooo much."
She grinned, and got the food and drinks.Some humans were easy to please, to please this one, pleased her.
As John was eating his Burrito, Cameron contentedly sipped at her Chocolate Milk Shake, and watched him come to life with the food and drink feeding his starved body. He had been a busy lad and had eaten virtually nothing aside from a protein bar.
Cameron said, "I found the man who fired the SAM at us."
John, "Oh, did you?"
Cameron, "I did."
John, "What happened?"
Cameron, "He thought I was a little girl he was going to take to his room and play with. He was disappointed that I wasn't."
John, "And?"
Cameron, "Then we had a conversation, about the person who had hired him. He was reluctant to have this conversation, so I was forced to persuade him."
John, "He talked?"
Cameron, "He talked, a lot, and then he was quiet."
John felt that maybe he didn't want to know, or shouldn't be asking, but he did anyway.
John, "What happened?"
Cameron looked at John steadily, "Car accident, which he didn't survive."
T.B.C.
Glossary
EFIS Electronic Flight Information System
POTUS President Of The United States.
SAM Shoulder mounted surface to air missile.
Whole plane parachute systems do exist and have saved some hundreds of lives so far.
www dot brsaerospace dot com
All the places mentioned in the story, do exist, and can readily be seen around map reference
N 36.41.385
W 108.43.569