A/N: Here is what the plane roughly looks like: url?sa=i&rct=j&q=&esrc=s&source=images&cd=&cad=rja&uact=8&ved=0ahUKEwisn4_-1_LVAhUEZCYKHedeA8IQjRwIBw&url=http%3A%2F% .com%2Fold-plane-helicopter_g%257CmaB235%257CQKySDkN69NPwVVp*TBrsVf0InkvaZCa8Ls%2F&psig=AFQjCNFFx4K0Jz3rNR0KZAKNm9xzu0UneA&ust=1503760880990984
(I obviously did not take this picture, CTO)
P.S. ~ Just to be clear, Anya has a European accent like Tintin's, but it still holds noticeable traces from the accent she was born into, the (North) American accent. I quirked some things on Chapter 4 to emphasize that. Bouncing back to the present, I just want to thank all my readers again; Kat, your comment made me smile, thank you! All these positive comments are awesome! :)
The bushes rustled as Snowy passed through, the branches snagging his mud-stained pelt. He kept his nose to the mossy ground, diligently following his master's trail. Guilt pricked at him for every step his sore paws took, pressing him forward. I should never have deserted him, he thought miserably, as once again, the scent trail before him came to a pointless end. The rain had washed away most of the events from the previous night, trampled woodland starting to spring back to its original state in the pale light of dawn. The tang of stale blood caught Snowy's attention, his nose leading him to an old beech tree. He examined the bark, dark droplets catching his attention. The metallic scent of blood made his lip curl, and he raised his snout sharply. Tintin is hurt!
Snowy's legs moved with swift urgency, stinging as they glanced over the gravel road. As he finally came upon the familiar gardens of Marlinspike, he skidded to a stop at the main entrance and started scratching the wooden doors, barking madly. A moment later, the door opened, and a tall, familiar man peeked out. "Snowy? Where have y-"
Snowy bolted past Nestor, Marlinspike's butler, before he could finish his sentence. He raced into the parlor, barking hysterically, until he heard a wonderfully familiar holler.
"Nestor, what in tarnation is going on here?!"
Captain Haddock briskly entered the parlor, yelling through a mouthful of toothpaste. Snowy barked again, fiercely motioning to the doorway.
"Snowy? Where's Tintin?"
He followed the small white terrier out the door, and eventually to the scene of Tintin's disappearance. Of course, the police were called, a search party was organized, and the press chipped in for gossip, but the beloved ginger reporter was nowhere to be found. As much as the world tried, Tintin was long gone, tucked away in a place their wildest imaginations could not come close to defining.
/*/*/*
Anya grunted as she pulled the slanted cover of the air vent free. The screws sprung from their places in the wall and dropped onto the ground, not before glancing off Tintin's arms and back. He kept his hands firmly around Anya's ankles, careful to keep her centered on his shoulders. The small room around him had a gloomy air to it, the only thing separating it from complete darkness a dim lamp that hung from the low ceiling. Tintin glanced over as the vent flumped onto the bed in the corner of the room.
"Okay, I'm ready."
He smoothly hoisted Anya upwards, marveling at the lightness of her feminine body. She struggled against gravity for a few chilling moments, sending clanky echoes through the vent.
"Easy does it...are you okay?"
"Yeah...there's a lot of spiders up here."
"Alright, I'm coming."
He swung his arms for momentum before pushing up off the ground, the muscles under his sweater tightening as he pulled himself through the small entrance.
Anya had already started crawling forward, feeling her way through the darkness blindly. The vent was foul and moldy, a masterpiece of spiderwebs and rust.
"How did you know about the vent?"
He barely whispered, yet his voice carried through the thin air at an alarming pace.
"There is one in my room," she responded softly. "Cripes, these are nasty spiders."
Tintin silently agreed with her. He continually paused to swipe some sort of creepy crawler from his face and arms, gritting his teeth in disgust. They passed over a vent, orange light filtering through the spaces. Among the light, voices below drifted to their ears.
"Sir, we sent the message. Everyone is searching, but they are nowhere to be found."
"Keep looking! If they are not found within the next hour, we clear the area, understood?!"
"Yes, sir!"
Tintin recognized neither voice. His mind was already starting to buzz with questions, questions that struggled to be connected to the evidence before him.
Anya kept moving, her knees shuffling quietly against the floor of the vent. They soon came upon a part of the passageway that had an unusual perpendicular attachment.
"Do you..."
Tintin's question faded from his lips as Anya shimmied up the passage. She was gone for about half a minute, before sliding down.
"Odd," she whispered, "I didn't know there was another floor. The vent is blocked off."
"Do you think it could be dislodged?"
Anya glanced back up, pursing her lips doubtfully.
"We wouldn't be able to, at this angle."
A muffled voice was born from above.
"Of course it was Alice. That damned girl has been a useless whore since day one. Cain has been too soft on her."
"He certainly has an appalling taste in women, if she can even be called that."
"Women...disgusting creatures."
Tintin narrowed his brow, glancing over at Anya. Her face was blank, her gaze lost to thought.
"Anya...are they talking about you?"
His voice was barely a whisper, yet immediately her eyes rose to his. She didn't say anything, but the hurt in her eyes was all that he needed to see to answer his question.
/*/*/*
They had been trekking through the vent system for half an hour now, their knees sore and bruised, their clothes coated with spiderwebs. Now, they were at the end of the system, the final vent ahead. Fresh white light filtered into the tunnel with unusual strength. As they crawled on, the rooms grew quieter and quieter, until they were met by an eerie silence. Anya raised her voice more comfortably.
"It sounds as if they evacuated."
"They would never give up a place like this so quickly, so easily...something isn't right here."
Tintin kept on at a sturdy pace behind her. She listened to the faint sound of his knees hitting the bottom of the tunnel, mixed with her own. Almost out, she thought, reaching for the vent ahead. To her surprise, the steel bars were young and smooth under her fingers. As hard as she pulled in the tight space, it wouldn't budge.
"Here, let me try."
Tintin flattened himself against the side as much as he could, barely squeezing past Anya. He braced his feet against the wall surrounding the vent and gripped the bars with a firm grip. He heaved, pulling as hard as he could. The vent creaked, but it held its place.
"Maybe it's supposed to be pushed."
"Good idea," Tintin panted. "Please help me, if you can."
He positioned his feet behind him. Anya pressed a finger to her chin.
"Hm…"
She decided it would be no good to push him, plus, there wasn't enough room to grab around his waist. She could brace her back against his...well, his 'behind', but she didn't really jump at that idea either. Her gaze drifted to his feet, the soles of his shoes slipping over the metallic floor. Perfect.
Anya stepped back a pace and sat, pressing her feet onto his. She held herself steady on the walls of the vent, giving Tintin a test push. He jolted forward in surprise, quickly recovering.
"Ah-! Er, yes, that's clever. Stay like that, Anya, I'll count to three."
Yes, quite clever, if I do say so myself, herr herr, Anya thought to herself in an exaggeratedly annoying version of Tintin's voice, chuckling quietly to herself. She was tempted to take the thought a step further, but decided another time, as Tintin had started to count already.
"One, two, three!"
She pushed her feet against his as hard as she could, at the same time being pushed back a little as he used her little idea to its full effect. With a loud CLANG, the vent was sent clattering across the floor of the room. Tintin looked around cautiously before pulling himself through, turning to offer his hands to Anya. She gladly accepted, and was pulled up from the darkness. Instantly the two searched themselves for spiders. Tintin ran a hand through his ginger tuft, releasing small clouds of dust, and brushed down his sweater. Anya groaned as she furiously swiped down her dress.
"I definitely won't be missing that place," she said decidedly. Tintin didn't respond. He took slow, careful steps as he observed the room, his body tense and alert. The room was clean, contrasting the rest of the hideout, and seemed to represent a Laboratory. Anya shuddered as she looked around, feeling goosebumps pop up on her skin. The lab tables had been recently wiped clean, their metallic surfaces dully reflecting the ceiling lights. An eerily dry whistling sounded amidst the silence, barely audible. Tintin crouched down to observe some testing cylinders containing unidentifiable fluids. He turned to Anya, contempt etched on his face.
"Did you know about this place?"
Anya shook her head distantly, feeling her heart drop a little. The anger in his voice unsettled her.
"Nobody is allowed near this place. I had no idea-"
"They are illegally testing, making and using illegal substances. I recognize some of the Latin in these names…there seems to be a lot of business here with drugs..."
Anya left Tintin to his discovery, listening for the whistling sound again. It blended in well with the silence, making Anya wonder if she was just imagining it. Noticing a door on the opposite wall, she tried the handle. To her surprise, it opened, and the whistling sound sharpened noticeably. She peeked in, feeling a prickle of unease in her stomach. Inside, two large tanks took up most of the space. A birdcage hung above them, completely empty except for a motionless lump on the bottom. Anya didn't need nor dare draw closer to know what was happening. With her heart hammering in her chest, she backed sharply out of the closet and slammed the door. Tintin turned to her, his eyes wide with surprise.
"What is it?!"
Anya's mouth felt dry, and she struggled to push the words past her throat.
"G-Gas! Gas! They're trying to kill us!"
"You're sure?!"
"Positive!"
Her voice was strangled and high. Tintin's eyes wildly scanned the room, locking onto the door.
"This way!"
Anya took after Tintin, out into the hallway.
"W-w-we could have been in the tunnels when-"
"We can thank our lucky stars we weren't. Did you breathe any of the air?"
"I-I don't think so…"
"Any weakness? Dizziness? Nausea or pain?"
"N-no I'm fine-"
"How did you know?"
Tintin turned and passed through two huge wooden doors, the inside looking like a garage. He glanced back to see that Anya was following him.
"I just looked in the closet and found the tanks. There was a birdcage in there, like coal miners use, and the bird was dead…"
"Fine. We should have at least ten minutes to get out of here...you're American, aren't you?"
They pounded up a set of stairs, a wooden door greeting them at the top.
"You're asking me this now?!"
"Well, I would have asked about the accent earlier if we weren't always on the brink of death-"
"Yes! I am American! Born and raised in New York, mostly!"
The door swung open, a gust of warm air hitting them like a wave. Tintin could almost laugh for relief as he looked around him.
"Windows!" Anya cried joyfully, racing forward, but it was not just the windows that caught Tintin's attention. A small grey aircraft sat patiently among the shadows, one of its metallic sides reading 'USA - 29935'.
"An American plane. How peculiar," Tintin mumbled as he strode around the plane, taking a quick look at the engine before calling Anya. She trotted over, a huge smile lighting up her face.
"Isn't this the best feeling in the world? We're not gonna die!"
"Don't be so noisy, we aren't safe yet," Tintin said seriously. He patted the back seat.
"Jump in. I'll be right there."
Anya looked after him in bewilderment as he dashed to the wide sliding doors, moving to push them apart. He shrank back in pain suddenly, with an audible yelp.
"Tintin?!"
Anya hurried over to him, her dark hair flowing wildly behind her.
"Tintin, you're hurt. Let me."
She pushed the metallic door as hard as she could. It slid back with a shrill squeak, the metal following the worn markings of its path. Tintin steadied himself against the metal door with a gasp.
"Anya, I can manage. It's just my rib. Please just go sit in the plane."
Anya scoffed as she pushed the other door back.
"Honestly, Tintin, you're too proud. I'm not incapable of opening a few d-"
"Anya, look out!"
Tintin reached out to grab her shoulder just in time. A patrol of men in gas masks marched briskly past, talking to each other rapidly. They didn't seem to notice the half-opened garage door as they passed, disappearing around the side of the 'airport'. Tintin let out a shaky breath, clutching his side.
"Anya, listen to me. I'm going to ask you to do something necessary and dangerous."
Anya's eyes flashed with eagerness in the dim light.
"What is it?"
"When I say, push these doors open and jump in the plane, okay?"
She nodded curtly, looking down.
"Sure...I can do that."
"Okay. Get ready."
Tintin disappeared from beside her, pulling himself into the pilot seat. He tried to think past the pain, but his head felt light and his vision was swaying. Stay awake, Tintin. Stay awake.
"Now!" he called weakly, placing his feet on the rudder pedals. He adjusted the flaps roughly to a ten degree angle for takeoff, pushing the throttle to full on. The plane started forward with a rickety hum, the nose propeller transforming into a blur. Anya completely opened the doors and jumped onto the side of the plane as it came by, tumbling ungracefully into the back seat.
"When did you learn to fly a plane?" she gasped, watching Tintin's hands working the controls.
"I've had experience. Stay hidden back there, and put the seat belt on."
Anya pulled the buckle from in between the cushions; it came up with a jolt, the navy leather frayed and unattached. She tossed it out, crouching down under the seat. She could hear male voices approaching, and they didn't seem pleased. She peeked over the side of the plane cautiously, the world around her passing by like a bad dream. Anya flinched as gunshots rattled suddenly through the air.
"Damn," Tintin hissed under his breath, squeezing the yoke until his fingers turned white. Anya felt around her with trembling hands.
"Please, please, please…." she breathed. Her hands brushed against something hard and smooth under the cushions; with a shaky gasp she pulled a silver pistol from under the seat. Her stomach turned as the plane swooped upwards suddenly, the squeaky wheels losing contact with the ground. Anya forced herself to focus, gripping the gun with both hands, leaning out to fire at the armed mob behind them. They had started to slow down, shaking their fists angrily at the escaping plane. The barbed fence that had once trapped them inside looked small as it shot out from under them. We're free…
She watched the ground below her grow smaller and smaller, her eyes wide with wonder.
"Everything is so small, Tintin."
Tiny dots raced busily along the roads, and the plane was filled with a peaceful quiet.
"Do you think they will come after us? I mean, they wouldn't right away, but they definitely won't give up. They could even be tracking this plane as we-"
The plane lurched suddenly. Anya shrieked, flailing for something to grab onto. She was thrown into the side of the plane roughly, picturing herself falling, falling, falling over the side and into the world underneath her with a shudder.
"Tintin!" she shrieked.
There was no response. Anya pulled herself up on the pilot chair, yelling his name over the sound of the engine. Tintin was slumped over the controls, one arm caught on the yoke. Anya pulled him off the control panel and slapped him in the face.
"WAKE UP!"
The ginger reporter made no response, his head flopping back down. Anya sighed in frustration, crawling over the seat.
"You're so annoying!" she hissed to no one, fighting back a wave of tears. She yanked the yoke straight, steadying herself against the seat with her other hand. The plane lurched upright again, the engine groaning in response. Anya's mind froze; she sat back in Tintin's lap, lightly placing her feet on the pedals. They were high up and still escalating. Fix the problem. What would make this hunk of metal go up? The countless switches and buttons and dials before her made her head spin. On, off, R.M., flashing lights...How about the wings? The flaps were erect. If she could remember correctly, they should be down….
Anya tried the rudder pedals. Perfect. The flaps responded. Anya felt a spark of confidence as the plane straightened, gliding smoothly through the air. She let out a shaky breath, relaxing her tense shoulders. Tintin shifted slightly from under her, making a quiet moaning sound. Anya, realizing how close they were, felt a rush of self-consciousness. Please don't wake up.
"A-Anya?"
Shit.
"Tintin, I can explain-"
"You're...flying the plane…"
"Oh...well, yeah, I mean, you blacked out."
Anya shifted off him and squeezed herself onto the seat. Tintin scooted over, rubbing his head.
"H-how did you do that?"
Are we ignoring the fact that I was just sitting on you?
"My uncle is a pilot. He took me out in the plane sometimes. I-I kind of just...figured it out."
Tintin 'hm'ed in response. Anya looked over at him curiously. His hands had returned to their place on the yoke, his eyes glazed over with weariness.
"Thank you for getting us out of there," she murmured.
"You're thanking me?"
He laughed softly, shaking his head.
"You really are something, Anya Shan."
Anya smiled, looking away. The sky above them was a deep blue, the clouds lazily drifting by.
"Do you think you'll be okay, Tintin?"
"Yes. Broken ribs will heal. I just need to rest."
"I can drive for a while if you want to now."
Tintin narrowed his brow, pondering for a moment.
"You'll stay on this course and wake me up if you need anything?"
"Of course."
"Well...okay. Thank you, but please don't let me sleep too long."
He carefully climbed into the backseat.
"By the way, where are we headed?"
"America. We have a plane to return."