You’re not sure you made the right choice, but you’re loving the sense of freedom which comes with making what might be a huge mistake. As nervous as you are, your smile remains pasted on your face as you sit next to Sarah, who thankfully seems adept behind the controls.

“Huh,” Sarah says, glancing over her shoulder. “Looks like they launched quicker this time. Must be learning.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean we’ve got company,” she observes fairly flatly. “Hold on, Cadet. Might have to throw this thing around a bit.”

You stick your head out the window and look. What you see through them makes your stomach drop more than the sudden dipping and diving of the aircraft. There are several helis in pursuit, but one is far closer to you than any of the others. Their helichopter has a different livery than the one you’re in. Yours is solid black. The one chasing you is black with gold trim across the rotors and nose. It seems to be faster. A lot faster, judging by the way it’s gaining on you. The closer it gets, the more you think… oh god, it is!

“That’s Grisham! And Terra!” You shout at Sarah. “They’re coming for us!”

“I’ll lose them, Sarah says, plunging the flight stick toward her toes and sending the craft hurtling toward earth. She flattens the dive out just before hitting tree level, but the following craft is still there.

“Who is at the controls of that thing?”

“Grisham, I think…” you’re clutching at your safety harness and clenching your teeth to stop them from chattering with fear, so it’s hard to tell.

“She can fly,” Sarah says with some admiration. “But so can I.” She sends the chopter hurtling toward the ground again and this time, Grisham and Terra’s craft recedes a little, along with your bladder control.

“We’re losing them!” She lets out a little whoop of glee.

“I think they’re just holding off so you don’t smash us into the fucking ground,” you squeal. Your stomach has almost risen into your mouth about a dozen times and if you had anything in it, it would be all over the interior of the chopter by now.

Sarah isn’t listening to you. She’s too busy taking the chopter as low as possible, throwing it between hills and trees and other bits of environment which speed by in a blur before you can see what they are. A sudden juddering and screaming is your indication that you have landed, if ‘landing’ is the term for skidding across the ground until bits of foliage tangle in the blades enough to stop your motion.

“Come on,” Sarah shouts, unbuckling her harness. “We have to go. Now!”

You basically fall groggy and disoriented out of your seat, ending up on your hands and knees next to the chopter. Your battle against your sparse stomach contents is lost in ignominious fashion as you throw up all over the disrupted dirt.

Before you’re even done, a hand descends on your collar and Sarah hauls you up roughly.

“Be sick later,” she says dispassionately. “They’ll be here any minute. We gotta run.”

She’s not wrong. You can hear the rotors of Grisham’s craft beating above your head. You have another choice to make, and almost no time to make it in.

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