Page 25 of Wandering Wild
“Wonderful,” Scarlett says, clapping her hands together. “Let’s get this show on the road.”
Hearing that, Ember gives me a final rib-crushing embrace and whispers in my ear, “You’ve got this, Charlie Bear. I’ll see you on Friday, and miss you every second until then.”
She releases me and steps back just as Gabe finishes his own farewell with Zander. The two of them then wave cheerily as Hawke leads us toward the helicopter, his fingers curled around my elbow as if he expects me to run—or faint.
“Deep breaths,” Hawke tells me with an encouraging smile as he slides open the rear door and shimmies across to the far side, followed by Bentley and Zander, then finally, me.
I hover uncertainly when I see how tight the space is, awkwardness replacing my fear as I watch Bentley sit in between Hawke’s legs and realize I have to do the same with my own tandem partner.
Zander notices my hesitation and pats his lap. “Just act as if I’m Santa and you’re making a Christmas wish.” He immediately cringes. “Wow, that sounded a lot worse than I intended, but I figured ‘I don’t bite’ was too clichéd.”
I don’t have a chance to respond before the pilot slides the door shut behind me and returns to the cockpit, with Scarlett settling into the copilot’s seat. A moment later, the engine starts up, the sound thunderous in the cabin.
Since my desire to be sitting when we lift off is stronger than my aversion to being in direct physical contact with Zander, I lower myself unceremoniously onto his lap. He says something, but even with his mouth at my ear, I can’t hear the words. The next second, however, his arms come around me, and my breath catches as I’m enveloped by all that is him. The scent of mint hits my nose, mixed with something earthy and undeniably pleasant, but I force those thoughts away and am about to yank myself out of his hold when I realize—with some humiliation—that he’s not trying to cop a feel, but rather, he’s connecting our harnesses in preparation for our jump. That must have been what he tried to tell me, his words drowned out by the roaring of the rotor blades.
I’m relieved he can’t see my face right now, but I’m even more relieved when Scarlett turns around and hands out some aviation headsets. The instant I place mine over my ears, the deafening sound is muted, and this time I hear Zander clearly when he speaks into his microphone and asks, “All good?”
My voice only slightly betrays my anxiety when I answer, “Just peachy.”
I can hear the humor in his tone as he warns, “I have to tighten everything, so this may feel a little uncomfortable. But we don’t want any space between us when we jump.”
For the sake of my sanity, I don’t question the reason for that, and rest stiffly against him as he tugs at the joints between our harnesses. I turn to see Hawke doing the same with Bentley, though I also notice that Bentley has a large pack strapped to his front that he wasn’t wearing before. He also still has his camera out, filming everything happening in the cabin.
“Everyone set?” Scarlett asks.
Hawke leans across to double-check Zander’s work, then gives Scarlett the thumbs-up sign. A moment later, a subtle lightheadedness hits me as we rise swiftly upward.
“A few important things,” Hawke says over the muffled sounds of flight.
My gaze is out the window as we soar away from the airfield and over the tops of trees, gaining height with every second, but I pull my attention back to him at the seriousness of his tone.
“Charlie,” he says, “keep your arms up against your chest when you jump, right here.” He taps the shoulder straps of my harness. “Somersaulting is normal, so don’t panic, and trust Zander to control your fall. When you’re coming in to land, lift your legs, and let Zander do all the work. All you have to do is relax and enjoy the ride.”
I hate how much I have to trust Zander in every aspect of our jump, but I find comfort in knowing he’s not going to jeopardize his mission to save his public image by squashing us like pancakes against the earth.
That image hits me hard, making me loathe my overactive imagination, but I swallow my nausea and keep listening as Hawke goes on, “We’ve found a small ledge partway up the mountain range that’s clear enough for us to use as a drop zone.” He offers instructions to Zander that I can’t begin to understand, but words like “trees” and “cliff” and “watch out for” have my heart feeling like it’s going to beat out of my chest. The only reassurance I have—and I use that term loosely—is how calm and steady Zander is in his replies. Despite my doubts, he at leastseemsto know what he’s doing. I try to channel his zen, but that becomes impossible when the pilot’s voice crackles in our ears.
“ETA five minutes. Final checks, everyone.”
“Goggles on,” Hawke says, handing out protective glasses. “Any questions before we do this? You feeling okay about it all, Charlie?”
“No, andabsolutely no,” I answer, after which I actuallyfeelZander shake with silent laughter behind me. “But you said I don’t need to do anything, so I’m holding you to that.”
“Just enjoy the ride,” Hawke confirms, repeating his earlier words. “And remember to breathe.”
With no further warning, he leans across us to reopen the side door, causing wind to gust in with enough force that I would have flown straight back into Zander if I wasn’t already plastered to him.
A garbled sound of fear leaves me, and I expect to feel Zander laughing again, but he just wraps his hands soothingly around my upper arms and says, “Don’t worry, I won’t let you go.”
I nearly remind him that we’re strapped together so he literallycan’t, but I’m incapable of forming intelligent words right now, my body quaking as I see how far down the Blue Mountains are beneath us.
I can’t do this, I want to scream—but I don’t. Because as scared as I am, there’s another part of me, a small, long-buried part, that’s whispering words of encouragement. It’s reminding me that this is what living is meant to be: taking risks, embracing challenges, doing things that are as exciting as they are terrifying. It’s been months since I’ve felt even a fraction of what I’m experiencing now, so while my instinct is to run from it, to hide from it, to avoid it, for the first time in a long time, I don’t do that.
Instead, I shift my weight across the bench at Hawke’s instruction, letting Zander do most of the maneuvering, until suddenly we’re seated at the edge of the opening, our legs dangling above the skids and into nothing.
“You two are jumping first,” Hawke yells over the raging wind, “but we’ll be close enough behind for Ben to film you on the way down, just in case the nano drones miss anything.”
I jolt at the reminder of the bug-sized cameras and look around the cabin, amazed anew that their diminutive size makes it impossible for me to spot them spying on us. But then my attention is diverted when our speed slows down, before we stop altogether, hovering in place.
