Chapter 8: Vanished in Smoke
The chopper's blades thundered, tearing through the night. Mom's hands trembled on the controls, my voice sharp with Dad's instructions—levers, pedals, engine. The fire's glow painted the sky in angry reds, the kitchen blaze devouring Kane's charred remains. My hands still stung with his blood, the knife's memory burned into my bones.
The hum pulsed in my chest—dark, steady, alive. A song of survival.
I glanced back. The rooftop shrank beneath us, smoke curling into the sky like fingers. Then—his voice, cold as steel, sliced through the flames.
> "Find them!"
The masked man's shadow loomed far below. His men scrambled, their shouts swallowed by fire.
Too late.
Mom pushed the chopper higher, the city blurring into darkness. My heart pounded in sync with the engine's roar. "Keep going," I whispered, gripping her arm.
> "They're coming!" she gasped, eyes darting to the ground.
A flash—a glint of metal. The masked man, pale eyes gleaming through his mask, aiming.
A shot cracked.
The bullet kissed the side of the chopper, rattling us.
> "It's not over!" he roared.
"You'll never escape me!"
I clenched my fists. The hum rose louder, drowning out his threat.
He was wrong.
We'd escaped—for now.
---
Our house appeared below, a lonely shape in the breaking dawn. "We can't stay," Mom said. "Grab what matters."
We landed in the backyard. The blades slowed. My legs trembled as I sprinted inside.
The hum buzzed louder—a warning.
I grabbed Dad's watch. His photo. The silver locket he gave me. Pieces of him I couldn't lose. Mom shoved cash and documents into a bag, hands shaking.
> "They'll come here," she whispered.
"We go to your father's hideout."
---
The chopper lifted again, creaking toward the city's edge—toward the place Dad once called Plan Z. A hidden cabin buried in the woods.
> "For when things break, Isa," he'd said once.
We landed, the silence thick. The chopper's hum faded into wind and trees. Inside, we moved fast.
Mom took scissors to her hair, shearing it off in sharp, angry strokes. She dyed it black, the chemical stink stinging the air. In the mirror, she looked like someone else—fierce and hollow.
I curled my hair into tight spirals. Blonde dye scorched my scalp. My brown eyes vanished behind blue contacts. The girl in the mirror looked like a stranger.
> "You're still my Isa," Mom said.
"But they won't find us."
We packed what mattered: Dad's coded notebook. His emergency cash. A hidden gun. The rest, we left behind.
At the chopper, Mom emptied a rusted fuel can. I struck a match—its flame tiny, but alive.
> "No traces," she whispered.
I tossed it.
Boom.
Flames swallowed the machine whole, lighting the sky with our escape.
---
We fled on foot.
By dusk, we reached a forgotten town: Norwegick. Gray skies. Quiet streets. A nowhere town to start over.
The hum softened. But it stayed.
A whisper of the fight we'd won—
And the one still coming.
> "It's not over," he'd said.
I gripped Mom's hand, my heart steady.
Let him try.
I was ready.