He raised his rifle.

I lunged forward, grabbing the barrel and twisting it upward.

The gun discharged into the ceiling of the cabin, the sound deafening in the small space.

We wrestled on the edge of the open door, the wind howling around us.

I managed to plant my boot in his chest and push.

He tumbled out into the dark, his scream fading into the roar of the engine.

I pulled myself inside, gasping for breath.

The pilot was shouting into his headset, trying to stabilize the aircraft.

In the back of the cabin, sitting on a metal bench, was the pink bundle.

Beside it sat Patricia.

She looked at me, her face pale with terror.

“You,” she whispered.

“You should be dead.”

“Give me my daughter, Patricia,” I said, my voice cold and steady.

She reached down, her fingers gripping the edge of the blanket.

“If I can’t have the trust, you don’t get her,” she snarled.

She dragged the bundle toward the open door.

“Patricia, don’t!” I screamed, taking a step forward.

She held the bundle over the edge, the wind tearing at the pink fabric.