James Rodriguez

I was angry when he died.

Emily's voice broke.

Relieved even then.

Guilty for feeling relieved.

Tears streaked her face.

I've carried the chain for seven years.

We broke through the final barrier of vegetation onto open beach.

The apparitions remained at the treeline, hissing and distorting, but not following onto the sand.

I couldn't save him from the straw, Emily said, her voice steedying.

Just like you couldn't save Clara from her accident.

But I can accept that now.

The sun touched the horizon as we crossed the beach toward the tethered Cessna.

The apparitions followed along the tree line, pacing us but not advancing onto open ground.

Almost there, I said, helping Emily through the shallows toward the plane.

Can you make it up the ladder?

She nodded, gritting her teeth against the pain in her ankle.

I climbed aboard first, then helped pull her into the aircraft.

The familiar cockpit provided momentary comfort.

Instruments controls mechanical reality instead of supernatural horror.

I secured the cabin door and began preflight checks with practiced efficiency fuel levels, sufficient control surfaces, responsive engine ignition sequence initiated outside.