17
Pete had lost at least ten years of his life on that flight.
River water was still running aft, but now it was rivulets instead of a torrent.
“We all accounted for?” he called back over the intercom.
“Except for the s**t from crapping my pants, we’re all aboard,” Drake reported from the rear ramp position.
“Pete,” Luke pulled on a headset. “You’re a dead man.”
“Hey, it was my wave, but I wasn’t the one flying.”
“Danielle, you’re a goddess. Pete, you’re a dead man.”
“No appreciation for—”
“Hey!” Danielle’s complaint cut him off. “Could we get out of China first?”
“Oh, yeah,” Pete needed to get his head back in the game. About a third of their electronics were cooked. “What’s that smell?”
Luke made a foul spitting sound. “One of the most polluted rivers on the planet and the la
