67
“Go. Now!” Taz shoved the two parachutes she’d stashed into Jeremy’s and Mike’s arms. JJ had ordered that there be none aboard—burning the ships behind them, like her almost namesake Cortés had five hundred years ago to motivate the men. She’d kept two back, well hidden.
Mike dragged on his chute with the signs of previous, if not deep, experience. Jeremy fumbled at the straps until he was actually holding it upside down. Something as simple as donning a chute had no place in his genius world. Other than a brief moment on a mountainous Baja rock shelf, their worlds had no overlap. One glimpse of another way life could be.
“Where’s yours?” Jeremy asked as she and Mike worked together to get Jeremy strapped in.
“I don’t have one.” She fisted the emergency release on the forward passen
