Chapter 17

Pilgrim’s Nest, Gauteng Province.

The helicopter’s rotors were already spinning as we rushed towards it. Dave was in the left seat (the only place you could fly an MD530F from), and Mai-Loan strapped into the right seat without hesitation. Nadia, moving fast, climbed into the back and took the seat on the right side. Meanwhile, I stood there cradling Georgie in my arms, trying to figure out where to place her.

Nadia saw the confusion in my eyes as I looked at the space between us, but before I could say anything, she handed me a small contraption. It looked like one of those baby harnesses they use on commercial flights to strap infants to their guardians during take-offs and landings.

“Here,” she instructed quickly, “grab this baby harness and let’s strap Georgie to you.”

I fumbled with it for a second, not entirely sure how to work it, but Nadia moved swiftly to help me. She snapped the straps together with quick, precise movements, securing Georgie tightly against my chest. It felt strange at first, but it made sense. I couldn’t just drop her in the seat between us—she wasn’t stable enough for that. She was injured, and we hadn’t had time to figure out the full extent. Any sudden movement or jostling around from the turbulence could make things worse.

“It’s better that you hold her,” Nadia said as she adjusted the last strap. “We don’t know how badly she’s hurt, so putting her in a seat could be dangerous.”

I nodded, feeling Georgie’s small, fragile body nestled against mine, and tightened my arms around her. She was so still, her breathing barely noticeable. It felt surreal to be holding her like this, like she was weightless, a stark contrast to the vibrant woman I knew.

Dave glanced back at us briefly as he flipped a few switches, the hum of the rotors growing louder. “We’re taking her to Netcare Montana Private Hospital,” he said, his voice tense. “It’s a little over twenty minutes, but they’ve got a heli-pad right next to the ER. We’ll get her there fast.”

I nodded again, my throat tight. “I know the place—they’re good.”

“Well, I’m going balls to the wall here,” Dave replied, his tone grim but determined. He glanced at me then back at the controls. I knew what he meant — he was going to push this bird to its absolute limits, just a little slower than it was designed to go. The airframe was going to feel it, but time was critical.

As soon as we lifted off, I could feel the helicopter straining, the familiar hum turning into a growl. The vibration ran through every part of the MD530F, and I could feel it coursing through Georgie’s limp body as well. I held her tighter, hoping that somehow, my arms could shield her from the violent shaking, the rush of air, the relentless heat.

The heat inside the helicopter was bearable with the rush of air through the open doors and the down wash of the five blades from the main rotor. Sweat dripped down the back of my neck, soaking into my shirt and starting to dry in the rush of air, but the discomfort barely registered. The only thing that mattered was getting Georgie to the hospital. The Magaliesberg ridges were growing larger, their jagged peaks silhouetted against the cloudless sky. We were almost there, and yet the distance felt insurmountable.

Then the speed — a little fast for comfort, but I trusted Dave. I glanced at the airspeed indicator, my eyes widening as the needle hovered at one hundred and forty-eight knots. We were screaming through the air at 274 kilometres an hour, faster than some small planes, but just under the Vne that this helicopter was built for in these hot, high-altitude conditions and with the doors detached. (Vne = Never Exceed Speed.)

“Dave, go gentle on the gas!” I called out over the noise. “Georgie looks okay, she’ll live...”

But Dave was relentless, his hands steady on the controls. “This bird can handle it, Alex,” he shot back. “Twenty minutes is all I can give you at this speed. I’ll let up when we cross the Magaliesberg.”

As the rotor blades whirred above us, slicing through the hot, thin air, I felt a knot forming in my stomach. Georgie lay limp in my arms, her body weight unnaturally light, like a fragile bundle that could crumble at any second. I looked down into Georgie’s face, her skin pale and cold, her features slack like a broken doll. She was breathing, but it was shallow, barely there.

Her face, bruised and pale, was a mask of stillness. I could see the swelling around her left eye, which was barely open, and her other eye was swollen shut; almost disappearing into the mess of blood-matted hair sticking to her forehead. Her skin was cold, a stark contrast to the heat blazing all around us. I tightened my grip on her, afraid to move her too much in case it made things worse. Her breathing, so shallow and faint, was the only indication that she was still fighting.

I prayed silently for time to pass, for the helicopter to hold together, and for Georgie to keep breathing.

“Come on, Georgie, stay with me,” I whispered under my breath, but she gave no response. Her body was so still, so unnaturally light, I barely recognized her.

The green-grey ridges of the Magaliesberg mountains appeared on the horizon, shimmering in the haze. The sun beat down on us, relentless and blinding, with no clouds in sight to offer relief.

The vibrations of the helicopter rattled my bones, but I held Georgie as securely as I could, knowing every jolt was reverberating through her fragile body. Each second felt like an eternity. All I could do was hope and pray she was holding on.

As the mountains drew nearer, Dave’s voice cut through the noise. “We’re making good time, Alex. She’ll make it. Just hold tight.”

I wanted to believe him, but the sight of her bruised and battered face and her shallow breaths made it hard. My gut twisted with helplessness. I knew that every second counted, yet here I was, unable to do anything but hold her, watching her slip further away.

“Come on, Dave,” I muttered under my breath. The speed was necessary, but it felt like we weren’t moving fast enough. Still, if we kept pushing the bird too hard, she could give out at any second.

Nadia, strapped in beside me, glanced over at Georgie and then back at me, a mix of concern and determination. She hadn’t spoken much, focused on keeping herself steady. She was as tense as I was, but she tried to offer some reassurance. “She’s tough, Alex,” she said softly. “If anyone can make it through this, it’s her.”

I wanted to believe that. I wanted to believe that Georgie, the fierce, brave journalist, was strong enough to survive this. But looking at her now, lying motionless in my arms, that hope felt so far away.

We crossed the Magaliesberg, the helicopter easing back as Dave let up on the throttle. The shaking lessened, but my heart didn’t. Every second still felt like a race against time.

“Four minutes,” Dave said, his voice more controlled now. “We’ll be over the hospital in four minutes.”

Four minutes. Four agonizing minutes.

Georgie stirred slightly, her breath catching for a second. It was the faintest of movements, but I clung to it like a lifeline. She was still with me. She was still fighting.

“Hold on, Georgie,” I whispered again, holding her tighter, praying that four minutes was enough to keep her alive.

Georgie stirred ever so slightly in my arms, and for a fleeting second, my heart leaped. Was it a sign? Her chest rose and fell, the motion almost imperceptible. But she was alive. She was still fighting.

“Hold on, Georgie,” I whispered again, tightening my grip on her.

We crossed the Magaliesberg at Waverley, where the N1 curves around that giant, open-pit quarry mine — a gaping scar in the mountain’s east face landscape, like a reminder of human ambition to shape the earth to its will.

Dave handled the controls with his usual steady hand, swinging west to pick up the route along Safako Makgatho Drive. As the helicopter banked sharply, I could hear the blade slap of the rotors.

I could see the snaking double lanes of Zambezi Drive beneath us, cars moving like ants along the busy strip. The tan-coloured brick structure of Montana Hospital appeared up ahead, looming larger with every passing second. Mai-Loan had already gotten on the radio, notifying the ER that we were inbound. The tension in the cabin was palpable, though Dave remained laser-focused on the task at hand.

I spotted the medical team first — navy blue scrubs standing out starkly against the bright concrete of the heli-pad. Their green hair covers fluttered in the light wind, and they looked ready for anything. They were a lifeline, a silent promise that Georgie had a chance. And then Dave started his descent.

He circled the complex once, giving me a glimpse of the Montana High School beyond the hospital, the green sports fields catching the late afternoon sun. The wind was light, just four knots from the north, nothing Dave couldn’t handle. But two massive trees on the north side of the pad cast long shadows across the edge of the heli-pad, like watchful sentinels guarding the hospital. Dave took that into account, of course — nothing escaped him when he was at the controls.

Slowing the MD to a crawl, Dave brought us down to rooftop height, the transition smooth as silk. The rotors whooshed above us, slicing the air, while we hovered above the hospital’s eastern boundary wall. Below, the parking lot shimmered in the sun, cars parked haphazardly by visitors no doubt rushing in for their own emergencies. Dave edged forward, creeping over the red “H” encircled in yellow on the heli-pad, his precision immaculate. He rotated the MD so the right side of the chopper faced the waiting medical staff, keeping the tail rotor well clear of them. No room for error here.

The skids kissed the pad with a soft thump, and at that moment, time seemed to accelerate. Everything blurred into a rush of motion and adrenaline. Nadia and Mai-Loan were already moving — unclipping me and Georgie from our harnesses like a well-practised drill. I barely had time to process before Mai-Loan took Georgie out of my hands. The sight of her limp body in their arms struck me, but there wasn’t time to dwell on it. The medics were on her in a heartbeat, strapping her securely onto a gurney, their movements quick and efficient.

They wasted no time — they never do in these moments. With a quick nod of acknowledgement to us, they started pushing the gurney, the wheels squealing slightly as they jogged towards the ER entrance. The sound of their hurried footsteps echoed off the hospital walls. I stumbled forward, my body feeling heavier than it should, as I followed them.

The waiting area of the Montana hospital ER felt as cramped as my thoughts. It wasn’t a large space — just a plain, utilitarian room with rows of cold steel benches lined up in three or four rows, each able to hold about six people, give or take. The harsh fluorescent lights overhead buzzed faintly, washing everything in a pale, clinical light. It was eerily quiet except for the occasional murmur of voices from the triage desk or the shuffle of feet.

There were only five other people in the waiting area sitting huddled together, quiet but with the kind of tension you only feel when someone close to you is behind those double swing doors. The ones with no windows — just a sterile blankness that kept you guessing what was going on inside. I imagined that whoever they were waiting for was being treated back there, where Georgie was too. The thought made my chest tighten.

I stared down at my hands, feeling utterly useless, helpless. How did it come to this? If Borrelli had made it out of that warehouse alive, I swore to myself that he wouldn’t live to enjoy his freedom for long. I was already thinking of ways to make him suffer, slowly, methodically. It helped distract me from the hollow ache building inside.

Mai-Loan had taken care of the admission paperwork for Georgie. We didn’t know much, except that her injuries were serious. Her name, age, and that she was hurt were the only details we had. It wasn’t enough. The stale smell of antiseptic, the sharp tang of floor cleaner, and the faint metallic scent of blood lingered in the air. Not overpowering, but enough to remind you that this was a place where people’s lives hung in the balance.

I slouched on the bench, feeling the hard steel press uncomfortably against my back, the unforgiving coolness of it grounding me in reality. I felt sorry for myself, but even more for Georgie. How broken was she? And what was I doing here? Just waiting. Useless. Powerless.

Nadia joined me, settling down on the bench next to me. She didn’t say anything right away, just sat there, her presence a quiet comfort.

“Dave flew back to Lambert Field,” she said after a moment, her voice soft but steady. I glanced at her, noting the slight frown on her face as she studied the worn tiles of the floor.

“Coffee or Coke?” she offered, her eyes flicking to mine.

“Coke will be fine, Nads. I don’t trust this place’s coffee,” I said, trying to inject some normalcy into the moment, though it felt like an empty attempt. The waiting area had this sterile, impersonal feel to it, like everything else in the hospital. The thought of their coffee, probably bitter and stale, didn’t do much for me.

“Well, it looks like they’ve got a percolator going over by the triage desk,” she pointed out. I glanced up and saw the small coffee station, if you could call it that, next to the busy nurse’s station.

“Maybe it’s for the staff,” I muttered, more to myself than to her.

“Then why are there twelve cups, spoons, milk, and sugar next to the machine?” Nadia’s raised brow and half-smile told me she wasn’t buying my excuse.

I shrugged. “Hmm ... You’ve got a point. Go ask that dark-haired nurse. She looks like she knows what’s going on here.”

“I’ll be back,” Nadia said, giving me a lopsided grin as she stood and headed towards the nurse in question.

I leaned back on the bench, shifting my weight to find some semblance of comfort, but it was impossible. Every position felt wrong, like the discomfort was inside me rather than beneath me. The sliding glass doors behind us opened with their soft, familiar hum, but I didn’t bother turning around—until I felt arms wrap around me from behind, and that unmistakable scent of shampoo hit me before her blond head came into view.

“Alex,” Ally’s voice was quiet, gentle, but there was no hiding the strain in her words. It was the kind of worry only family, or someone close enough to be family, could carry. “How’s Georgie?”

I sighed, the weight in my chest making it hard to breathe, let alone respond. “Broken,” I muttered, feeling the word sink into the space between us. It felt heavy, crushing. My hand found its way to her shoulder, a gesture that wasn’t for her comfort — it was for mine. I needed to feel that someone was here, grounding me, even though it did nothing to ease the suffocating helplessness settling over me. I couldn’t fix Georgie. All I could do was sit here waiting for someone else to put her back together.

Leon and Zara appeared next, joining us silently. I barely noticed at first, lost in the haze of my own thoughts. But Leon, he was impossible to miss. Solid. Reliable. The kind of presence that made you think everything could be okay, even when you knew it might not be.

“They’ll fix her up here, Alex. Don’t fret,” Leon said, his voice that low rumble of calm. He always knew what to say. I wished I could believe him, but the sharp antiseptic smell of the hospital, the sterile, cold air ... It all screamed at me that this was a place where things went wrong. Where people didn’t always come out whole.

“Yeah...” I forced the word out, though it came weakly. I wanted to believe him — needed to — but the distant sounds of machines beeping and the occasional muffled voice from behind the swing doors were reminders. Reminders that Georgie was back there, broken and fragile, and I wasn’t with her. I couldn’t protect her. The hospital felt like a purgatory; a place where time slowed and stretched, where every second felt like a lifetime and every breath was heavy with waiting.

Zara was next to me, her face pale, her eyes swollen from crying. She wasn’t saying anything, just staring straight ahead with that haunted look of guilt etched into her expression. I reached over, touching her arm, trying to snap her out of it.

“Zara, what’s wrong? You look like you’ve been crying.” My voice was softer than I intended, but the worry in her face made my chest tighten.

She blinked, tears brimming again as her lips trembled. “It’s all my fault. If I hadn’t called Uncle Leon ... None of this would have happened.” Her voice broke, and she started sobbing again. It was heart-wrenching, and before I could even react, Ally had leaned over, pulling her into a hug.

“And you would have been dead by now,” I said, my voice barely above a whisper. I didn’t know if she could even hear me over her crying, but the words were more for me. “You couldn’t have known what would happen. Georgie’s going to be fine.”

I said it because I had to, because I wanted to believe it. But there was a pit in my stomach that refused to let me feel any certainty. The truth was, I didn’t know. None of us did. But right now, lying didn’t seem so bad if it meant keeping Zara from drowning in guilt.