9
Shake the cobwebs out of my head. It doesn’t take an Einstein
to know that someone slipped a mickey into my drink. That someone being the
friendly flight attendant.
“O’ Kali!” The pilot is shouting. “O’
Kali mother!”
There’s something going on with his
eyes. They are wide, unblinking, and glowing, like an energy from within is being
released. A bad energy. A wicked energy. Just the sight of them steals my
breath away.
Slipping my hand inside my jacket for
my .45, it’s not there. Pilot took it off of me earlier. I could dig through my
jacket pocket for my Swiss Army Knife, but no time for that. Instead, I dump my
drink, crack it against the edge of a solid plastic and faux wood tray,
breaking the glass to form a crude knife. A swift kick knocks it out of my
hand.
Raising m
