“You bitch! You shot me!” He picked up the microphone again. “I’ve been shot! Help! The bitch shot me!”

An older man’s voice came over the radio. “Piper two-fifty-niner, please repeat last transmission. Is that you screwing around up there, Greenlee?”

As he lifted the mic to his mouth, Susan placed the muzzle against his temple. “Don’t do it. Tell him we’re fine!”

He nodded in response and picked up the mic with trembling hands. “Uh, roger, um, roger that.”

The radio hissed and crackled. “Really, Greenlee, you’d better be more careful. If you do something like that again, I’m going to have to tell your Daddy.”

“Put down the mic and take us to Belgium,” Susan said. “Katie-bear, we’re finally getting married! Aren’t you excited?”

“Susan, he doesn’t know how to fly! We’d never make it! We can’t even land here, let alone freakin’ Belgium!”

“We gotta land. You shot me,” Steve said. He looked at Kate with a pleading look. “Please help me!”