“I can help you,” I say, ignoring this. “I can get the chopper to work. I can get you home. But you have to take me with you.” “No.” “Why not?” He throws up his hands. “Are you joking? You’re clearly some kind of psycho mercenary servant of the fascists. Why would I take you with me? So you could kill everyone I care about? Imagine being invited to a potluck and bringing the plague.” He points at me. “You’re the plague.”
