Short Round turned sharply and found himself crashing through a row of lanterns. Sparks flew as the singer screamed.

  "Wow," he muttered to himself in awe. His heart was thumping wildly out of excitement than fear.

  Groggily, Indiana pulled the lady towards him and began groping in her dress. "Where's the antidote?" he slurred.

  "Listen, I just met you!" she began, not understanding his advances. "Oh, I'm not that kind of girl!"

  Shorty glanced around his shoulder. Beyond what could be a dirty sight without context, the boy spotted two black sedans in pursuit. "Hey, Dr. Jones, no time for love! We got company!"

Indy finally found the blue vial. He opened it quickly and began downing the contents.

  "Oh, I hope you choke!" the woman sneered.

Gunshots rang out as Short Round turned another corner.

  "No shooting!" the singer screeched, covering her ears as Indy returned fire. The antidote worked faster than the poison. His vision cleared, giving him the ability to aim.

Short Round honked as a man pulling a carriage with two passengers ran in front of them. The local tried his best to get out of the way, but he was humanly slow.

  "Okay, you ask for it!" Short Round hit the gas, ramming into the back of the carriage. The man was yanked into the air, suspended in place by the poles he used to pull.

Once they reached a fork, Short Round hit the breaks and turned. The carriage continued until it crashed into a load of sacks.

  "This is fun!" the boy whooped. He had to sit on the edge of his seat to be able to peer over the steering wheel.

  "Here, hold this." Indy handed the hot pistol to Willie. He leaned forward. "You got the tickets, Short Round?"

  "Sure, Indy–three tickets!" For a while now, Shorty had been wondering where the other member of their trio was. There hadn't been the time to ask. Strategically, the kid continued, "You, me, and Wu Han."

  Indy took the envelope from the passengers seat. "Wu Han's not coming, Shorty," he responded quietly.

  Short Round paused as he processed what that meant. His chest tightened and he inhaled deeply to relax it. "Don't worry, Indy. Short Round number one bodyguard now!"

  Somber, Indy sat back and turned to Willie to retrieve his weapon only to find her blowing on her manicured fingers. "Where's my gun?!"

  "I burnt my fingers and I cracked a nail!"

Finally, Short Round pulled into the Nang Tao Airport he had visited earlier that night. The three hop out and Short Round grabs Indy's shoulder bag. He hobbled towards the waiting plane as fast as he could with boxes still strapped to his feet.

  "Ah, Dr. Jones. I'm Art Weber," the official Short Round talked to before introduced. "I spoke with your... assistant." He eyed the boy curiously before he continued, "We've managed to secure three seats. But there might be a slight inconvenience as you will be on a cargo full of live poultry."

  "Is he kidding?" Willie whined over the noise of the propellers.

  "Madam, it's the best I could do in such short notice," Weber protested incredulously.

As Willie and Shorty boarded, the remaining black sedan pulled up. Lao Che and Kao Kan step out, but they could only scowl at the escaping archeologist as there were too many witnesses around.

  "Owe you a gin," Indiana promised as he shook hands with Weber. Before he closed the door, Indy grinned at his pursuers. "Nice try, Lao Che!"

Mere minutes after they boarded, the plane lifted off the airfield and into the dawn. They found seats where they could among the squawking poultry. Feathers flew everywhere and there was a stench that made Willie wrinkle her nose and sneeze twice.

Indiana Jones emerged from the next room looking more like himself. His white formal attire hung over his arm. In its place was his trademark leather jacket, khaki pants, weather-beaten fedora, and his coiled bullwhip hanging from his belt. His faithful sidekick had packed all the right things, forgetting nothing.

  Willie Scott noticed it. "What are you supposed to be, a lion tamer?"

  "I'm allowing you to tag along, so why don't you give your mouth a rest? Okay, Doll?"

He dropped his old clothes on the floor as he sat down. Understanding the invitation, Willie picked up his tuxedo and put it on to chase away the chill.

  "What do you mean 'tag along'?" She stood for emphasis as her voice rose with her. "Ever since you got into my club, you haven't been able to take your eyes off me." She snatched the red flower in the pocket and threw it on the ground.

  "Oh, yeah?" Indy challenged. To make his point, he placed his hat over his eyes and lay back to catch up on the sleep he had lost.

Gradually, the other two followed his example. Willie returned to the spot she had been sitting. After much tossing and grumbling, she managed to fall asleep out of sheer exhaustion. Short Round curled up next to Indy and fell asleep immediately. Despite being out cold, Indiana seemed to sense his young friend's closeness and moved his arm around him protectively.

The kid slept peacefully undisturbed until their new companion accidentally kicked him.

  "Mister? Mister! Oh, mister, wake up!" Willie shook Indy fruitlessly. He must be sleeping off the affects of the drug.

  "You call him, Dr. Jones, Doll!" Short Round snapped, still lethargic.

  "Okay. Dr. Jones?" Willie took off his hat and began waving it in his face to rouse him. "Oh, wake up, please."

  Eventually, Indiana returned to the land of the living. He blinked and yawned, "Are we there already? Good."

  Willie shook her head. She was pale and trembling like she was going to be sick. She shoved him into the cockpit. "No one's flying the plane!"

  That woke him up. "Oh, boy..." The man jumped into the pilot's chair quickly and gripped the wheel. The view outside presented cold, snowy mountains that would have been stunning, but now only spelled death for them all.

  "You know how to fly, don't you?"

  Indy grinned awkwardly. "No. Do you? How hard can it be?"

  While Willie swooned, Indiana started checking all the plane's vitals. "Altimeter: okay, airspeed... fuel."

The light flashed red, meaning the fuel was low. Beside them, the propellers coughed and spluttered. They were loosing altitude; the mountain peaks growing closer.

  "I think we got a big problem."

  "Dr. Jones!"

  "Shorty!" Indy pushed the fainting singer aside to meet his sidekick.

  "Dr. Jones, no more parachutes!"

  Next best thing. "Shorty, get our stuff!" Indiana ordered as he prepared the emergency life raft.

  "A boat?! We're not sinking, we're crashing!"

  If they weren't crashing, as Willie needlessly pointed out, Indy would have spared the time to roll his eyes. "Grab on, Shorty!" He felt two small arms squeeze his waist followed by two longer ones around his neck.

  "Lady, I can't breathe!" Short Round gasped as he was sandwiched between the two adults.

Indy pulled the handle that inflated the raft and jumped. Willie screamed the entire way down as the raft expanded around them. The drag slowed their fall a bit, but Indy's bones still rattled upon landing.

The raft slid down the snowy mountain like a sled. A boom turned their heads as their plane exploded in a ball of fire against the mountain side.

One hand gripped the raft so hard it almost popped while the other made certain the small boy didn't fly off.

  "That wasn't so bad, was it?" Indy yelled as the snow turned to dirt. Then he realized that it was not over as a cliff appeared out of no where. Thinking quickly, he pulled Short Round to him and held on tight as the fell through free air.

Their fall was broken by a splash. The rapids tossed the yellow raft like a cork, drenching the passengers in freezing water. They were completely at the mercy of the roaring river.

  Somehow, Willie still managed to complain. "I hate the water! And I hate being wet! And I hate you!"

  "Good!" Indy snapped. He never stopped holding Short Round.

Finally, the raft seemed to slow. The bedraggled trio felt like they could breathe as they collapsed to the bottom of the raft. As if nothing had happened, the raft floated lazily down the peaceful river.

  Always the bodyguard, Short Round ignored his own discomforts to raise his head slightly and check on his charge. "Dr. Jones?"

  "I'm all right, Shorty," the man responded, weakly ruffling the boy's black hair. "You okay?"

Too exhausted to speak, Short Round simply nodded.

  "Where are we, anyway?" Willie moaned. Her once professionally done-up hair was frizzy and all over the place.

  The raft bumped against the shore as Indy glanced around. "India."

  "How do you know that?" She rolled over and gasped.

Standing on the shore was an old, bone-thin man with swarthy skin and white wispy hair. He wore a cream white tattered robe and heavy beads around his neck. The man did not speak. The only part of him that moved were his eyes, blinking. His eyes were brown and full of wisdom that comes with age. Those eyes and his expressionless face simply added to the mysterious aura.

After a moment, the shaman wordlessly gestured to follow before turning and walking away. The trio shared glances with each other, then scrambled to follow, all but Willie ignoring the aching in their abused bodies.

Author's Note: Rest in Peace, Sean Connery (August 25, 1930 – October 31, 2020). This year continues to suck.