Protecting the Flame Page 14

  “They haven’t come back.”

  “Oh, please.” She gave him a withering look. “You saw the tracks out there.”

  There had been many, in fact. Once they were down, they realized that the cockpit hadn’t really landed on a ledge at all but a very wide, very long table of snow-covered rock that reminded her a lot of Mount Dundas. The western slope was more gradual and gentle than the eastern edge and, from all the trammeled snow and spoor on that side, the wreck had had a lot of company. Advance scouts, probably checking things out.

  They had also found a few, very faint boot prints, mostly filled in with snow, that petered out after fifty yards. Scott had said he hadn’t wandered out that way and that Burke had been gone when he regained consciousness. So, had Burke walked off to find help? Will had doubted it. There was frozen blood smeared on the pilot’s side of the console, and the window on that side had shattered. Whether Burke had bulleted through and then awakened to wander off, dazed and disoriented, or he’d crawled out was almost of no consequence. What mattered was the man was missing. Chances were good Burke was either out there, buried under fresh snow, or dinner.

  “Those animals aren’t going to leave all this good meat lying here.” She imagined she could feel the press of their eyes even now. As soon as darkness closed in, those animals would be back. From her bubbe, she knew that the movie notion of wolves gathering around for a kill, as had happened in The Gray, was fiction. (Although it had still been a fine movie, and she totally wanted Liam Neeson on her side in a zombie apocalypse.) A pack would chase down a moose or deer, though, and while she’d never heard of a pack doing the same to a person, a) that person certainly wouldn’t have lived to talk about it and b) Jack London couldn’t have gotten it all wrong either. It was like his story about a guy trying to build a fire. The pack picked off the guy’s dogs until there was only one left and then waited around until the man had nothing to protect him: no weapons and no way to start a fire. A wounded animal was a wounded animal and potential prey, even if that animal was human. “It’s not safe to be out alone in the woods after dark, and I’m not really eager for either of us to end up as a Happy Meal.”

  “Scott managed to make it this far, and without a fire.”

  And more’s the pity. Fine, call her spiteful. True, Scott was a jerk, but he didn’t deserve to wind up as kibble either. Huddled near the ruined cockpit under one of Will’s space blankets, Scott was on his fourth or maybe fifth mug of hot broth, which he cradled in cupped hands. Other than the same pattern of mottled bruises they all sported, Scot also had a nasty cut over his left ear that had dried to a rust-colored crust and a huge knot where the side of his head had smashed into his window. He’d wrapped himself in the curtains that had separated the cockpit from the cabin and also stripped the cover from both his seat and Rachel’s grandfather to stay warm. She wondered if he’d thought of stripping Rachel’s grandfather out of his snorkel jacket, for spite. On the other hand, while the old man’s legs were paralyzed, there was nothing wrong with his arms, and she bet he’d give Scott a couple black eyes before surrendering that parka. Scott probably could have overpowered the old man, but maybe even he wasn’t that bloodthirsty. Besides, she had the suspicion that Scott had done the math. Snuggling up to a warm, living body gave him a better shot at survival than getting cozy with a really cold corpse.

  “Are you sure?” Will asked. “You can handle this? I’m not talking only the animals now.”

  She knew what he wasn’t saying. “They’ve made it this long.” Which also didn’t translate into either Rachel’s grandfather or Hunter making it through another night, and it was a toss-up who’d exit first unless help got here, like, yesterday.

  And where was everybody? There hadn’t been a search plane of any kind all day. Not even a distant brrr of an engine. God, and to think she’d been freaked by the idea of Rachel going into labor. That would be a cakewalk compared to this.

  “In the immortal words of Scotty and language you can understand, Cap’n, I canna change the laws of physics,” she said. “I got this. Leave the rifle and the walkie-talkie and don’t ask me again if I’m sure because there’s really no choice, is there? Sure, I can go back, but hell if I’ll know if Rachel’s better or worse. Grampa and Hunter really only have one way to go, right?” A brutal way to put it but the sentiment also had the virtue of being true. “What are you going to tell Mattie?”

  He’d been in touch with the girl only twice to tell her that they found survivors and ask after Rachel. “I don’t know. Let’s see if he makes it through the night first. I could be wrong, you know. People are stronger than you think, and they sometimes recover. It might not be a complete break…” He passed a hand over his eyes. “I’m operating in the dark here.”

  He looked so haggard, she put her arms around him in a fierce hug. “Stop. We keep putting everything on you and it’s not fair.”

  “No, it’s all right.” He’d stiffened at first and she almost let go, but then he slid his good arm around her waist and buried his face in her neck. “Thanks. Feels good. You forget how nice…”

  He let the rest go, though he held onto her and he was warm and solid and, for the first time, she felt not only her need but his. Which was strange, wasn’t it? He was married. His wife’s name was Becca and they’d wanted children. Except he’s not wearing a ring. Many men didn’t, though she imagined a man like Will would wear that ring with pride. So, divorce? She left him? No, that wasn’t it. Something else happened. Because Will had said it: he knew grief when he touched it. She ached to ask the question but instead let her body relax and mold to his. “We’re all scared,” she said. “It’s all right to be scared, Will.”

  She felt his mouth move in a smile against her skin. “Isn’t that my line?”

  “Yes.” She held on for another few seconds then let go even though she didn’t want to. “I know you’ll do your best. All anyone can ask.” She could tell he had something else on his mind. “What?”

  “How much experience have you had with death?” His eyes searched hers. “I’m talking worst-case scenario.”

  More than you can imagine. “I helped take care of my grandmother. Kidney failure. She’d been on dialysis for a long time and then she got tired of going in four times a week and not eating what she liked.” Bubbe Sarah thought she’d go fast, too, but she was a sturdy woman and lingered for almost a month. By the last week, so many toxins had built up in her grandmother’s body she’d become delirious and combative, paranoid to the point of lashing out with fists when Emma tried giving her a sponge bath. After that, they’d put her bubbe on morphine. This was almost as bad because while she lived three more days, there was only her body lying there. A mannequin would have more personality.

  “I can handle it,” she said. “As long as I keep the fire going, the animals ought to stay away. Leave me some food and bouillon and tea, and I’ll be golden.”

  It was all bravado. But she couldn’t decide which was worse: being alone with a comatose woman and her slimy second husband who hated her guts or out here, in the wild, with two dying men and any animals who might happen by hoping for a midnight snack.

  There was no other logical course of action, though. They all needed Will.

  And the rest is commentary.

  “Go,” she said, “before you lose the light.”

  Chapter 5

  “Drink a little more,” she coaxed. Before Will left, they’d maneuvered Rachel’s grandfather as close to the fire as they could without the poor man actually catching fire and then used a seat from the wreck to prop him up. This, Will said, would help him breathe a little easier. She held a cup of broth to his lips. “A few more sips, and I promise I’ll leave you alone.”

  “As if.” The old man heaved a noisy, beleaguered sigh that turned into a wheeze. “Isn’t that what all you young people say?” He sucked in a breath and then pushed out the next sentence. “As if?”

  “I’m not that young, but yeah.”
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br />   “Give me…that,” he grumped. “It’s my legs…” He struggled to pull in air. “That won’t work…” Breath. “Not my arms.”

  “Maybe you shouldn’t try to talk so much,” she said

  “Don’t tell me…what to do.” He sucked. “I can still feed myself. But…I’m cold. Can’t get warm. Damnedest thing. That doctor said…it was on account…”

  “That you broke your back, yeah,” she said. Spinal shock was what Will had said. Depending on the level of the break, it was normal after a spinal injury for the body to have trouble regulating blood pressure, pulse, temperature, and for every breath to be a struggle. Given the huge bruise over his spine midway up his ribs, Will though Grampa’s break was high thoracic. This was all so much Greek to her, but the gist was that the nerves controlling the muscles between Grampa’s ribs were out for the count, which meant it was hard for him to cough, clear secretions, and otherwise avoid pneumonia. She knew without Will having to say a word that, even kept warm and hydrated, the old man probably wouldn’t survive another twenty-four hours. That he’d made it this long, three days post-crash, was a miracle. Maybe snuggling up to Scott had been a two-way street.

  “All right then.” She made sure he had a good grip before relinquishing hers. “Drink up.” She watched the old man carefully guide the mug to his mouth. His hands shook with cold, and she almost warned him to be careful because the broth was hot but bit that back. She was a stranger; he was helpless. No need to humiliate the man.

  After several loud, moist slurps, he held the cup out for her to take back. “That’s enough for now…and don’t even think…about it, young lady,” he warned as he caught her expression. “I know I gotta…drink. But you’re forgetting.” He managed a wink. “Everything that goes in…”

  “Has to come out. Right.” She managed a smile, even though it really wasn’t funny. She couldn’t imagine what it might be like for this old man to be both paralyzed from the waist down and stuck with a stranger to clean up after him. “You know, I don’t even know your name, sir.”

  “Earl.” He held out a quaking hand. “Hollister. You call me Earl.”

  “Pleased to meet you, Earl.” His hand was work-hardened and rough with callous. She had a sense Earl had lived through a thing or two himself. Releasing his hand, she said, “Better put your gloves back on.” Dumping the broth into a small thermos (and to hell with cooties), she rose. “I’ll be back. I have to check on Hunter.”

  “Make him drink that,” Earl called after. “Him…you need.”

  What we need is a damn rescue. As soon as she left the fire, the drop in temperature made her wince. Crouching, she scuttled through a short tunnel in the snow she and Will had heaped around the cockpit along with slabs of the plane in an attempt at constructing a snow-shelter. They hadn’t had a lot of time, and the effort was half-assed but better than nothing, and the air inside was warm enough that when she skimmed a gloved finger over a side window, the fabric came away damp with condensation.

  “It’s me, Hunter,” she said as she pushed inside. “I brought you something hot to drink.”

  “Okay.” His voice was tight with pain. “Don’t suppose you got something better than aspirin?” There came a crinkle of paper as he shifted. “Right about now, I’d take a good whack in the head.”

  “This is all I got.” Slipping into his father’s empty seat, she uncapped the thermos. “You need to drink this. Then, maybe you’d like to wash your face and brush your teeth? Will left an extra toothbrush.”

  “Yeah, yeah, Mr. Be Prepared. You know what’s driving me crazy? This damn beard.” He dug with a gloved hand. “Itches.”

  “Would washing it help? We could do that.”

  “Cut the damn thing off for all I care. But, yeah, maybe.” With his hood cinched down tight around his face and that beard, it looked as if he were peering with deep-set, glittery eyes out of some deep cave. Will had brought The Minot Daily News to use for a fire, though the majority he’d wadded then stuffed into Hunter’s coat for added insulation. Already chunky, Hunter was bulky enough now to give the Michelin tire guy a run for his money. Whenever he moved, he crinkled. He held out his hands. “Give that mug here.”

  She watched as he drained the broth in nothing flat. Tipping out the rest of the thermos for him, she asked, “Are you hungry?”

  “Yes, but I’m not eating a fucking thing until we cut me the fuck out of here.” He gave the fiddleheads of steam rising from the mug a morose stare. “If that even happens.” His face suddenly crumpled, and he turned away, but not before she caught the shine of tears. “Having to fucking sit here in my own shit. Worse than a fucking baby. At least a kid gets his ass wiped.”

  “I’m sorry we couldn’t get you out today.” They’d debated before Will emptied out his water bottle. She’d been against it because the odds were against Hunter, but Will argued that keeping up Hunter’s morale was as important to the man’s survival as warmth and water and food. Bad enough he has to stew in his own crap. No point in making him constantly pee his pants. “Will’s going to bring tools from your dad’s cargo locker in the morning. Like you said, everything in the console is pretty much a drop-in, right?”

  “Yeah.” He gave his side of the console a baleful look. “I told my dad not to buy this fucking thing. Took all his savings and then a loan and then he goes and does an upgrade, and now we’re more in hock. I told him to be satisfied with what we had, but no, he had to keep going bigger and better. I always knew this business would come back to bite us if we stayed in too long.”

  It was a curious thing to say, and she didn’t know how to respond. That the plane had bitten down on Hunter wasn’t too far from the truth either. While the pilot’s half of the console was still relatively intact, Hunter’s had crumpled to trap his legs at mid-shin. For the first thirty-six hours, he could wiggle his toes, but now had no feeling in his feet at all. Will thought that meant frostbite and another set of problems. But, as he’d said, one crisis at a time. First they had to free Hunter’s legs, then they could worry about whatever they found.

  “Sorry.” Hunter blew out a shaky laugh. “I’m lucky you guys found the cockpit at all. That fucking Scott, man, he was no help. Like he didn’t even try. Took one look and left. And my dad…Jesus…hell did he go? I told him it was crazy, middle of a fucking storm, told him he shouldn’t go.”

  They hadn’t talked much before now. She’d been too busy, and this was new information. “Do you know when he left? Where he thought he was going?”

  “Naw, he was out of it. Stove in his head here.” Hunter touched his own forehead. “Bleeding like crazy.”

  Well, that explained the blood on the console. “He was probably confused.” Which meant Burke had likely died fast and was out there, somewhere, entombed under new snow. Maybe that was a mercy.

  “Kept going on about meeting the guys,” Hunter said. “I told him they wouldn’t be here.”

  “Guys?” She eyed Hunter. “You mean, like friends? At the airstrip? Were you guys meeting up with someone?”

  “Yeah,” Hunter said, and she saw the shift in the set of his face when he decided to say something other than what he’d intended. “Friends at the airstrip.”

  He was lying. She’d done enough reporting to spot that. But why would Hunter lie about something like that? Instead of asking, she said, “Hunter, your dad was looking at a map right before we crashed. Why did he do that if we were instrument flying?”

  She saw his eyes shutter. “I don’t know. There was a lot of turbulence, and we didn’t stick to the route.”

  That set up a little ding-ding-ding. “How far off his flight plan were we?”

  He gave an irritable shrug. “Beats me. I can take over in an emergency, you know, but he’s the pilot.”

  So they might be well off whatever flight plan Burke had filed. When the engines stalled and Burke piloted the plane into a series of right-angle turns to avoid the mountains coming up fast as they shed altitude, they mi
ght also have been shoved even farther from their projected route.

  Maybe that explains why we haven’t heard any planes or helicopters. A talon of dread dug at her chest. They might be looking in the wrong place.

  That reminded her, too. They’d been so busy, neither she nor Will had thought to look very carefully before now other than to check a slot for papers in the pilot’s side door. That had been empty and the map Burke had been consulting must’ve blown away in the crash. “Hunter, are there other maps? Something that might tell us where we are?”

  Again, she listened to the silence he let continue for a beat too long. “If there are, they’d be in there.” He gestured toward the center of the cockpit. “Underneath and behind the engine throttles. There’s a safe. He keeps a lot of paperwork and stuff in there. It’s locked, though,” he added as she panned her light in that direction. “I don’t have a key.”

  “Okay.” The safe was maybe a foot long and as deep. It reminded her of a car’s glove compartment. A couple of whacks with a hammer might pop it open, or there might be a spare key in Burke’s cargo locker. On the other hand, the safe was a weird place to keep a map. She imagined a pilot might want that handy and not have to fumble around with a key. “Hunter, did your dad have a satellite phone?”