Protecting the Flame Page 9

  “Dexter.”

  “Who?” asked Mattie.

  “A very good show until the last season when it went completely off the rails,” she said.

  “True,” Will agreed. “But beyond walling off blood spatter…”

  “Blood?” Mattie asked.

  “We’ll explain later.”

  Mattie stuck out her lower lip. “Grown-ups always say that.”

  “Sometimes they even mean it. As I was saying, you can also use this for an emergency tent or a tarp.” Will nodded toward the front. “Be a nice way to block off the rest of that opening, too.”

  “Wait, we won’t suffocate, will we?” asked Mattie.

  “Well, the fuselage isn’t going to be airtight, but we’ll leave a way for us to crawl in and out, like a snow tunnel. Speaking of which,” Will asked Emma, “how buried are we?”

  “Not bad, but the snow’s really coming down, so it’s going to get worse,” she said. “That might not be a bad thing, though, Will.”

  “For us to get buried?” Mattie’s eyes were wide behind her glasses. “No one will see us.”

  Will’s tone was soothing. “But snow’s a good insulator, Mattie. Come on, a smart girl like you, you have to know this.”

  “Yeah.” She gave a cautious nod. “We learned about igloos and stuff.”

  “Exactly. It’s why snow houses keep you warm. And I hate to say it, honey, but no one will be looking for us tonight. It’s almost dark, and it’s still snowing, so…”

  Mattie’s teeth snuck out to gnaw at her lower lip. “But what about my grandfather?”

  Probably dead. Funny, how that thought was so…dispassionate. Very matter-of-fact. It’s snowing. Oh yeah, he’s toast. Except for a few moments when she’d finally comprehended their situation, she’d not wasted a lot of time thinking about the others. She’d been so busy taking care of Rachel and worrying about Will and trying to set up a shelter that would actually give them a shot at surviving the night. There was also a very small part of her that actually felt a tiny bit…well, relieved. She didn’t need to be responsible for yet one more person. She had a hard enough time taking care of herself and, frankly, with their scarce resources, they had a better shot at making it with fewer mouths to feed.

  And, yeah, it was also true that she wasn’t all broken up about Scott. Good riddance to bad rubbish. Mean but accurate.

  “There’s nothing we can do about your grandfather tonight,” Will said. “I’m sorry, honey, but that’s the truth. If he’s smart, if the cockpit is anything like the fuselage, he’s holed up, trying to stay warm, same as us.”

  “But he won’t have any of the stuff we do.” Mattie’s eyes filled again. “It’s not fair.”

  “I know. Now, come on.” Will waggled Emma’s travel mug in his good hand. “Let’s fire up my Jetboil and make something better and hotter to drink than this swill.”

  It was on the tip of her tongue to snipe that she resembled that remark, but she caught it before it could leapfrog from her mouth and let the words curdle. Getting punchy. There wasn’t anything the least bit fun, funny, or even mildly amusing about this. Yeah, cool, she and Will could toss glib one-liners; hooray, they knew the same bad pop-cultural icons; but she felt as if all that were something born of a mild hysteria. It was easier and better and even more constructive to make stupid jokes than to give into panic and how she really felt as if there might be nothing better to do than run off screaming into the wilderness.

  “I’ll work on the shelter,” she said, more sharply than she intended, her tone suggesting one of them needed to do something useful before they all died. But she had to get out of here. She had to move, to do something. If there was enough plastic left over, and there should be, she was going to put that hand axe to good use building a lean-to for a woodpile. If we’re here that long. “Why don’t you guys start going through the rest of our crap, pool our stuff, see what we’ve got?”

  From his expression, she knew Will caught that caustic edge. “Sure.” Clamping his good hand to the edge of the locker, he pushed to his feet. “But Mattie can handle that. Let me give you a hand.”

  “Well, considering that one is all you’ve got at the moment, not a chance.” They needed Will, especially if Mattie’s brother decided he was really sick and tired of a womb without a view, ha-ha, and that now would be a good time to blow this crackerjack joint.

  “All right.” Will favored her with a long look. “I still need to examine you, though, and that gash on your scalp needs cleaning out.”

  “Yeah? Lessee, she’d already gotten Will’s arm into a sling, cut Mattie out of her harness, had Will talk her through supergluing and then bandaging Rachel’s scalp, mostly built a barricade to keep out the damn snow… “Well, it’s always something,” she said in her best Gilda Radner imitation, and that made her even angrier. SNL was a stupid show. “We’ll get to it.” Hefting a roll of Visqueen—ignoring the yammer of her damn ribs—she grabbed a roll of duct tape. “As soon as I finish.”

  “Okay,” Will said easily. “But at the risk of pissing you off even more…”

  “I’m not pissed.”

  “Yes, you are,” Mattie said.

  Jesus. She blew out in exasperation. “What?”

  “Have you checked the antenna?” asked Will.

  “What antenna?” said Mattie asked.

  “Emergency locator transponder.” She should’ve remembered to check this. “All planes are supposed to have them. They’re designed to go off on impact.” She decided not to go into all the reasons why, sometimes, an ELT would not go off. “The ELT broadcasts a signal search and rescue teams can zero in on.” She looked back at Will. “You think that’s why we haven’t heard anything? Why no one’s come looking?”

  Will inclined his head in an abortive shrug. “It’s possible.”

  “What are you saying?” Mattie looked from her to Will and back again. “What does that mean?”

  “He’s saying that might be a reason we haven’t heard a search plane.” She kept her eyes on Will. “It’s snowing, Will. No one’s going up in this to look for us.”

  “Still, best to check,” Will said. “Better safe than sorry.”

  And if something’s wrong with the antenna, then what? She didn’t even want to think about it. She’d think about it tomorrow, and fiddle-dee-dee.

  “I’ll do that,” she said, and left.

  Chapter 7

  The day bled away, taking the wind with it, though the snow didn’t let up. Smoothing a last length of duct tape to the fuselage, she took a few steps back and ran a critical eye over her handiwork. Not too shabby, actually. The arrangement of luggage along the base reminded her of sandbagged fortifications at forward operating bases and bunkers. A small but soft light diffused along the opaque plastic sheeting through which she could make out Will’s hunched form and, to his left, Mattie’s back as they worked at sorting through the contents of their various packs. The sheeting wasn’t air-tight, and although she couldn’t make out the words, she heard the rise and fall of their voices, the lighter, slightly anxious note as Mattie asked a question and then Will’s low, slow baritone. She also caught a whiff of warm chocolate. Will must have made hot cocoa. The smell made saliva pool under her tongue, though of course her bladder took that moment to remind her that she had other business to attend to.

  Might as well scout that out now. If they were here for longer than this evening, they’d have to designate an area well away from the fuselage. Wait, what are you thinking? Turning aside, she slogged through snow in as straight a line as she could manage, heading for a denser, darker area that might be forest. She didn’t know why she had that feeling, but it was the same as when a person carefully wandered a dark cellar or bedroom and sensed a wall coming up, a tower of boxes. Every few steps, she paused to eyeball the plane through dense, heavy snow that fell straight-down, like water gushing over a falls. Several inches already blanketed the fuselage. Will was right about insulation, but all th
at snow also would make it tough for anyone to see them from the air. Worse, Burke’s plane was white with black-and-red markings on the sides. She couldn’t remember what color the vertical fin and rudder were, but any color was better than none. Clearing snow away had to be a priority for tomorrow and maybe stamp out an SOS in the snow, too. The pack was certainly deep enough. If the sun deigned to make an appearance, perhaps they could use bits of the plane to catch the light?

  There was a lot to think about. She bet Will would know the best course of action. He was the wilderness guy, after all. She pushed away the thought that followed on the heels of that, but she couldn’t help but consider that Burt Reynolds’s character in Deliverance was a big outdoorsy guy, and he’d been the one who needed rescuing.

  She had to stop thinking so hard.

  The going was tough; every step was a posthole into fresh snow that came to mid-calf. She didn’t think what she felt beneath her boots was ground or rock, either, but more snowpack. She was reminded of stories her grandmother told about blizzards and following guide ropes from the house to the barn that were right out of Little House on the Prairie. Getting lost out here would be bad. Tomorrow, they would have to scout out the place, figure out where the cockpit was. The chances anyone was alive were, as her dad always joked, slim to none, and slim had left the building. (It was a dumb joke then and a dumb joke now, but her mom always laughed. That was, her dad once said, why he’d married her.) But there might be maps, like the one Burke had been consulting, or the radio might work.

  There has to be something we can do other than wait.

  As she waded through calf-high snow, she fanned the beam of one of Burke’s flashlights right and left. She saw nothing fresh or dug out, no trough made by something as large as a cockpit skidding through hardpack, but she was moving at a right angle to the wreck, too. All things considered, if the cockpit was anywhere, it probably lay in front of and on a line with their wreck. That’s what had happened to that rugby team in the Andes. Of course, where Burke and the cockpit were also depended on how the plane had come down. If a wing had clipped a tree, that might have spun them around.

  She was still thinking too hard.

  She wondered if animals might come to explore and see what all the fuss was about. She guessed that depended on how high they were. This was grizzly and wolf country. Mountain lions, too. Of the three, she put her money on cougars, not because she actually knew anything about the animals—she’d never seen one in her life—but because she’d seen it in a movie…which was it? The one with Jeremy Renner that took place on that reservation. That poor native girl who ran as fast as she could through air that flash-froze her lungs. On the other hand, the mountain lion in the movie came down from a mountain to feed; it didn’t hunt in the mountains.

  They might not be able to hunt up here either. Which meant they would have to move to a lower elevation. Maybe they should do that sooner rather than later.

  God. Freak yourself out. They hadn’t even passed the twenty-four mark yet. The end of their golden day would come soon enough, at about midnight, one a.m., but it wasn’t here yet.

  When she figured she was far enough away to tinkle in peace, she stopped and turned back toward the wreck. The light was still there but very faint. She hadn’t come to any trees, either, which should’ve embarrassed her but didn’t because, well, beggars and all that. Wedging her flashlight into an armpit, she quickly unzipped and squatted. Her bladder wasn’t as full as she’d imagined. From the ammonia smell, she must be dehydrated. Her lips were dry, and her tongue felt huge. Water would taste good right now. Better yet, a mug of hot tea or cocoa.

  As she was pulling up her pants, she happened to glance down—and saw something on her panties in the white beam of her headlamp.

  Shit.

  When she was twelve, she’d slipped on the balance beam and come down in a hard straddle. That had torn her up a bit on the outside. She’d also not been able to walk for a week, what with that melon between her legs. Yet another time when the school nurse had taken a look and rolled her eyes.

  The spot on her panties back then had been red.

  This one was pink.

  She must’ve stared for a good minute before her brain started working again.

  It’s trauma. She ran the zipper up then secured her pants with decisive snap. Nothing more amazing than that. What the hell? She’d been through enough in one day to last a lifetime.

  Face it. You’re one accident-prone chick.

  The thought made her laugh. Because wasn’t it the truth that accidents kept happening—

  Something, somewhere, screamed.

  Chapter 8

  What?

  Her heart crammed into the back of her throat. The hackles bristled along the nape of her neck and up and down her arms. Had that been a scream? A real shout from a person? She listened hard, trying to hear above the continual dull patter of snow hitting snow. The sound had been very high, almost womanish, but coming from where? Which direction? It had been so unexpected, she couldn’t really tell.

  She opened her mouth to call out—

  And stopped herself.

  Did she want an answer? Anyone looking for them wouldn’t scream. They would call. They would shout. More likely, they’d use a bullhorn or blast something down from a loudspeaker mounted on a chopper. But other than snow, the air was still.

  If she called and someone did respond, what then? She’d have to go look. She’d have to tell Will and he’d insist on slogging out into this storm and then anything might happen and if something happened to Will…

  Wasn’t it better to say nothing?

  My God, no, what was wrong with her? It might be Mattie’s grandfather or Scott. It could Hunter or Burke. The cockpit might be very close by, although, no, that cry, that solitary scream, had sounded far away.

  She turned in a slow circle. If it comes again, I’ll go check it out. Otherwise, it was nothing. It was my imagination. It could’ve been an animal, for all she knew. Rabbits screamed; their screams were actually quite bad, almost human, like the scream of a little kid. She knew because once she’d been at her bubbe’s house when a red fox had made her den under a shed in back. She liked to watch the baby kits chase one another and play, although Bubbe Sarah’s cat, Thomas, had to stay inside because he was too curious and would end up in a fox’s stomach. One afternoon, she’d been startled to hear a series of blood-curdling screams. She’d nearly jumped out of her skin, but Sarah had said only, Oh, sounds like rabbit’s on the menu. Sure enough, a short time later, she watched as the kits took the rabbit their mother had brought and spent more time playing with it, tossing it up and down, than actually eating.

  If it comes again, I’ll tell Will. She listened now, nerves fizzing. If not…well…

  No harm, no foul.

  Chapter 9

  “Hey.” Wrench in his left hand, Will turned as she peeled back the plastic and wriggled inside on a raft of cold air. “Thought you got lost.”

  “What are you doing?” He was sweating again. His eyes, shiny with pain, seemed to have sunk back into his skull, and the smudges beneath them were the color of old coffee. Those pills had either worn off or not done much to begin with. “Why aren’t you resting?” she snapped.

  “I’m okay.”

  “Like hell you are.” She heard the quaver. “You need to be careful.”

  “Take it easy.” He gave her a close look. “Did something happen?”

  “No. Why should anything happen?” She cast around for something to say that wasn’t a retort. “I checked the antenna. As far as I can tell, it’s fine.”

  “What about the unit that powers it? It would be located inside the tail.”

  “I don’t know. The panel’s locked. Were there keys in Burke’s stash?” When he shook his head, she said, “Then I guess we take it on faith, unless you want to take a rock to it or something.”

  He opened his mouth to say something else, but she was saved by Mattie. “W
ill made hot chocolate. We saved you a cup.” Carefully pouring from Will’s Jetboil, the girl held out a blue-enameled mug. “You should drink it. Will wanted to wait to eat something until you got back.”

  “Okay. Thanks.” She almost groaned when the chocolate washed over her tongue, the taste was so good. She had to calm down.

  “Everything okay?” Will asked.

  “Isn’t that just another way of asking if something happened?” Draining her cocoa, she gestured at the wrench with her mug. “What’s with the wrench?”

  “Seeing if I can get a couple of these bolts loose. If we can move the seats, we’ll have more room to—” He stopped talking as she plucked the wrench from his hand. “What do you think you’re doing?”

  “What does it look like? You need to stop. You’re hurt. You should rest. I can do this, and I will,” she added as he opened his mouth.

  “I wasn’t going to fight you about it. You’re right. What I was going to suggest is that we eat something. What do you say we did into those sandwiches you bought? I’ve got an apple, too, and we can all have tea. We’ll all feel better.”

  “Is that a promise?” Because she sincerely doubted it.

  “No.” He gave her a lopsided grin that showed off his dimple. “But there’s no harm in finding out, is there?”

  She fired up Will’s Jetboil and they ate by flashlight. It was almost cozy, like camping minus the fire. Emma took small bites and chewed carefully as she waited for her stomach to rebel. It didn’t. Perhaps even it understood she needed fuel. As they shared a mug of tea, Will said, “I still need to check you out.”

  “I’m fine,” she said then yelped when he poked a finger into her left side. “Stop that!”

  “Right. Fine.” Will tipped Mattie a wink. “Does she sound fine to you?”

  “No,” Mattie deadpanned.