Lone Survivor (Book 1): All That Remains

by Hunt, Jack

  Beth slowed almost to a crawl and turned to her left and right. Damn it. Had she left the trail? It all looked the same. After a certain point she could usually see town lights flickering in the distance but there was nothing. It was just complete white.

  She tried to calm the beating of her heart and slap away the thought that she was lost. Navigation was a strength of hers. She looked up towards the stars hoping to use them as guidance but she kept blinking hard from so much snow falling.

  The compass.

  The snowmobile idled as she reached into the backpack and pulled it out. Holding it out in front of her, she had to keep wiping snowflakes off the surface. The town was south and their cabin was on the northwest side of the Blue Ridge Mountains. While she could tell that she had veered slightly off course, she was still heading in the right direction. Down. It was as simple as that — follow the slope and eventually she would hit Jackson Road, five minutes later she would be on Main Street.

  Putting the compass back into her bag, she took off again, this time confident but yet concerned that she wasn’t seeing lights. There were always lights. The engine growled as she bounced over a crest then yanked the handlebars, narrowly missing a tree that exploded into view. For a moment, Beth was positive that she’d lose control of the Ski-Doo and collide with the thick trunk. Thankfully, the tread raked at the snow and she stayed upright and was able to veer her way to safety.

  Relieved at the near miss, she soldiered on in near-zero visibility, maintaining the same southeasterly line. Her hands were so tight on the handlebars that they felt like they’d frozen.

  Suddenly, it happened. The wind howled in her ears so loud that she didn’t even hear the engine until it was nearly upon her. An explosion like a thousand fireworks going off. Fear shot through her as her eyes lifted at the sight of a small plane slicing through the forest like a hot knife through butter.

  Her eyes widened in horror.

  It was heading directly for her.

  Those brief seconds of distraction were all that was needed. Another tree trunk came out of nowhere. A split-second decision; she jerked on the handlebars as the Ski-Doo caught air over a hilly section of terrain. It was too late. The collision was brutal, sending her flying off into a pile of powdery snow.

  She never lost consciousness but for a moment sound became muted until she pulled her head out of the snow and gasped.

  The wail of the Ski-Doo vanished beneath the roar of the plane as it cut through the forest, snapping trees like twigs, an explosion of metal and Mother Nature.

  Groaning, she scrambled to her knees, her muscles burning. She’d expected a broken bone or two but had narrowly scraped through with nothing more than a sprained wrist, a few pulled muscles and some gnarly scratches. She sucked in air. Every breath felt like she was choking on slush. After catching her breath Beth scrambled back up the slope towards her machine which had flipped on its side. The engine was no longer on. Slipping and sliding in the snow she cursed under her breath at the sight of mangled metal.

  “No, no, no,” she cried as the headlamp on her head swept over the carnage. She wiped a wet hand across her face, lifting the goggles to get a better look. The air was solid snow. “Damn it!” She didn’t need to try and start it again to see the Ski-Doo was a complete write-off.

  Her thoughts turned to the plane. Had anyone survived?

  In the distance between the trees she could see a speck, the faint glow of fiery orange and smoke rising up from that forest-slicing crash. Beth slipped the goggles back on and looked down; her knees were deep in powdery snow and more of it kept whipping up into her face. She looked down the mountain, still unable to see the town’s lights. Something was definitely wrong. She might have veered off the beaten path but she knew how long it took until the glow of civilization came into view, but now there was nothing. Do I head back to the cabin, continue into town on foot or go see if there are any survivors? What would her father do?

  She scrambled to her feet, pulled out a flashlight and turned it on, then adjusted her headlight to provide as much light in the darkness as possible. She plodded through the forest in the direction of the wreck, her mind racing, unsure of what to do even if there were any survivors. What if the storm had knocked out all the power in town?

  C’mon, keep moving…

  Beth followed the path of destruction that had cut into the mountain leaving a trail of clothes in the snow. She stopped and picked up a young girl’s shirt then dropped it and stepped over large branches. A barrage of ice-cold needles blew in her face, a huge gust threatening to force her back down. The wind nipped at her cheeks so she pulled up her scarf until there was very little skin showing.

  Large pieces of the plane were scattered like breadcrumbs leading her onward.

  Suddenly — there it was — what remained of the plane!

  She didn’t just see it; she could feel the heat of the flames.

  A strong wind and continual onslaught of snow tried to blind her. The smell of fuel was so strong the closer she got. What if it exploded? She circled around it shining her flashlight beam over the hollow tube of metal, trying to spot survivors, but with the night and blizzard it was near impossible. She could hear her father telling her to stay back but what if someone was alive? What if she could have saved them? The thought of that young girl’s clothing made her push aside her own safety as she pitched sideways down a slope to get near.

  “Hello? Anyone alive?”

  No answer just thick black smoke.

  Beth pressed on even as more flames licked up the front of the plane. The rear had been torn away and the nose stopped by an army of tree branches crushing the front like an accordion. Metal groaned as she shone her light inside over two seats. It fell upon the pilot and she closed her eyes. The light then washed over another figure hanging over a seat. It was a man, at least that’s what she could tell. Was he alive? Beth carefully worked her way into the guts of the plane, and made her way over to the man.

  “Hey mister.”

  No answer. “Hey!”

  Still nothing.

  Cautiously she reached out and just as she was about to touch his arm, his right hand clamped onto hers. “Please… help.”

  7

  Sara smashed the accelerator and revved the SUV’s engine again, trying not to freak out. The engine whined loudly as Max put his shoulder into it. “Give it some!” he yelled.

  “I am,” Sara bellowed out the open window. A gust of cold wind took her breath away. The vehicle rocked slightly as the tires tried to bite the snow. For a second she thought they were free then it slipped back down the slope again, crushing that hope. Sara cursed and smashed a fist against the steering wheel causing the horn to beep. Startled, Max looked over the hood and scowled. Sorry, she mouthed.

  They’d been at her mother’s for the better part of the day, keeping her company until Landon returned. Geraldine had purchased a home on the northeast side near Wilson’s Point six years ago when Sara’s father was still alive. She was getting on in years but wasn’t ready to give up her independence so Sara arranged to have groceries delivered and she dropped in every day to make sure she was okay. At seventy-eight, Geraldine’s bones ached but beyond that she seemed the perfect picture of health. Okay, her memory was getting bad and that had been a serious concern of Sara’s but the doctors were still running tests to determine if she was experiencing the onset of Alzheimer’s. After her losing her dad, she’d told her mother to come and live with them at the Manor as there was plenty of space but she wouldn’t have it. Nope, you have your own family now, she would say. Besides, Landon wouldn’t appreciate it. Landon was never there, she’d reply.

  Anyway, on the short trip home to the south side she lost control and slid into a snowbank. Max trudged up, out of breath, and placed a hand on the top of the roof. “It’s freezing out here.” They’d already tried salt under the tires but that didn’t help. “How about I jam the car mats under the tires? It might give it enough tracti
on.”

  “Forget it. Don’t break your back, I’ll call Parish Towing. Get back in.”

  Max hopped in the back while she fished into her bag for her phone. She already knew his number. Most Maine residents if they were smart had AAA or a tow truck guy in their contacts.

  Landon had always grumbled about the cold weather saying it was much nicer down in Florida but she couldn’t fathom living anywhere else. She was born in Bangor and her parents had moved to Castine when she was three to run the Manor Inn. Although she’d entertained the thought of moving, she couldn’t bring herself to leave behind the picturesque town that was situated on a peninsula in Penobscot Bay. And, even though it wasn’t an island, per se, she and others referred to it that way. It was the home of the Maine Maritime Academy that trained up her older brother Caleb who now worked as an engineer for the United States Merchant Marine. It was also where she had her first kiss, graduated from high school and spent most of her summers with friends, the same close-knit circle that had seen her through a bad divorce until Landon came along. Since then many of her friends had moved to different parts of the country, the only one that remained was Tess.

  “Hey Jake. You think you can swing by 166, I’m just past TimberWyck Farm,” she said over the phone.

  “You as well?” He groaned. “You’re the fourth call I’ve had tonight.”

  “What can I say? They just don’t make winter tires like they used to.” She figured she’d blame it on the tires for once instead of the weather like most people did. The truth was she’d skimped this year and gone for all-season because they were cheaper and with the recent renovations eating a hole in their pocket and not having to travel far, she assumed they’d be fine. Famous last words.

  “Look, I’m not sure when I can get there but—”

  The line went dead.

  “Jake?” Sara thought he’d hung up on her but then she looked at her phone, the power was off. She tried turning it on but it wouldn’t work. “Ah man, hey Max, can I use your phone for a second?” She put her hand back without even giving it another thought.

  “You can’t. It’s dead.”

  She turned in her seat with a frown. “What? Yours too?”

  “Yeah. I was just playing a game and the damn thing shut off.” He tried to power it on but it wouldn’t work. As she was looking back at him, she noticed the lights in the house of TimberWyck Farm were off. They’d been on only minutes earlier.

  “Huh. That’s odd.”

  She fished into the center console and pulled out her charger unit. Although it was odd that both phones stopped working at the same time, she thought she’d try charging them. She plugged it in and turned over the ignition. Nothing. No splutter. No cough. Not even a click. “Are you serious?” she muttered. Sara tried again without success. “Oh, can this night get any worse?” A chill came over her. She knew they couldn’t stay there long without heat; they’d freeze to death. Temperatures in the winter often dropped to below 20 degrees and with the freak weather they’d had over the last couple of years she wouldn’t be surprised if they would see it drop even lower.

  “C’mon, let’s head over to the farm. Maybe someone can give us a ride back to the Manor.” By vehicle it was a short ten-minute journey from where they were but by foot, they were looking at least an hour and thirty minutes and in this weather that wasn’t happening.

  It didn’t take long to retrace their steps to the sprawling white farmhouse with a faded red barn that had sheep in the field even in the middle of winter. TimberWyck was the only working farm in Castine and while most locals were supportive, some felt it was an eyesore or a nuisance to have pigs in the road, or animals making their way into the private cemetery. Sara had no problem. She thought it was good to support local businesses and farms were just another one of them.

  She and Max strolled onto the four-acre property and made their way up to the farmhouse. They heard chickens clucking, and saw a pen of ducks and turkeys, and beyond that goats.

  “You sure about this?” Max asked. “Shouldn’t we wait for Jake?”

  “We will once we find a phone that works.”

  Sara made her way up to the white home and knocked on the door. Both of them shivered as a strong blast of cold air swept up snow around them. No answer. She tried again then saw through the opaque glass a light moving towards them.

  “Yeah, yeah, I’m coming.”

  The door swung open to reveal a heavyset man in his early fifties; he was dressed like he’d just walked out of a bush. He wore a ratty brown cardigan with a shirt beneath it, and torn jeans. His hair was a mess, his chin unshaved and he smelled like pig shit. It probably didn’t help that he shone the flashlight beam directly in her face. Sara squinted and thumbed over her shoulder. “I run the Manor Inn. My son and I came off the road half a mile from here, wondered if we could use your phone?”

  “Why don’t you walk?”

  His abruptness caught her off guard. Most people she’d met in town would go out of their way to help. “Well, we just thought it would be quicker to call Parish Towing Company.”

  “Does it look like we’ve got power, lady?”

  Footsteps echoed behind him.

  “Arlo, let the poor woman inside.” A figure emerged from the darkness, slapping the side of his arm. In the glow of the light she saw a large woman wearing a black apron. She had a full head of white hair, beady spectacles and looked as strong as an ox. “Come on in, honey, you’ll catch your death of cold standing out there. Arlo. Go see if you can get that generator started.”

  As they came in, she recognized the woman. Sara had seen her around town but couldn’t place the name. “You’re…”

  “Janice Sterling, darlin’. And you’re Geraldine’s daughter.”

  “That’s right.”

  She let out a laugh as she beckoned them on in. “How is your mother doing? I used to see her in town a lot but haven’t seen her around in a while since your father passed.” She made a gesture of a cross on the front of her busty chest. “God rest his soul.”

  They were led into a beautiful but dark kitchen. Light from the moon filtered in through a large set of windows at the back of the house. The floors were stone tiles and there was a large oak table in the middle of the room with pots and pans hanging from a rack near the sink and breakfast bar. A fresh bouquet of flowers rested in the center. Janice pulled out a chair and told her to take a seat.

  “Good. How long’s the power been out?” Sara asked getting back to the reason she was there.

  “Less than five minutes. We figure the storm has knocked out the power.”

  It wouldn’t have been the first time. Thousands had woken to a power outage after an icy blast knocked out power and buried the state in close to two feet of snow a few years back. Her business along with 130,000 homes were left without electricity. It wasn’t long before the governor of Maine issued a state of emergency. It was a pain in the ass but par for the course living on the east side of America.

  “Yeah, I figured the same,” Sara said not wishing to sound like she was thinking it was bigger than that. At that moment in time she had no idea. Janice lit a few candles making it easier to see her. A warm yellow glow filled the kitchen. “The thing is, I noticed our phones weren’t working. Is yours okay?”

  “I haven’t checked yet, hon, you can try my cell phone over there if you like while I make us a nice cup of tea. Fortunately I just boiled the kettle when the power went out so it’s nice and hot. You have to thank the Lord for small mercies.”

  She shuffled her large frame over to the kettle while Sara crossed the kitchen and scooped it up. A press of the button answered that. Nothing. “It’s dead.”

  “Oh. Well there’s a landline on the wall in the next room.”

  Max looked at Sara and gave her a look like, don’t leave me with this lady, but she just smiled and went to locate the phone. It was one of those hard-wired phones like the one they had at the Manor. Sara picked it up and got a dial
tone. “That’s odd.” She wasn’t familiar with how everything worked though she did know that cell phone services could become unreliable in periods of high volume like a weather emergency, and cordless phones could lose their power, but that didn’t explain why their cell phones had no power. She was certain hers had a full charge only minutes before it stopped working.

  Sara tried calling Parish Towing but got no answer. She assumed he only had a cell phone and was between jobs. The business was small so there was no one except Jake that usually answered. She hung up but kept her hand on the phone.

  “Any luck, dear?” Janice said from the kitchen.

  “Your phone works but I can’t get through to anyone. Your husband, Arlo, doesn’t have a vehicle that works, does he?” she asked hoping that Janice would say yes, as there was one other person she knew who might but she hesitated to phone him. Landon hated him and well… he’d swung by the Manor a number of times when Landon was away to offer his services, and she had to admit he was a bit of a handful.

  “I’ll go and ask,” Janice said.

  Just in case she picked the phone up and placed the call. Rita Thomas answered.

  “Ah, hey Rita. It’s Sara. Sara Gray.”

  “Oh Sara. I hardly recognized you.”

  “How are you holding up with the power outage?” Sara asked

  “We have a gas generator going for now, you?”

  “Not so good. We have one at the Manor but the problem is getting there. We’re kind of stranded in between and the weather seems to be getting really bad out there.”