by Rachel Lee
Meteors fell from the sky, too, and once in a while they hit a person. Maybe the amazing thing was that they didn’t hit more people.
But sometimes, if you turned that pattern of random events around in your mind and looked at it from another angle, it didn’t look quite so random, and so you started asking the unanswerable cosmic question: Why?
Her mother had talked to her about that once when she was in high school, and the words had stayed with her. She could hear it as if her mother were sitting right beside her:
Honey, bad things happen to everyone. It’s what we learn from them that determines whether we become better people or worse people.
Was she in danger of becoming worse? Because she didn’t feel like she was especially good as it was. Nor could she ignore that very bitter rat now gnawing around the edges of her thoughts.
She stopped another sigh, looked at Cait’s pale, small face. Her sister had become a mere shadow of herself, looking almost waiflike in her weakness. So fragile she reminded Rory of a dandelion puff, something a mere breath of air could scatter and carry away.
It shocked her.
Working around roughnecks in oil fields had taught her just how tough the human body was, how much resilience it truly possessed. It took a lot to actually kill a man.
Then this. Her sister exemplified the opposite side of the coin—displaying just how fragile life really could be. How frighteningly frail.
Just as morbid thoughts threatened to consume her, the plane jerked and let out a groan like a dying giant.
Rory froze, looking quickly at Cait, but Cait barely stirred. My God, what was that?
At once Chase emerged from the cockpit and started reaching for his outerwear. An instant later, Wendy and Yuma joined them.
“What was that?” Rory asked
“I think we just moved. I need to check it out.” Chase pulled on his jacket impatiently.
“I’ll go with you,” Yuma said instantly. “You shouldn’t go alone.”
“No, you stay. You’re the only other one of us with survival experience in these mountains, plus you know your way around the GPS and beacon controls. If both you and I go out there we could endanger everyone.”
“I’ll go,” Rory said. “Yuma’s right. In these conditions no one should go out alone.” She looked at Wendy. “You know where Cait’s meds are?”
Wendy nodded. “I saw.”
Even as she yanked on her outerwear, Rory wondered if she was doing the right thing. She hated to leave Cait in someone else’s care, but it would be foolhardy for Chase to go into this blizzard alone. And if someone could take care of Cait, it was certainly Wendy.
They couldn’t afford to risk losing anyone to this storm, but a long career of making hard-eyed risk assessments told her that she was the most expendable of the lot. Another uncomfortable thought, but an honest one.
She felt a flicker of dark amusement. Funny how coming up against life and death made you realize just how puny and unimportant you were.
As soon as they were tightly buttoned up in their cold-weather gear, she and Chase both grabbed flashlights. Getting the door open seemed a little harder, as if the metal of the plane had twisted more, but with a couple of shoves it opened.
Outside the weather had grown savage. Rory felt the wind try to grab her and snatch her as she crawled over the badly angled stairs for the deepening snow outside. At last she stood beside Chase, their flashlights bouncing off wildly swirling snow, and then watched him close up their steel cocoon.
If Mother Nature had temper tantrums, this seemed like one of them. Even inside her snorkel hood the wind tried to steal her breath, and icy needles of flying snow stung her briefly before melting.
“What do you think it was?” she asked again, just as the wind keened forlornly around some obstacle.
“We’re going to find out. Grab on to my jacket somewhere and hang on. We don’t want to get separated.”
No, they didn’t. Rory estimated the whiteout conditions were limiting visibility to maybe five feet. She grabbed the bottom hem of Chase’s jacket and hung on tight.
Dry though it was, the snow didn’t help their footing at all. Obstacles had become invisible, and the ground offered plenty of them, for this was a mountainside—not pavement. Rocks, tree limbs, dips and unexpected hills all made the going tough, as did the wind itself. At times it slapped her so hard she felt like a sail in a gale.
Chase stayed close to the plane, moving slowly, shining his flashlight all over it, from the top of the fuselage, which was almost invisible, to the ground on which it sat.
As they rounded the tail, the plane itself blocked the wind, at least briefly.
“We must have shifted,” he said, leaning his head close to hers so she could hear. “The wind?”
“In part, probably. But you know what happens when ice gets compressed.”
“It liquefies.”
“Exactly. There was snow here before we came down. I’m guessing that the weight of the plane is melting it. By now we’re probably sitting on a layer of ice and water.”
That didn’t sound very hopeful, but she just nodded her acknowledgment.
“We shouldn’t be able to slide too far,” he said reassuringly.
She hoped he was right. But she wondered just how much more stress the fuselage could take before it cracked like an eggshell. She imagined it must have been built to endure forces not so very different from the ones she dealt with drilling for oil. All those take-offs and landings, all the buffeting…it was undoubtedly strong. But no one could guess how much metal fatigue it had suffered in this landing.
They worked their way slowly around the other side. He seemed to be looking for worrisome signs of some kind. Perhaps additional buckling that appeared too sharp. The kind of thing that might expose them to the elements. The wing still had airspace beneath it, and she wondered if that was good. The wind must be gusting at least forty miles an hour, not enough for real lift. He was right about that. But maybe enough to move them from time to time.
They eased around the wing, staying close together, and worked their way toward the craft’s nose. It was still mostly buried in snow, as it had been from the beginning, but more of the windscreen was visible now. The wind was steadily unburying it. What did that mean?
To her surprise, Chase began to dig away some of the snow with his free hand, revealing more of the nose cone. It looked a bit rumpled but not bad, considering that it had plowed its way through snow and debris. After examining the bit he could see, he patted it, almost fondly, as if pleased with how well it had withstood the landing. A sudden whop caused them both to turn and look back at the wing. Flying snow almost entirely hid it from view.
“The wing flexed,” he said with a certainty that indicated he’d heard that sound before.
“That’s not good. It could move us—that much energy.”
“I know. Let’s move farther forward.”
She followed him into the maelstrom, hanging on to the hem of his jacket, noting that he didn’t place them right in front of the plane. So he was indeed afraid that it might move.
Well, she was, too. They made their way forward until the nose was almost lost in the snow blowing behind them.
“You stand here,” he said. “Keep your flashlight pointed in my direction so I can find my way back. I want to be sure of what exactly is in front of us.”
“Okay.”
Even inside her snorkel hood, the wind sounded loud, as did the swishing of snow as it snaked drily across the surface. Each time the wind twisted around and pushed at her, she could hear icy crystals pelt the nylon of her jacket.
Damn, it was cold and dry, and in no time at all she could tell where Chase was only by the insistent glow of his flashlight. The snow caught the light and tossed it around, making it unreliable, but still illuminating his general direction. It didn’t exactly swallow the light, but it might as well have the way the flakes shattered the light everywhere in tiny, gl
eaming pinpricks.
She staggered a bit as the wind hit her back hard. This was not a great night to be out. The elements were having their way with everything, and she felt smaller just then than she ever had. Around her loomed a forest she couldn’t see, a night that was full of threat.
The thought of animals didn’t unnerve her. Little that lived unnerved her after some of the places she had been, but no animal with any wisdom would be prowling in this storm. No, it was the storm she feared, and how it could worsen their situation.
While the blizzard raged, threatening the plane, inside that plane her sister clung weakly to life. Time and the elements were conspiring, and she had to fight an urge to throw her head back and scream her fear, frustration and fury into the howling storm. As if the elements might heed it.
Almost unbearable tension coiled her muscles, and she’d have given almost anything to have the power to set this all to rights. Never, ever, had she felt so utterly helpless, except perhaps during the mere minutes before that well blew. Oh, hell, that didn’t even come close. At least then she’d been able to get most of her people away in time.
An eternity seemed to pass, though she was sure it couldn’t have been more than ten or fifteen minutes, before Chase began once again to emerge from the swirling snow. First his flashlight, then his vague outline, dark against the whiter snow.
“We can’t move far,” he told her as he reached her. “Even if there’s a ravine up there buried in the snow, we’d probably slide right over it if we skate because it’s so narrow.”
“But if we don’t?”
“Then we’re going to be walking uphill inside the plane.”
“Could it withstand that?”
“Ordinarily, I’d say yes, but after all this, I honestly don’t know.”
Icy fingers, icier than the needles of snow that stung her face, gripped her heart. “Can we do anything to prevent it?”
He waved in the general direction of the plane. “What do you think? That bird is heavy.”
True. She lowered her head a bit, biting her lip, thinking about all the other dangers that might still get them. No, they couldn’t prevent that massive, crippled plane from moving if it decided to. “Beyond the ravine?”
“Woods. They’d stop us for sure. How much damage we’d have would depend on how much momentum we built on a slide.”
She turned from him and looked back toward the nearly invisible plane. A lot of momentum, if those tons of aluminum started moving. They wouldn’t have to move fast. Hard as it was, they were going to have to trust that the plane would stay put because there wasn’t a damn thing they could do to prevent it from moving. “I wish we could do something about the wings.”
“Me, too. I don’t think they’re getting much lift at all, but evidently it’s enough to cause them to flex. More metal fatigue.”
“Yeah.” That was one thing she knew a little about. “I guess we’re just going to have to ignore the groans and moans.” Not at all comforting, that thought.
“I can’t see any other answer.”
She’d been out here too long, she realized. Some inner clock was ticking, and it was pushing her to get back to Cait, to make sure she was still all right.
Chase took her elbow this time as they struggled back up alongside the plane. Funny, she hadn’t noticed the slope on the way down, but now she felt the climb back up. Maybe they were at a high enough altitude to notice the thinness of the air.
The wing ahead of them flapped again, a strange sort of hollow, metallic sound, followed by a banshee moan. Before Rory even realized what was happening, she had been shoved to the side. The next thing she knew, she was lying on her back in the snow with Chase half over her.
The terrible screech of metal continued.
“Don’t lift your head!” Chase shouted.
Eyes wide, protected from the wind by the snorkel hood, she watched in horror as the wing, lit from beneath by their flashlights slid over them, starting and stopping several times.
“Oh, my God,” she whispered. “Oh, my God!”
The snow was so deep beneath her that she could have reached up and touched the wing as it jerked its way over her. Then, with a visible shudder, everything froze.
Chase’s weight held her pinned in the snow, and she had no desire to move. Staring straight up at that wing, she waited for it to move again.
“We’re going to crawl now,” he said, leaning close to her ear. “Turn over, crawl straight under the wing.”
For an instant after he levered off her, she wondered if she was going to be able to move at all. Then, with effort, hating to take her eyes off that potentially dangerous wing, she rolled over. Chase tugged her arm up the slope. Only at the last instant did she remember to grab her flashlight.
She hadn’t realized how big that wing was. The journey beneath it, crab-crawling because she was afraid to lift herself, went on forever.
“Okay,” Chase said. “Okay. You can sit up.”
She did, twisting to look at the wing that now lay in the snow behind them, the front edge now nearly buried, the tunnels they had made crawling out rapidly filling.
“Everything’s okay,” Chase said, standing, his voice loud now to be heard over the wind. “Nothing’s any worse. Maybe it’s even better.”
“Better?” Losing the last of her fear that somehow the weight of that wing was going to fall on her, she scrambled to her feet. “Better how?”
“The wing is buried at the front edge now. We’ll get less movement.”
Until the snow blew away. “How did that happen?”
“Apparently, when the plane slid forward, it tipped more.”
“I don’t know if that’s good.”
“Rory,” he said, “at this minute I’m grabbing every straw.”
He was right, she realized. There was no point in looking at negatives unless you could do something about them.
“We need to get back inside and reassure everyone. That slide must have worried them.”
That was also true. She hoped it hadn’t awakened Cait. Whether it had or not, those in the cabin must be wondering about whether more was coming and whether she and Chase were all right.
Once again they struggled into the wind and the upslope to round the rear of the plane. At moments like these, Rory appreciated just how big this jet was.
In her business she flew this way only as someone’s guest. She preferred to be far more penurious with her travel expenses, and this kind of luxury had always struck her as unnecessary unless you had some kind of important work to do that you couldn’t on a commercial flight—work that couldn’t wait.
Cait couldn’t wait, however, and she certainly couldn’t travel by commercial airliner. Not in her weakened condition with her compromised immune system. This time, cost was the last thing Rory had considered.
But it was a huge plane.
When they reached the far side again, and the door, they discovered that the forward slippage had moved the plane so the door was blocked by deep snow.
“Hell,” Chase said, then bent and started scooping snow with his hands.
Rory joined him. “You have everything else. How did you overlook a snow shovel?”
She thought she heard him snort, but the wind left her unsure.
“The best-laid plans,” he quoted, scooping rapidly. “I think we may have lost our fire pit, too.”
Rory glanced around, but as heavy as the snow was she doubted she could have made out the metal box. Why hadn’t they thought to bring it inside? “We can make another one, right?”
“I hope. Mainly I hope we can get this door open. Then we’ll worry about everything else.”
She joined him in digging, growing hot inside her insulated clothing, but glad she no longer felt cold. She even started to perspire a bit and once again she noticed that she couldn’t seem to get quite enough air.
“Stop.” Chase reached out and gripped her arm. “You don’t want to be breathing like that o
ut here.”
“Why not?”
“Altitude. And the air is extremely dry. You could get pulmonary edema.”
“What about you?”
“I didn’t come from sea level. This change isn’t as big for me as it is for you.”
She obeyed him, hating to feel useless, but his hands were big and strong, and even bigger inside gloves. Plus, the snow’s dryness seemed to aid him, blowing away most of what he scooped to make a drift elsewhere.
“There,” he said finally. The exit door was mostly unburied. He banged hard on it, and moments later they could hear banging from the inside. Yuma, and perhaps Wendy, were trying to shove the door open.
Chase worked his fingers into the crack on one side, and Rory immediately worked hers into the opening on the other side. Together they tugged, and at last the door began to swing down.
When they at last clambered inside, Rory threw back her hood but left her jacket on and unzipped. The cabin was warmer than outside, of course, but even though she had warmed up from her exertions, she could feel that it was still chilly inside. Perhaps too chilly.
She wanted to hurry back to Cait, but over the seats she could see her sister sitting up, holding a mug of something hot in her hands.
Cait’s expression at once revealed that she had been terrified. “I was so scared for you,” she said, her voice louder than Rory had heard it since coming home.
“We’re fine,” Rory assured her, easing past the others to reach her sister and sit beside her. “How are you doing?”
“I’m okay.” Which was what Cait usually said.
“What happened?” Yuma asked.
Chase answered. “The plane slid forward about fifteen feet. Nothing seems to be any worse, though.”
Wendy spoke. “We all just about panicked for you two. Thank God you weren’t right in front of this behemoth.”
“We had to duck so the wing missed us, but it may have been a good thing. The leading edge is buried in the snow now. That’ll help hold us in place.”
