by M Elle Kelso
The pain radiated in burning circles from the two bullet wounds and as he turned back to his original heading, he glanced quickly in front of him to see if there was someplace nearby that would do for a landing. He knew he had only a few minutes before he lost consciousness. The terrain below him was rocky; big and bigger rocks on the edge of an old avalanche site with a generous coating of new snow to hide cracks and crevices. He could see no level spots — he’d have to take his chances setting the skids down on those rocks.
His vision blurred and darkened as he felt another wave of pain. He’d been hurt before, but never like this. The pain was mind numbing, the burning sensation becoming greater with every heartbeat®. He fought to keep his eyes focused on the rocks in front of him. If he had to crash-land, and that looked like a sure thing now, he’d better do it where he stood a chance of keeping the little — and him in it — in one piece. He didn’t want to splash himself across the rocks of the Big Horn Mountains.
He looked around, fighting the nausea and the dizziness. Trying to control the helicopter was becoming harder with each passing moment. His breath was coming in short gasps, the pain in his shoulder radiating to join the pain in his side. He could feel the warmth of the blood where it soaked through his shirt and pants, making the clothes stick to him, causing even more pain when he moved and it pulled on the flesh around his wounds. His hands on the cyclic and collective felt clumsy and awkward. The pain was causing his arms to lose their strength, making every maneuver of the JetRanger® harder to accomplish.
He dropped as close to the ground as he could, hovering above the rocks. He dropped his forward speed down to a crawl, looking for a spot where he could set his skids. The right skid hit the top of a large boulder, and bounced him slightly before he dropped the skids to their final landing spot. He was beginning to think he actually might make it when he felt the cockpit start to tip. With the rotor still turning at flight speed, he watched helplessly as the JetRanger® listed to the right then began to turn over. He had no strength left in his arms or hands to try to lift the helo off the rocks. As he watched his world tip, he knew what would happen.
The rotor hit the ground at flight speed, breaking off the tip of first one rotor blade then the other. The broken section of the first blade cut through the front of the cockpit, surgically removing the entire nose section. The second blade fragment bounced off a rock and flew back toward the helicopter, hitting the cockpit just behind the passenger seat and slicing into the fuel tank. The air was suddenly filled with hundreds of pieces of the helicopter flying in every direction. In his failing consciousness he was reminded of something he’d seen in some space fantasy—he saw himself hurtling through something resembling a meteor field. Time slowed, blurring both sight and sound. Above him, he could hear the motor, still engaged, now screaming from the increased rpms, as it no longer had to contend with the balanced blade that kept it to the sedate three hundred and sixty revolutions per minute required for flight. His mind careered back in time, hearing his flight instructor’s voice and the number fifty thousand echoing across the years. Without a blade to balance the equation, the pitch of the motor was screaming along at 50,000 rpms. He wondered if that was what a choir of banshees would sound like.
Through the haze of his pain he reached for the fuel cut-off switch, praying the wiring was still intact. Seconds dragged like minutes; he wondered if he’d be able to get out. He felt he might not be able to move, even if everything around him ever stopped disintegrating, raining back down on him as he lay there.
The overpowering smell of fuel brought him back to semi-consciousness. Bits and pieces of the wreckage were in the cockpit with him, luckily none of it blocking his escape. If he could free himself, he might stand a chance. He fumbled with the shoulder harness buckle, the inertia reel keeping him pinned to the seat. If he had the strength left to climb out of his seat and up to what had been the door on his left, he might get out before the fuel ignited and the helicopter burned.
He had to move now. He wouldn’t have another chance.
He finally freed the harness buckle, and dropped to the bottom of the skewed cockpit. Another chunk of debris crashed across his back, just below his waist, with a sharp, searing slash of pain. He had to move now.
Using what was left of the window frame to pull himself up, he dragged his tortured body forward, fighting the spreading numbness. With one final lunge, he threw himself clear of the cockpit and over the first rock in front of him, only to be stopped by an even larger piece of mountain. He turned to look at what was left of his helicopter and realized that he could see and smell smoke.
His luck had just run out.
One of the pieces of white hot metal that was all that was left of the rotor motor must have landed in the dumped fuel. He had just seconds to get himself to safety, or he’d be part of the charred remains.
With the last of his energy, he managed to pull himself behind the large chunk of rock in his path, hearing, as he fell, the whoosh of igniting fuel. With the fire went any chance of his rescue until someone missed him. The ELT in the cockpit would have started broadcasting its signal on impact with the ground, but unless he got lucky and it transmitted long enough for someone to notice, the little black box couldn’t help him; he knew the black box had to withstand an acceleration of 3,400 Gs (3,400 times the force of gravity), which equals an impact velocity of about 310 mph. Since he hadn’t been doing anywhere near that speed, he stood a good chance it had survived the crash but not gone off. It could also survive flames up to 2,000 degrees F for one hour. He might get lucky since his impact speed was far less but he didn’t know what temperature the fuel-fed fire could attain. He tried to think back to aviation school but he couldn’t come up with a number. It was all he could do to remember that much information, the pounding in his head was so bad. And getting worse.
Through the haze of his pain, his one thought now was to survive. He could no longer move; he could no longer feel. Only the dull throb of his body told him that he was still alive.
As his eyes closed and consciousness took flight, his last thoughts were a confused jumble of his beloved C.J. and the horse.
The horse’s scream echoed through the trees, bouncing off the barn and house as it continued. It was a cry of pain, of loss. C.J. heard it in the house and ran to the door. She dashed from the house without stopping for her jacket, then watched in horror as the horse continued to scream, becoming more agitated with every moment. He staggered, he kicked out. She’d have gone to him but it wasn’t safe. His agony seemed to last forever.
Then, as suddenly as it started, it stopped. The silence was a blessing. But the horse was in a state she’d never seen before. His ears were pricked, his nostrils flared and his eyes showed terror. His neck and chest showed lather although he’d done nothing to warrant its appearance. Whatever was wrong with him, it was causing him to gulp air in massive amounts; his body seeming to deflate when he exhaled, he blew so hard.
She stood at the gate, afraid to leave, afraid to go in with him. Then, even his distress ceased. He turned slowly, facing east, his ears twitching and pricking as though hearing something she couldn’t hear. His nostrils flared, sending up plumes of crystalline white as he huffed out a breath in the cold December air, and the fear was gone from his eyes. Now they were soft, full of understanding. Loping to the gate where she stood, he nickered impatiently, waiting for her to understand, too.
Once Mirage appeared to have returned to his normal self, C.J. spent the rest of the morning trying to work on a press release and a news story, but her mind was on David. She kept listening for the helicopter, waiting to hear that distant rotor sound that would signal he was on his way home.
When he wasn’t back by noon, she became more concerned. She made herself lunch but didn’t eat it. Her sandwich was still on the table, untouched, two hours later. She kept checking the phone to make sure the line was still working, but it didn’t ring. She phoned Blake at three, to see if he ha
d heard anything.
An hour later, Jared phoned to see if David had called.
At five, no one called and she was even more upset.
She call-forwarded the house phone to her cell phone and went down to the barn to put the horses away and do the few chores that had to be done. Maybe doing something would keep her from worrying. The horses knew where their stalls were and all of them headed straight to their rightful place, eager for hay and oats and the warmth of their neighbors.
All except Mirage.
He refused to enter the barn. He stood at the door, looking from C.J. toward the mountains east of the house. She called him, but he refused to budge. Finally, she got a lead shank and went to get him.
After she closed him in his stall, he hung his head out and called; a clear, bell-like whinny that reverberated through the barn. With his behavior earlier in the day, she wasn’t surprised by his actions; she just wished she knew what it meant.
“Sorry, old man. I know I’m not David, but I can feed you just the same as he can. Come on, get your nose in that tub of oats. I’ll be back down later to check that you’ve eaten all of it.”
She went back up to the house and again checked the house phone to make sure it was working.
Using her cell phone, in case David tried to call the house, she phoned the office at Blake’s ranch. There was no answer, which she thought was strange.
She tried Jared’s number. Nobody home. Even more strange.
When there was no answer at Patrick’s ranch, she became downright alarmed.
She was on her way out the door when she saw lights pull into the yard. It was Jared’s SUV and he was the only one in it.
“Hey, C.J. How you doing?”
Jared was cheerful enough, so there couldn’t be too much wrong, she thought.
“I’m worried, Jared. David hasn’t come home and he hasn’t phoned. That’s not like him.”
“He hasn’t called yet? That’s odd. He’s usually good about letting people know where he is. I just came over to give you a hand with the chores in case he wasn’t back.”
“I’ve just finished them. The horses are all in and fed.”
She hung up her jacket and found a place for Jared’s.
“Today was the day Mirage decided he didn’t want me to do anything for him. He went berserk this morning—screaming and leaping around in the corral. Five, maybe ten minutes later he seemed fine. Now he doesn’t want to be in the barn. I think he missed having his ride with David. It’s not like him to be stubborn about going into the barn.”
“He must really be sulking.” Jared laughed at the thought; David and that horse were inseparable.
“I know, the silly fool. He’s so tuned in to David that I think sometimes he doesn’t even know I exist anymore.”
She led the way back into the kitchen.
“Got time for coffee?”
“Sure. I was by myself most of the day. Some coffee and company will be nice.”
“Where’s Annie?”
“She and Kaycee talked Blake into taking them to an auction someplace. They took all the kids, too, which I’m sure must have been fun. And none of the other guys was around, either.”
“Well, I’m glad you’re here. I was starting to worry when I couldn’t find anyone at home or the office.”
Her repeated glances at the clock above the stove made Jared aware of just how worried she was. And he didn’t blame her. David had been gone much too long for the work he had been doing today. And it wasn’t like him not to phone if he was going to be late. Jared wondered if he should give Blake a call, or maybe Patrick.
C.J. stood abruptly, grabbed her jacket and headed out the back door. By the time Jared caught up to her, she was a few steps from the barn.
“What’s the matter?”
“I could hear banging. One of the horses could be cast. I just thought I’d better check.”
As they entered, they heard a pair of heels connect soundly with the back wall of a stall. Someone wasn’t happy and was letting the world know it.
C.J. stopped in front of Mirage. She was speechless when she saw the state the horse was in. He was lathered up across the chest and shoulders, his neck was dripping wet. From the amount of white around his eyes, he was terrified.
“Mirage, Mirage it’s okay. What’s the matter, old man?”
C.J. was crooning to the horse as she opened the stall door and slipped inside. Jared wanted to stop her; he was afraid she might get hurt. But he knew she was capable of quieting the horse, if anyone could.
“Easy, boy. What’s the matter.”
She stood next to the horse and felt his body quivering. He didn’t act like he was sick. He acted more like he was terrified, but there was nothing she could see that should frighten him.
“Jared, hand me that sweat scraper will you. Then could you get me a horse blanket from the tack room, please?”
He hurried away, after handing her the scraper, returning almost immediately with a heavy wool liner and a quilted blanket.
“I brought this,” he said, handing her the wool blanket, “ so you could put it under the quilted one, help sop up some of that sweat. What’s got him riled up?”
“I don’t know. I’ve never seen him like this before. It’s like he’s scared.”
She was looking around the barn, noticing that none of the other horses was acting the least bit strange. Only Mirage.
“I’ve seen other horses act like this once before, but that was in a barn that was on fire. There’s nothing like that here. At least nothing I can see. I’ll get him fixed up here, then I’ll go and call Hooch. Maybe he can swing past here tonight and take a look at him.”
Jared agreed. Seeing the reaction the horse was exhibiting, he hoped the vet could figure out what was wrong.
He found a second sweat scraper and was working on the other side of the horse. He, too, could feel the horse quiver.
“Okay, let’s finish and go back to the house. We’ll call Hooch.” Once they were done, they fixed the blankets to warm the horse and hopefully soak up some of the sweat and lather.
“I’ll stick around until David gets back in case Hooch needs help with Mirage.” Jared continued.
“Oh, no! I forgot to bring the cell phone with me. What if David’s been calling?”
Once more, C.J. was running between the house and the barn. Jared realized just how concerned she was when he was unable to catch up to her. He finally caught up to her in the kitchen.
“C.J., stop. You’re going to make yourself sick if you keep doing this. Have you eaten anything today?”
She saw him eyeing the stale sandwich that still sat on the table.
“I didn’t feel like eating. I couldn’t.”
“Well, sit down, right now, and eat that. Is the tea in the same place?” He was looking for the kettle as he opened a cupboard door. “I’ll find something for myself in the fridge.”
C.J. had tried the house phone, then checked her cell.
“I’m going to try to phone him. He can’t still be flying. He would have run out of fuel hours ago.” She dialed his number.
After four rings, the voice mail answered.
“David, it’s me. Where are you? Please call me right away.” She left her message then hung up.
Jared watched her, his heart going out to this woman who had only been married a few weeks. This wasn’t how most new husbands behaved and it certainly wasn’t the way David normally acted.
She went to stand beside the window, looking out into the night.
“C.J., I’m going to call Blake and Patrick, see if anyone has heard anything from him. I’ll use my cell phone in case he’s trying to call here.”
“Please, I’d appreciate that.”
She went back to staring out the window.
“I’m really getting worried, Jared. This just isn’t like him.” She was scared. Something was wrong; she knew it. Whatever had been making her so uneasy this morning, had returne
d, but the feeling now was even stronger.
This wasn’t David. Taking off without letting anyone know where he was. She turned, to find Jared coming toward her.
“I know, honey, just don’t worry too much. I’m sure he’s fine,” he said as he punched in the familiar number.
He wandered around the kitchen while speaking to Blake; C.J. went back to the table for her tea.
“C.J., Blake heard from David just before noon. He followed a cattle hauler that was traveling down the road that runs past here, heading east. He was hoping it was the one that John’s neighbor had seen. But once he got a closer look at it, he realized it had a name on it. Blake checked for him, and the truck was doing a legitimate haul for one of the ranchers west of here. That’s the last time he heard from him. But he’s going to phone around, see if anyone else has heard anything from him. And he’s sending Hooch over, right now, to check on Mirage.”
“Thanks, Jared.”
She sipped on the nearly cold tea.
“I’m sure we’ll find out he just got stuck someplace.”
They sat in silence. C.J finally eating the sandwich she had left at lunch. The tea helped her, too. Jared must have put four or five times as much sugar as normal into it. She smiled. That was his cure for everything. Hot, sweet tea.
She saw the lights on a vehicle as it pulled into the yard and was up and out the door before Jared could even react.
Standing on the porch, she watched in disappointment as Hooch climbed out of his SUV, heading toward her.
“Thanks for coming, Hooch. I’m sorry we needed to bother you, but Mirage is certainly not acting normally.”
“It’s what I do, C.J..” he replied.
“What Jared described is something we don’t see very often, but it sounds to me like Mirage is having the animal equivalent of an anxiety attack.”
Jared heard the end of Hooch’s greeting to C.J. and realized that if you equated it to human terms, C.J. and the horse were acting exactly the same way. Interesting.
“You have any idea what would make him have an anxiety attack, Hooch?” questioned Jared. He was afraid that he might not like Hooch’s answer, but he had to ask the question. He just hoped that Hooch would refrain from offering a detailed opinion.
