by Hunt, Jack
Scanning.
Now, how to get you out?
She shifted her body into an awkward position, coughed, and felt a sharp pain in her side again.
First things first, unbuckle him.
Close to his face, she tried to get a response, clicking her fingers. “Hey Dad, Dad.”
Nothing.
Frank peered over, curious, the upper half of his face white with shock. With all that blood streaming down, she had to wonder if he hadn’t suffered a concussion. He might not have any broken bones but that didn’t mean he couldn’t die from a brain injury.
Years ago, back when Kara was thirteen, she’d tagged along with her father to a wilderness training course — that was a long time ago, and remembering first aid or any of the outdoor survival lessons would be a stretch. Half the time she wasn’t paying attention. The course was for her father, not her. Her experience amounted to three summer camps, and the little he’d taught her while camping and that was before the age of fourteen. After that, they never ventured out again.
Besides, even if she could remember, neither of them was mentally ready to handle this. Learning about crashes was one thing, being prepared was another but experiencing it… well, shock had a way of blocking recall.
Stay calm, she told herself.
Her adrenaline was pumping hard, she felt nauseated and lightheaded. The last time she’d blacked out, it happened in high school when she wasn’t feeling well, she’d passed out in a lecture and awoke to find a teacher and a circle of snickering kids looking down at her.
“Frank, I need your help. I can’t lift him out of here by myself. He’s too heavy.”
“What do you want me to do? I’m stuck.”
“Can’t you climb back?”
“Over the top of my seat? Do I look a hundred and twenty pounds?” he said.
There was small space inside the cabin and even less now that half of a tree was filling up the interior.
“Try your door then.”
“And drop to the ground?”
“You can’t stay inside!” she said, frustration getting the better of her. Her main concern was her father. On her way in she’d noted wisps of smoke coming off the engine. It could have just been oil leaking out onto the exhaust, but there was still a chance it could burst into flames. “What about through the open windshield?”
She heard Frank try to force his way out the front window, all the while cursing. He slipped at one point and let out a cry. For a second she thought she’d lost him as he disappeared out of view. Fortunately, he reappeared. He managed to clamber over the tree and make his way up to the side of the plane she was on. He perched himself, hanging on to the passenger door and peering in, blood dripping off his forehead onto her back. “You mind?”
“Oh,” he said, lifting a hand to cover it.
She touched the branch that jammed against her father’s upper shoulder. Kara gave it a push to see if it would move but she was liable to cause him pain if she used any more force. Thinking fast, she reached into her pocket and pulled out the Leatherman, flipped open the small saw, and began hacking away at the wood.
“Where did you get that?” Frank asked.
“A gift. From him, many moons ago,” she said without looking at him. It didn’t take long to get through the branch and when it finally came away, her father slumped forward against her. She closed the multi-tool and slid it into her pocket.
“Okay, you take one of his hands, I’ll take the other and then we’ll lift,” she said, lifting one of her father’s heavy arms to Frank.
“Ah, I don’t know about this, Kara.”
“I’m not leaving him in here.”
She climbed out and laying on her belly reached down and clasped his coat arm and pulled it up. Once they both had a hold, she gave a nod and they began to pull. Lifting a hundred and eighty pounds out of a plane wreck wasn’t as easy as she thought. Every time they moved, the plane shifted below them.
“Hold on to him, Frank.”
“I’m trying,” he bellowed over the wind beating at them. “As well as trying to balance on this damn plane.”
Eventually, they managed to haul her father out of the cockpit and onto the top. There they took a minute to rest. Frank breathed hard.
“Now how are we going to get him down?”
“One thing at a time,” she said. “There must be some rope inside, right?”
“I don’t know, maybe in the rear compartment. If you can find it,” he said, noting how the back end had been torn off and was dangling from the rest of the fuselage.
“All right, stay here,” she said as she climbed down into the belly.
“We’ll need the first-aid kit as well,” he yelled.
Inside the cabin, Kara looked at Angela’s impaled body again and said a silent prayer. It felt wrong to clamber over her but she had no choice, it was the only way to get to the rear. Crawling over busted seating, and all manner of debris, she made it as close as she could to the opening then returned with nothing. “If it was in the back it’s scattered all over the ground now,” she said. “We’ll just have to lower him ourselves.”
“Uh-huh, and how do you suppose we do that?”
“It’s less than fifteen feet, he’s almost six foot. If you hold on to my legs and I hold on to him, we should be able to lower him to the ground.”
“Yeah, and who holds on to me?”
All right, it wasn’t the best idea but it wasn’t easy to think under the circumstances. She wasn’t sure how much shock either of them was in. Not thinking clearly under duress was to be expected. “Okay, stay put. I’ll go down, see if I can find the rope.” Kara maneuvered over to the nose of the plane or what remained of it.
It was a crumpled mess.
It took a while but eventually, her boots landed and she looked up, stepping back from the plane and taking it all in. Then, she quickly followed the trail of debris while clutching her ribs. It hurt to breathe. She lifted her jacket to get a better look at her side. It was red, bruised badly. There was no way to know for sure what kind of damage she had. She released her jacket and continued the search. She hadn’t gone more than seventy feet before she found the rope and a first-aid kit. “I got it,” she yelled to Frank. After climbing back up, a feat that wasn’t easy, she tied the rope around her father’s waist, threaded the other end through the plane, and tied it off around a branch. Then, with both of them holding it tightly, they released the rope inches at a time and brought her father safely down.
Frank climbed to the ground and they positioned Kara’s father against a tree nearby, away from the wreck just in case the branches didn’t hold and the rest fell to the ground. Laying her father out, she could now get a better look at his injuries.
12
Her father was a mess. There were multiple lacerations to his face causing extensive bleeding. His shoulder had a gnarly gash from the branch that had jammed into it, possibly causing a fracture. What troubled her most though was the angle of his lower right leg. Kara tore open the pant leg, revealing the full extent of damage. He’d broken it. No doubt about that. The fibula wasn’t protruding through the skin, but the leg was angled in a way that made it clear that it would need to be set. If that wasn’t bad enough, there was also a gnarly gash to his left thigh, she’d have to stem the blood fast.
It seemed overwhelming, too much coming at her all at once.
She tapped his cheek a few times. “Hey Dad, hey…”
He groaned but wouldn’t open his eyes.
He might have been suffering from a concussion.
First things first, once she caught her breath, she would clean the wounds, deal with the bleeding, and then figure out the next step.
“Pass over the first-aid kit,” she said to Frank. She fished through it, and took out the scissors, and cut away her father’s left pant leg so she could get at the wound. There were pieces of wood spearing his skin. She used a pair of tweezers to pick them out, then reached into the med
kit and pulled out a RapidStop tourniquet. It resembled a belt. Kara slipped it under his leg and carefully brought it above the wound and pulled the D-ring until it was snug. She then began cranking the lever until the bleeding stopped before wrapping and tucking the excess strap into place. It would slow the flow of blood for now. They would have to relieve it from time to time to ensure blood reached the lower part of the limb so he didn’t lose the leg, but for now, it would prevent any further blood loss.
“I’m glad we have that,” Frank said.
“Yeah, bandages and a stick can do the job but this makes it a little easier.”
Frank sat back on his haunches. “You know, in twenty years of flying I’ve only had to pull out that first-aid kit twice and that was for a cut on a hand, and a minor wound, someone banging their head as they got into the plane. Never figured I’d find myself in this position,” Frank said, getting up and taking a seat on a boulder nearby, then glancing at the blood on his hand. Kara tossed over some antiseptic wipes while she took a small bottle of irrigation solution and poured it over her father’s wound to clean it.
The nasty gash on his thigh was at least three inches wide, and about an inch deep — it could be deeper but she wasn’t going to open it wide. It was a bloody mess. She knew the chance of infection was high if they were out here long enough but assumed that they wouldn’t, because of Frank’s mayday call and the fixed Emergency Locator Transmitter in the tail that would have broadcast on 121.5 after they crashed.
It was still daylight hours.
She figured they’d be found in less than 24 hours if the weather didn’t take a turn for the worse. After she’d cleaned the wound and applied some antibiotic cream and bandaged it, Kara moved on to his face, using the sterile water to wash away the blood, that’s when she could see the depth of each laceration. Setting the bottle down, she took some gauze and bandaged his head before blowing out her cheeks and looking at the lower right leg.
She had no medical training. She’d taken a first-aid course with her father once but that was nothing but a blur in her mind now. Her job didn’t require it. Frank’s did, but one look at him and it was clear he was in no frame of mind to be helping anyone.
His hands were trembling, his skin pale.
Shock was setting in. Frank stared off into the brush. “Hey, Frank?”
At first, he didn’t respond so she said his name again. He looked over. “How many fingers am I holding up?”
“Three. Why?”
“Just wanted to make sure. Listen, we’ll need to get a fire going soon. Were there any water bottles in the plane?”
He didn’t respond.
“Frank.”
“What?”
“Water bottles. Any in the plane?”
He shrugged. “Maybe one in the survival kit.”
Kara climbed back up and went through the wreck but saw no kit. Anything that might have been there was probably stowed away in the storage compartment in the rear, which was now littered over the forest floor. She made her way down and searched but came up empty.
While not every pilot carried the same things, the smart ones would say the only survival kit was the one you carried on you; everything else was camping gear. Still, the statute required them to carry a minimum amount of gear. Kara had hoped she could find some water purification tablets. While Alaska had good drinking water and realistically they could drink from the lake, there was still a chance that it could be contaminated and they could end up sick. Treating or filtering was the way to go. Without pills, they would have to boil it or just take the risk and cup a few hands and pray to God they remained healthy.
When she returned she was carrying some steel paneling torn away from the side of the plane, it was light but thick enough to put a barrier between the earth and her father. Although they weren’t at an altitude where there was snow yet, it was fall, and very cold. Had there been nothing from the plane to use as a barrier, she could have used leaves.
Kara set it down and returned to the plane to cut away some of the cushioning from the seats. It wasn’t ideal but it would offer an additional barrier and provide comfort and right now that was vital. She set it down then had Frank give her a hand sliding her father onto it all and propping him up. He let out an agonizing cry as they shifted him. Finally, she took one of the emergency Mylar blankets inside the first-aid kit and unfolded it, and wrapped it around her father to keep him warm.
She stepped back and looked down, glancing at the broken leg. Kara wrapped an arm around her ribs and grimaced with pain. It was difficult to gauge how serious an injury was, especially ones to the head, neck, chest, and stomach, but a broken arm or leg was straightforward. The only thing she remembered about a break on an arm or leg was that if it had injured a blood vessel or nerve there was a quick test. The only reason she recalled it was it scared the living daylights out of her. It was a simple check that could be done by pressing down on a fingernail or toenail. The blood would rush out, leaving it white, then go red again once released, but if it didn’t, there was an issue with the blood vessels and it was more serious. Kara sat on her haunches and carefully removed her father’s boot, then his sock, and performed the test.
Sure enough, blood returned within seconds. That was a good sign.
“Do you know how to splint?” she asked Frank, not taking her eyes off her father. She had a rough idea, emphasis on rough, but figured that he might be more up to date with first aid and familiar with the process.
When he didn’t answer, she cut him a sideways glance. “Frank.”
He shook his head yes.
His lack of response was beginning to worry her. She notched it up to shock.
The only three things that mattered more than splinting a leg in that moment were:
Not bleeding.
Not getting hypothermia.
And making sure they had called for help.
The goal was to get airlifted out, not walk out, so the only reason really to put a splint on the leg was to prevent further injury to the muscle, blood vessels, and nerves and reduce the pain until help showed.
Help.
That was next.
Who knew where they were?
That’s when it dawned on her. Her phone!
Kara patted her jacket pockets. Nothing. She could have sworn she picked it up on the way out. Damn thing! She was always setting it down and forgetting it.
“What is it?”
“My cell phone. It must have fallen out, or I left it back at the lodge. I connected it to the charger last night.”
She scanned the ground, panic rising in her chest.
“Even if you found it, best of luck getting a signal out here,” Frank said. “That’s why we use satellite phones.”
“No, hikers use cell phones all the time.”
“Yeah, but like I said, the signal is spotty, and that’s if you can get one at all.”
“Okay, fine, so do you have a satellite phone?”
“Not on me.”
“And my father?”
Frank laughed. “He hates technology.”
Kara wagged a finger at him. “Angela.”
She turned to go check her pockets when Frank chimed in. “Don’t bother. She never brought one.”
“How do you know?”
Frank nudged his head toward her father. “You’d have to ask him.”
She didn’t need to, it was probably related to the search for gold. He was paranoid someone was on to him. Kara let out an exasperated sigh.
Savvy pilots that traversed the backcountry of Alaska never ventured out without various ways to ensure their safety. A preflight check usually involved filing a flight plan with Flight Service or DNR if it was a fire-watch flight. Then there was the use of handheld tech like PLBs, SPOT, or Garmin inReach trackers. Each had different features and pros and cons, with the inReach offering satellite service for navigating, tracking, two-way communication, and most important — triggering an SOS via GEOs. This of cou
rse was in addition to the required fixed ELT beacon that was meant to send out a distress signal on 121.5/243 MHz, or 406 MHz with the newer ELTs. The device was mounted in the tail.
On the way down, she recalled Frank getting on the radio briefly and placing a mayday call but no one responded.
“So what do you have?” She asked.
Frank never responded.
At that moment, the adrenaline flushed out of Kara’s system and she leaned against a tree to prevent herself from passing out. She felt lightheaded, sick to her stomach. After a few minutes of rest, she took stock of the situation, turning her attention to getting rescued. “Frank, where is your PLB or inReach?”
“In my float vest behind my seat.”
She didn’t recall there being any vest behind the seat when she got in. Then again maybe he wasn’t thinking clearly or she wasn’t paying attention. She had enough on her mind that morning from the previous evening’s run-in with Callaway, and then Frank and her father arguing that morning.
She made her way back to the plane. There was nothing attached to the back of Frank’s seat. Was he mistaken? Had he left it back at the lodge? No, he had no reason to remove it, and he was an excellent pilot. He’d been flying for longer than she’d been alive. These kinds of things were habitual. They didn’t leave without them. They certainly didn’t forget it in their preflight check. She scanned the ground looking for her phone. Nothing. Was it still attached to the charging cable back at the lodge? Her father was in a hurry to leave to avoid Callaway. He’d rushed her out the door before she’d had a chance to even eat.
Although she didn’t want to, Kara even went as far as to check Angela’s pockets just in case she had brought a phone.
Nope. Nothing.
Clambering into the cockpit, she lifted the mic on the radio, aware that even though the power was off, the radio could run for a while on battery power just like a car would continue to power its electronics. When she lifted it and tried, it was dead. Had the crash destroyed it? The tree had knocked through the windshield and taken out a good portion of the instrument panel, but the radio looked as if it was fine except for several loose wires below. Not giving it another thought, she continued her search for a few more minutes before climbing down and following the trail of wreckage. That’s when she spotted it. The vest. It was there, it must have gotten snagged and torn out of the back of the plane. Except when she picked it up, there was no PLB, no inReach device, just a Snickers bar tucked into the front pocket.
