Expect the Sunrise

by Susan May Warren

  It reminded her of the camaraderie she shared with her Team Hope pals. Levity in the midst of tension helped keep them from combusting or burning out. She’d been praying that somehow, miraculously, God would alert her search-and-rescue pals and call them out. Sadly, Micah, Conner, Dani, and even recent addition Hank couldn’t possibly have the faintest notion that she and Sarah were in trouble. Still, God knew. That was enough.

  That thought bolstered her tone as she pointed at the map. “We’ll have to hike over this ridge to the east; then there’s a steep descent to this valley. From there we follow the valley to the Granite River. It’s about five miles in all, but a lot of climbing and descending, and if there’s snow cover it’ll be slick. There’ll probably be talus rock or scree on both sides of the climb so watch your footing. The chips of granite are slippery. I salvaged my climbing rope and gear from the plane, so I’ll lead the way, and we’ll rope up, especially on descent. Walk in my steps. We’ll follow the Granite River south for about ten miles until it connects with Disaster Creek. From there, we’ll be in my backyard. It’s about ten miles to my old homestead.”

  “Do you have a telephone?”

  “A HAM radio. But I can call in help. If my father is there, we’ll have a plane and we can fly Sarah and Flint out.”

  “What about food?” Ishbane asked. He seemed like another good reason for Andee to go alone. He looked like he could be blown over by a stiff wind.

  “Like I said, I have enough provisions to last us for two days. If it takes us longer, we’ll have to improvise. But over this ridge, the land drops off, and we’ll find water on the tundra as well as marmots, mice, and—”

  “I’m not eating a mouse!” Ishbane said.

  “You will if you’re hungry enough.” Flint’s voice thickened with pain. “I’d do it.”

  Andee smiled at Flint. After his flirting at the beginning of the trip, she didn’t suspect that he would be her greatest supporter. “There are grizzlies around, so be on guard. They don’t roam at this altitude, but as we get closer to the river we’re liable to run into one. If that happens, don’t move. And if it starts moving toward you, make a lot of noise. Remember that grizzlies can’t climb trees, so—”

  “Maybe you should just go,” Ishbane said. “We’ll stay here.”

  “We’re all going,” Mac growled.

  Ishbane stood, his eyes red-rimmed and sharpened by fear. He advanced on Andee. “Why didn’t you take the ELT out of the plane? You knew how important that was! You just left it in there to blow up! What kind of pilot are you?”

  Andee’s own accusations echoed behind his words. “I’m sorry, Mr. Ishbane. It was a stupid mistake.”

  “You’re going to get us all killed.”

  Andee sighed, softening her voice. “We’ll be fine. We just need to stick together, use our heads, and not panic. If we happen to see or hear a plane, we have the flares and the signal mirror.”

  She glanced back at Mac. “The final thing we need to do before we leave is make a signal.” She tried to ignore the way Ishbane glared at her. “Something that lets any searchers who find the plane know which way we’ve gone. We’ll need the tarps and our equipment, so see what you can find to make an X—that’ll tell them we need medical attention. Then an arrow pointing east. A pilot with any savvy will figure out our route.”

  Nina and Phillips nodded, new life in their eyes. Ishbane huffed and snatched up his blanket.

  Mac frowned. “You sound like you’ve done this before.”

  Andee leaned back and stared at her passengers. “I’m an EMT and I work in SAR. In the Lower 48 I have a SAR team that I work with, and here I specialize in high-altitude rescues. So, yes, I do know what I’m talking about.” She shot a look at Mac. “Which is why I should go alone.”

  “Not happening.”

  Maybe he had a touch of altitude sickness. Still, she didn’t have time to argue with a person who seemed on the edge of control. Not when he stood six feet three, was built like a highland warrior, and had a touch of ferocity in his eyes.

  “While I stabilize Sarah for transportation, I need you all to figure out a crutch for Flint. Nina, can you melt us more water and put it in the jugs?” Andee folded the map, met the expressions of her passengers, and tried to smile. But inside she couldn’t deny the doubt that lurked behind every word, every decision.

  What if she led them all to their deaths?

  Mac watched Emma slump back against the rocks, and as she scanned the faces of the others, he couldn’t help but notice her expression momentarily morph from determination to defeat. He overcame the insane urge to reach out and tell her that he’d make sure they got home safely, that he’d take care of her friend.

  That he’d trust her.

  Sorry, but in his line of business he’d learned to trust, well . . . no one. He couldn’t afford to believe that behind those worried eyes was a woman without a dark agenda.

  Still, the way she’d trembled after he’d yanked her from the plane—it made him pause and consider his other suspects. What about Phillips or Flint? He’d ruled out Nina after watching how she stared at the fire, mesmerized with fear. No, she couldn’t be a terrorist after she spooked that easily. Phillips seemed more likely, with his capable, linebacker size and his offer to accompany Emma on her jaunt. And Flint seemed like the type more than eager to jump-start America into a full-scale war with OPEC. Damaging the pipeline might be like poking a hornet’s nest. Moreover, Flint could be lying about his injury. Even Emma couldn’t be certain how seriously he’d been injured.

  “What if the temperature drops?” Ishbane asked. “What if we freeze?”

  “Then we freeze,” Mac snapped. At least he could rule out Ishbane. The man had the backbone of an amoeba. If the skinny man didn’t stop whining, Mac might be tempted to toss him off the first cliff. No, not really, but he didn’t handle whining well. Never had.

  “Let’s get to work,” Emma said finally as the smoke from the fire drifted into the cracks of the shelter. As she rose and stepped outside, she glanced at Mac, and her expression didn’t say, Let’s be friends. On the contrary, if he could count on his seven years of experience in the FBI, it read, My friend better not die or else.

  He let the threat hang in the air, snap him to his senses. Remind him that he had to keep both eyes on her every step. Because the fact that she’d surrendered to his command only meant that she might be the type to slit his throat in his sleep to accomplish her agenda.

  Aye, this will be a fun trip for everyone.

  She met him outside the shelter. He nearly bonked her on the head. Her voice lowered, she spoke in an even, dangerous tone. “I don’t know why you’re doing this, Mac, and for now, I’ll play along. But if my friend takes a turn for the worse, there’s nothing you can do to keep me from hiking out to save her life.” Then she turned and stalked toward the debris of her still smoldering plane.

  He stood there, the wind skimming over him, and for a second, doubt nagged him. What if coincidence had collected the clues of a saboteur and dusted them across the crash path for him to discover? What if his years of suspicion and a sense of duty had churned up real paranoia that dictated his every move?

  Was he killing them—and especially the pilot’s friend and maybe Flint—by his bullheadedness?

  Mac shook the thought away, refusing to let paranoia sink claws in as he helped Phillips dismantle the shelter. They packed the tarps and the other supplies into one of the duffel bags, then emptied Nina’s broken backpack and packed the heavier supplies into her bag. Nina didn’t say a word as she hung her camera over her shoulder and tucked the soiled stuffed orca into her coat. Let her have her gift, Mac thought; maybe it’ll keep her focus on her family and her feet moving.

  Occasionally he stopped and scanned the sky, listening for rescue.

  Always he watched Emma, as if he half expected her to make a break for open country. But she applied more tape around Sarah’s head to secure her better to the backpack
frame, then with Phillips’s help moved Sarah onto an emergency blanket. After tying the corners over Sarah, Emma hiked around the smoldering hull of the plane to the tail section. She reappeared moments later with a slightly blackened PVC pipe that matched the one taped to Flint’s leg. She wound both ends with duct tape—for cushion?—and threaded the pipe through the sack.

  Mac and Emma would carry Sarah between them, one end of the pipe on each of their shoulders. It wasn’t pretty and would probably be cumbersome, but it would work.

  “Hey, Mac, I need your help.” Flint motioned to him as Mac used the last of the extra clothing to form the X Emma had requested. Against the snow and yellowing tundra, the jeans and shirts anchored with rocks would stand out to any pilot overhead . . . he hoped.

  He trotted over to Flint. Sweat beaded below his cap. He’d unassembled the splint Emma had constructed. Mac crouched next to him. “What?”

  “I need a favor.” Flint’s voice lowered, and he glanced at Emma, who was examining Sarah.

  “What?”

  “I need you to straighten my leg.”

  Mac met Flint’s eyes. Until now the man had stayed in his corner, groaning, but Mac saw the expression of a frustrated man underneath that flannel-shirted, beer-drinking, trophy-hunter-wannabe exterior. “Even I know that’s a bad idea.”

  “We gotta walk out of here. And I’m not going to lean on anybody. I gotta be able to walk.”

  “You could damage your knee permanently.”

  “Yeah, and I could be left behind, my carcass frozen for the wolves to gnaw on. Straighten it. I’ll use the rest of that foam pad for padding. Tape it straight.”

  Mac was wincing already. “You sure?”

  “Of course not. Straighten it.” Flint leaned back, closed his eyes, balled his hands into fists, and Mac saw a new layer of sweat break out on Flint’s forehead.

  Mac’s stomach turned. He grabbed Flint’s ankle and, without hesitation, yanked.

  Flint’s howl echoed across the valley and turned Mac’s blood to ice.

  “What are you doing?” Emma materialized behind him. “Are you crazy?” Her tone said she wasn’t really interested in his answer.

  Mac turned and met her gaze, refusing to back off, despite her blistering expression.

  “Knee injuries are incredibly complicated,” she said. “Without an X-ray I don’t have the faintest idea how bad it is.”

  Mac noticed that Flint was still breathing hard, trying to cut the pain. “He asked me to.”

  “If he asked you to push him off a cliff and end his misery, would you do that too?”

  Mac blinked at her, calculating his response, wondering just how serious she might be.

  Emma threw up her hands, made a sound of exasperation, and knelt beside the injured man. “Well, let’s splint it.” She shook her head.

  “I did ask him,” Flint said quietly. “I don’t want to be a burden.”

  Emma used the piece of foam to wrap his leg, then taped it tight. “You’re not a burden, Flint.” She rose and walked away, not looking at Mac.

  The sky darkened, and a stiff wind lifted Mac’s collar. Or maybe the cold rush came from her demeanor and the fact that she made him feel a little ashamed.

  Emma called everyone together.

  Mac reached down to help Flint to his feet. The man groaned as he tried out his leg, but Mac had to give him kudos for his efforts. They’d need that kind of thinking out here if they hoped to survive.

  Or . . . was Flint just trying to get back on his feet so he could complete his mission? Sometimes Mac hated the way his mind worked.

  Emma again outlined their route. “We’re going to try and get into the valley tonight. Ascending the talus slope won’t be easy. Keep your weight on your feet, your soles flat on the ground, and take small, short steps. Talus slopes have larger rock pieces, so step on top of them, on the uphill side of the rocks. It’ll keep them from rolling downhill and taking you with them.”

  Ishbane closed his eyes.

  “We’ll rope together about thirty feet apart. Follow in my steps. Mac will go second, Phillips last.” She glanced at Phillips as if to ask his permission.

  Mac noticed she didn’t give him the same courtesy. She probably couldn’t look at him without glaring. Oh, well, he didn’t expect to make friends.

  “Most of all, if you fall, dig your knees or your heels in to stop yourself, and everyone else sit, with your heels dug into the hillside. It’ll keep us from going down together.”

  “I don’t want to be roped up,” Ishbane said. “Not if you all are going to kill me.”

  Emma sighed. “You can do this, Mr. Ishbane. I believe in you.”

  No one answered her, and for a moment he couldn’t deny, Mac wanted to trust the woman who seemed to only want to keep them alive.

  Chapter 7

  “THANK YOU FOR carrying Sarah, Mac.” Andee sat on the crest of the bowl in the shadow of Foggytop Mountain, four hours into their climb, eating a PowerBar. The sharp arctic wind had chased away clouds that had shadowed their climb for most of the morning, but sitting on top of the mountain, despite the semi-secluded pass, the cold wind scraped away the veneer of perspiration on her forehead. Under her layers, however, sweat ran down her spine.

  “Of course,” Mac said, eating his own lunch.

  Andee had driven them hard, although slowly, and with Flint leaning on a laboring Nina and Phillips, they’d made good time. She’d even heard Sarah groan more than once, and when Andee checked her pulse and her breathing, both seemed strong. Thank You, Lord.

  Andee glanced at Mac, aware that she’d begun to count on him, especially the few times she’d slipped and nearly went down. He’d finally taken the lead, holding Sarah’s head up, away from the jagged, snow-dusted rocks. Andee watched his steady step, his wide shoulders carrying the burden of her friend, and forgave him for undermining her leadership, forcing them to hike out, and putting Sarah’s life in danger. Basically for being a stubborn, know-it-all Scot with an FBI badge.

  Her mother would be shaking her head in disbelief at her willingness to forgive him.

  For the first time in twenty-four hours, Andee felt an inkling of hope. From where she sat, she could barely make out the Granite River winding through lush red and orange tundra. Unfortunately, they had to descend a scree fall that had received only a hint of sun to melt the snowfall from last night. Andee hadn’t yet made out a sheep trail they might follow, and visions of them all tumbling over the mountainside took swipes at her confidence.

  Still, they’d made it this far.

  She inventoried their energy and spirits. Nina seemed set on making it to civilization, and with Phillips to encourage her, they seemed like a team that would survive. Flint was a fighter. Suffering and against the ropes, he’d gritted his teeth and muscled his way up the mountain. He reminded her of her friend Micah when he’d been diagnosed with cancer. Fighting for every step, willing himself to get better.

  Ishbane, roped right behind Andee, cursed and moaned. She’d been thrilled to hand him a PowerBar, just to make him focus on something besides his misery. However, she deserved his criticism. If only she hadn’t taken off in that storm . . .

  “Have you been a bush pilot long?” Mac sat on the ground, his back against a boulder, rubbing his sore shoulder.

  She nearly advised him not to do that—by working the muscles loose, it would only cause them to ache when they had to tense again to hold Sarah’s weight. But considering the fact he wasn’t snarling at her or bossing her around made her bite back her advice.

  “I started flying when I was twelve. My father was a bush pilot.” He’d also been a few other things, but she’d been working at forgiving him for that lie for close to fifteen years. Bringing it up in a snide remark probably wouldn’t help her forgive him.

  “So you grew up here in Alaska.”

  Andee folded her PowerBar wrapper and put it into her pocket. “Until I was sixteen. Then I moved with my mother to Iowa, whe
re she went to medical school. She’s a family practice doc.”

  Mac faced her. He’d put on a wool hat, but his curly brown hair stuck out from the back and around his ears, blowing in the wind. He folded his wrapper into a straight line. She couldn’t help but notice his hands—not wilderness roughened like her father’s, but still dexterous, despite the layer of dirt. They spoke of a man accustomed to thinking through his problems. His initial stubbornness most likely had to do with his shock at being in the middle of a catastrophe. She wondered what he did as an FBI agent. Probably read reports and analyzed terror threats. Something cerebral and calm.

  “So, I’m assuming that’s where you got your medical know-how?” Mac asked.

  Andee smiled. “No. I wanted to go to medical school, sorta following in my mother’s footsteps. I didn’t do well on my MCATs and decided that it was a sign.”

  He raised an eyebrow.

  “Well, really, I don’t believe in signs, because I’m a Christian, but I do believe in God directing, sometimes through circumstances. I knew I didn’t want to be a doctor, even if I wanted to help people. So I became an EMT. And a bush pilot.”

  She felt a blush and ducked her head, realizing she’d told him more than he wanted to know. Usually she kept that kind of information—the kind that probed the mysteries of her heart—for Sarah or Dani.

  “You must love flying.” He didn’t smile but seemed to study her. From this angle, she’d call him handsome, with a layer of whiskers on his jaw and a definite scoundrel cast to his features.

  And his accent sounded like sweet music to her ears.

  She was probably just tired. Didn’t her mother’s tears— or hers—teach her anything about letting a man under her defenses?

  “I do love to fly. I love the freedom and maybe the dichotomy of power versus the awe I feel at being up there above the mountains.”

  She raked her hands through her hair, staring out onto the horizon. “Sometimes when I fly I can see herds of caribou thundering beneath me or a grizzly raise her head in the middle of a stream. I can trace my plane’s shadow on a glacier field and count the Dall sheep that scatter upon these mountains.”