by Kim Baldwin
She hoped he saw the danger in plenty of time and got down safely in a good area. But she would worry like crazy until she knew for sure. She felt a deep sense of responsibility for the safety of her clients, pilots, and guides. Pasha, in particular, had become like a younger sister.
Megan had hardly stopped pacing in the last half hour, except for brief pauses at the window to look outside. Worried sick about Chaz, she had tried several times to reach that group’s satellite phone. “I can’t stand all this waiting, being so cut off from everything. Not knowing what’s going on, who’s safe and who’s not.”
The news blackout had to be especially difficult for Megan because of her background. During her long years in 24-hour live news, she’d had access to instant updates and extensive detail about every major world event. “All we can do is keep trying,” Dita said.
She reviewed the equipment list for the rafting trip, sorting through what gear had gone with each flight to assess how well-equipped each of the two parties would be if separated. They’d deliberately divided the tents and sleeping bags, and each party had its own personal duffels. Both also had some of the food, but they’d packed the crates according to weight, not by meals, so one group might have more and better options than the other. And Chaz’s gang had the bulk of the kitchen cookware, while Pasha’s had most of the rafting equipment.
The second flight also had Karla along, which comforted her somewhat. Level-headed, Karla could handle many medical emergencies.
Geneva came in, carrying two paper bags of food from the Den. “Anything new?” A thin layer of grayish ash muted the shoulders and front of her jacket, normally a vivid green. She shook it off before hanging it on a peg by the door.
“No,” Dita replied. “Still down. The Den?”
“The same. Everyone’s trying. It’s so damn frustrating.” Geneva set the paper bags on the counter and started to unpack them. “I know you both said you’re not hungry, but you need to eat something. We’re in for a long night and need to keep our strength up.”
Megan reached for a salad. “At least they all have PLBs. Once we can get flights in the air, we should be able to find them even with communications still down.”
“When I talked to the other offices, I alerted our pilots outside the zone to be ready to head this way as soon as the flight ban is lifted,” Dita told them. “And I’ll notify authorities and ASARA as soon as I can.” The Alaska Search and Rescue Association included a number of highly trained volunteer organizations and individuals.
“Resources might be stretched thin,” Megan said. “No telling how many planes had to make forced landings. Or what other problems they may have to deal with because of the eruption.”
Dita shrugged. “I’ll call in favors, if necessary, to find them.”
*
Chaz sorted through the pile of gear, separating what they’d brought into three piles: personal duffels, food and kitchen supplies, and tents and sleeping bags. Her clients had gathered around her in a semicircle. “We should set up camp while we wait to hear what’s happening. They probably won’t make it today.” She grabbed their three two-man tents and handed one to each couple. She’d have to sleep under a tarp. “Find a level spot in this area and pitch your tent, then situate your personal gear. I’ll set up the kitchen downriver a ways.”
Skeeter’s second flight was two hours overdue, and she tried hard not to panic. About the time she’d expected the Cessna to return, the sky had grown hazy, diffusing the sunlight and darkening the landscape, but not until the plume passed directly overhead, raining bits of gray-brown ash, did she realize a volcano had erupted somewhere south of them.
She couldn’t reach Skeeter or Dita by satellite phone, which only increased her concern and frustration. She could only hope the plane never made it off the ground and that everyone was safely in Bettles. Obsessing about the alternative—that Skeeter’d had to ditch somewhere—would make her crazy and less effective.
For now, she could only focus her energy on keeping her clients healthy and happy. The ash itself worried her. It had already covered everything with a thin, dusty layer, which was one reason she wanted to get the tents up and sleeping bags and other gear inside. Fortunately, they had a large canopy for the kitchen area to protect those supplies as well, but if the ash continued to fall at this rate, breathing the stuff might soon present a hazard. She’d have to investigate moving their camp to a better-protected area or farther from the fallout.
As she set up their kitchen and cooking area, Chaz assessed how long their food supplies might last. Volcanic eruptions could continue for weeks; no telling how long they could be stuck here, though she didn’t want to tell the clients quite yet. She’d trim the usual number of meals per day to two right away and calculate meager but adequate portions, hoping the situation resolved itself before she had to take more drastic measures.
Unfortunately all the bear-proof containers but two were with the other flight. They’d have to be especially diligent in suspending their excess food and garbage from trees each night, out of reach of grizzlies and other predators.
*
Bryson stared at the sky once more before she ducked into her tent. She’d put her cowling and spinner covers on the Super Cub, hoping they’d keep the ash from her engine, but she’d left her wing covers at the hanger. She’d removed them from the cargo hold at winter’s end to save space. What would the abrasive, acidic fallout do to her beloved brick-red plane?
She’d been flying low when she recognized the ashfall from a distance, having witnessed several previous plumes firsthand: the Mount Augustine eruption in 2006, the Crater Peak blast in 1992, and the Redoubt eruption in 1990. Setting down on a short, grassy hill within a wide river valley, she could wait for a week at most, as long as the ash didn’t get too thick. Her survival duffel had everything she needed, though she’d have to severely ration her meager food supplies if she couldn’t supplement them with fish, game, or edible plants. But all her efforts to communicate either by radio or satellite phone had failed. She hated being in the dark.
Bryson worried most about Chaz, Pasha, Skeeter, and the rafting clients. Skeeter would’ve had to ferry the group in two trips and probably wouldn’t have been able to complete both journeys before the plume hit the area. Which meant he’d likely have had to set down somewhere fast, and that route didn’t have many likely prospects. Who was on the second flight? Certainly Chaz or Pasha—they always put one guide with each group in such a situation—and possibly Emery, who’d become a good friend in a short time.
At least Karla was safe in Bettles, though the eruption had no doubt ruined her long-anticipated day off. She was probably in the Eidson offices right now, checking on her. She’d worry, and Bryson hated putting her through that, but with any luck, the wind would change soon and she could make it the last hundred miles home.
Chapter Twenty-seven
Cold and disoriented, Pasha awoke groggily to an eerie quiet. Her head hurt. When she tried to open her eyes, one had crusted shut. Gingerly probing the area, she realized she had a cut in her forehead, but it had already stopped bleeding.
Some of her mental fog cleared and her eyes shot open. She moved her arms and legs, assessing her mobility. Some bad bruises, but otherwise she had survived. Miraculous. But she gasped in horror as she took in her surroundings.
The front of the Cessna lay buried in snow, and the plane rested half on its left side. The windshield had shattered on the pilot’s side and a coating of white powdery fluff covered everything in the cockpit, including Skeeter’s hunched, unmoving figure and Karla, mostly obscured behind the co-pilot’s seat.
Glancing left when a blast of cold air blew snow into her face, she saw a gaping hole in the side of the plane where Emery had sat. Her seat had vanished, the left wing torn off. “Emery!” she yelled as her stomach churned. “Emery! Answer me!” Nothing.
As she fought to unbuckle herself, she saw Toni and Ruth both coming to. Some of the cargo ha
d escaped the tie-downs and bungee nets that secured it; duffel bags and other gear lay scattered throughout the cabin. The tail of the plane had caved in on one side.
“Toni, Ruth, you both all right?” She finally unfastened the seat belt and stood.
“Cold. And my chin hurts.” Toni unbuckled her seat belt and stretched. “Bruised. But nothing’s broken. When Ruth failed to respond, she bent over her. “Don’t see any visible injuries. Ruth? You hear me?”
Pasha cleared away the debris that had flown toward the cockpit “Karla? Skeeter? Talk to me.” Finally she got a better look at Karla.
Strapped in her seat and slumped forward, half-resting on the bent remains of the instrument panel, Karla’s head bled and her left arm hung at an unnatural angle.
“Karla, can you hear me?” Pasha gently touched her shoulder, rewarded with a low groan. “Karla, it’s Pasha. We’ve been in a crash. Move slowly. You have a bad cut on your head and your left arm’s broken.” Another groan, and Karla began to stir.
She turned her attention to Skeeter. He’d also been thrown forward into the control panel, and the snow around him was stained red. His section of the plane had taken the brunt of the impact. Only the left side of the windscreen had disappeared, and the instrument panel in front of him had caved in more severely. Had he courageously maneuvered to sacrifice himself so the most could live? The controls seemed embedded in his chest, his legs concealed by twisted metal, and his head turned away so she couldn’t see the extent of his injuries. “Skeeter? Mike, please answer me. Please wake up.” She held her breath and, with a trembling hand, pressed her fingers against his carotid artery.
His pulse, weak and thready, showed he was still alive.
“Hang in there, Skeeter. Stay with us. We’ll help you soon.”
“Ughnnn.” Karla slowly rose to an upright position, bracing herself on the dashboard with her right arm. “What…what’s happening?”
“Karla, we crashed. You broke your left arm and have a cut on your head. But I pray to God you’re okay, because we need you. Skeeter’s hurt bad, and Emery’s not in the plane. I have to go look for her. Please try to wake up.”
“Ruth’s coming to,” Toni said. “Go. I’m okay. I’ll watch them.”
“Great.” She zipped up her jacket and climbed through the opening, careful not to tear her clothes on the sharp, jagged metal, and found herself in thigh-deep snow. The top several inches consisted of light powder, but from the knees down it felt compact.
Around the front and sides of the plane the snowfield looked smooth and unbroken, though turning a light brownish-gray from the ash that drifted from the sky, swirling around her in the steady breeze. Behind the Cessna lay a long, twisted trench in the snow several feet wide, with a number of holes in the snowfield on either side where loose debris had flown from the plane. Most of the left wing stuck upright out of one hole, like a billboard. Not far from it she found several other large depressions in the snow. She headed toward the nearest one as fast as possible, but the effort tired her. “Emery! Emery, can you hear me?”
When she got closer, she saw a ripped duffel bag, half its contents missing. A square piece of fuselage had created the depression beside it. As she neared the next big indentation, she spotted the top of a seat. “Emery!”
The seat lay on its right side with Emery still strapped to it, not moving. Dried blood matted the hair above her left temple, and Pasha saw more blood on the snow beneath her. She squatted and noticed the open front of Emery’s coat and the blue turtleneck beneath stained crimson, She spotted a rip—no, more a clean, round, hole—in the sweater, just below Emery’s rib cage.
No movement that she could see, no rise and fall of her chest. But it’s a thick sweater, she tried to tell herself. You might not be able to tell. Most foreboding, though she knelt mere inches from Emery, she couldn’t feel their connection.
She’d known disaster would come. The sense of doom and dread had built until it suffocated her, and that’s when the cloud appeared. What could she have done? She had no idea what form it would take or when it would strike. Could she have prevented all this?
Pasha scooped away the loose snow around Emery’s face. “Emery? Talk to me. Please tell me you’re all right.” When she gently caressed the cool skin of Emery’s face, she didn’t experience any shock. The power had been completely silent since the crash. Did she even have her gift anymore? Heartsick at what she thought she’d find, she pressed shaking fingers against the carotid artery in Emery’s neck and held her breath.
The heartbeat pulsed beneath her fingertips, slow, but steady. Thank God. “Emery?” No response.
She used her pocketknife to unjam the seat-belt buckle and free Emery. She didn’t dare move her until Karla examined her, but she worried about leaving her in the snow. She stripped off her heavy jacket and gently tucked it under and around Emery’s head and neck, then closed her coat. Placing her face near Emery’s, she tried again to rouse her. “Please, Emery. Hang in there and fight to wake up. I’m going to get help. I won’t be long.”
Pasha retraced her footsteps to the plane. She had an easier time pushing through the path she’d already plowed than breaking new ground, but she had soaked jeans and numb fingertips, and the wind cut through her sweatshirt.
Toni, leaning into the cockpit, turned when Pasha got back. “Did you find her?”
“She’s alive, but unconscious, with a head wound and some kind of injury to her abdomen that’s bled a lot. How’s Karla?”
“Getting there,” Karla replied.
Pasha picked her way over the bags and debris so she could see past Toni. Karla, alert and aware, had unzipped her jacket halfway and tucked her broken arm into it to keep it immobilized. With her good hand, she examined Skeeter, still out cold. “I have only superficial head wounds, I think. I’ll need to set my arm. It hurts like a bitch. But we have higher priorities right now.”
“What do you want us to do?” Pasha asked.
“The radio’s shot. Do we have a satellite phone?”
Pasha shook her head. “It’s with Chaz. Skeeter should have his in his bag. Do you know which it is?”
“No. We’ll have to search. But let’s get Emery and Skeeter triaged and stabilized first. Toni, see if you can lay your hands on a couple of sleeping bags and sleeping pads,” Karla said. “What’s it like outside, Pasha? Can you get a fire going?”
“The snow’s pretty deep, and the wind’s stiff. We’re a long way above the tree line.” Pasha glanced around. “But I saw pieces of the plane outside I could use to build a fire on and to make a windbreak, and if we break up the wood from the food crates, we’ll have enough to burn for at least a while.”
“Get working on that, and I’ll go assess Emery.” Karla worked her way out of the cramped cockpit, holding her left arm. “See my medical bag anywhere?”
“Back here.” Ruth held up the black valise and Toni passed it forward.
“You all right?” Karla asked.
“Cuts and bruises, mostly,” Ruth replied. “My knee’s swollen, but I can bend it a little.”
“You and Toni should add some layers and check yourselves. I’ll see to your cuts in a bit.” Karla glanced over at Pasha. “And you need to get out of those wet jeans and find a coat. We don’t need for you to get hypothermic.”
“I won’t argue. Follow the path I cut and it’ll lead you right to Emery.” While Karla headed outside and Toni and Ruth got to work in the back, Pasha dug through her duffel and hurriedly changed. Her kayaking dry suit would provide the best protection from the elements, so she put that on over silk long underwear and added a thick sweater and waterproof windbreaker as well. A ball cap and her neoprene rafting gloves completed her ensemble and made her much more comfortable.
She emptied two of the food crates and carried them outside, along with a box of waterproof matches. Karla hunched over Emery, who looked still nonresponsive. She headed toward them. “How is she?”
Karla frowne
d. “She’s lost a lot of blood and her temp is down a couple of degrees. We need to get her warm in a hurry and take care of this puncture wound. Start a fire. I’m going back for the first-aid kit.”
Pasha leaned over Emery. “Stay with me, Emery. We’ll get you warm very soon.” She spent a few minutes laboriously scooping snow away from a large area next to Emery, using a flat piece of metal as a shovel. Then she laid out another, larger piece in the depression to build the fire on and broke up the food crates into small pieces. She returned to the plane just as Karla emerged with her red first-aid kit.
“Skeeter’s temperature is dropping fast,” Karla said. “I wish we could figure out a way to either warm the cabin or take him outside by the fire.”
“I’ll try to think of something,” Pasha said. “I came in to find some tinder. I should have the fire going in a minute.”
“How’s this?” Toni held up a paperback she’d brought along.
“Perfect. Thanks.”
“Grab a sleeping bag and pad for Emery, and some water,” Karla shouted to Pasha as she left. “I had a quart bottle with me, up by my seat.”
Pasha struggled to maneuver the large portion of wing into a windbreak that protected both the fire pit and Emery before she lit the fire. Then she laid out the sleeping pad and bag beside it and, under Karla’s direction, gently moved Emery onto it. Karla had stabilized Emery’s neck with a plastic brace.
“Why isn’t she coming to?” Pasha asked.
“I’m not sure.” Karla opened the medical kit. “She took a good hit to her head that bears watching. Might be a concussion, even a skull fracture, though I didn’t feel any open breaks. We need to take care of her side right now, and I’ll need your help, Pash. Can’t do much one-handed.” She fished out a pair of scissors. “Cut away her clothes around the wound so I can get a better look.”
