by Kim Baldwin
“Could burn the tires,” Skeeter said. “Smoke’s pretty toxic but they make a good signal fire. They’re buried, though, aren’t they?”
“Looks like it,” Pasha said. “Unless they snapped off and are hidden in that big trench somewhere.”
“I can look tomorrow,” Toni offered. “I’d like to help some way.”
Ruth chimed in. “I would, too. Not much good at bending, though, with my knee like this.”
They told stories and played word games to keep themselves occupied until all but Pasha and Emery began to drift off. One by one, they retreated deep into their fluffy, mummy sleeping bags, closing the hoods around their faces until only their mouths and noses were exposed. Emery doubted anyone could overhear their conversation, but they still spoke in low whispers.
“It scared the hell out of me when I came to, saw the hole, and you gone,” Pasha said.
“Probably about how I felt when I woke up and you weren’t there.” Emery shifted position to try to get more comfortable. They all had to lie very close together to fit into the cleared space, and it was the best way to keep warm, but she tended to move around a lot in bed and found the arrangement uncomfortably confining. “You know, you might want to reconsider spending a lot of time with me, since I seem fated to have one brush with death after another.”
“I’d say just the opposite. You seem to have an inordinate amount of good luck, to keep escaping like you do. Maybe it rubbed off on us all, and that’s why everyone survived.”
Emery chuckled. “I guess that’s one way to look at it. In other words, you’re a half-full-glass kind of woman, and I’m a half-empty?”
“There are always two ways to look at things,” Pasha said. “And I do usually try to stay optimistic and hope for the best, instead of worrying about the worst-case scenario.”
“They do say opposites attract.”
“Emery, if I felt any more attracted to you, we’d be in a lot of trouble.”
Despite her raging headache, she welcomed their flirtatious banter as a pleasant distraction. “Oh? That so? What kind of trouble?”
“Give me a few hours alone with you once you’ve mended and I’ll elaborate.”
“Definite rain check, okay?” Emery shifted again, snuggling closer to Pasha. “I’m happy that seeing some of my worst scars hasn’t turned you off.” She’d been concerned, but Pasha had seen her tracheotomy scar and the ones on her upper torso when she’d helped her change clothes and hadn’t flinched.
“Hardly,” Pasha whispered. “We all have scars, Emery. Some visible, some not. Yours testify to all you’ve endured.”
“I wouldn’t have survived this one without you and Karla. I’m very grateful.”
“I’m pretty sure you’d have done the same for either of us. How’s your head?”
Emery rubbed her temple. “Horrible, honestly. Got a lot worse when you moved me in here. I don’t know how I’ll be able to sleep.”
“What can I do?”
“How about you tell me a story? Something I don’t know about you. And maybe you can cuddle up a little closer?”
“Come here.” Pasha opened her arm and Emery inched nearer, until she lay on her good side with her head nestled into the crook of Pasha’s shoulder. Pasha slowly caressed her back, and though she could barely detect her hand with all their layers, their proximity alone made her feel better. The sense of serenity and happiness that sprang from their touch and connection began to ease her headache almost immediately, as well as any pain meds might have.
“How about if I tell you about the first time I had a premonition?” Pasha whispered.
“Yes, please.” Emery closed her eyes and melted into Pasha’s embrace.
Pasha put her mouth next to Emery’s ear. “I was six, riding in the car with my mother. She kept going on and on about something, I don’t even remember what, but all of a sudden her voice began to fade. Weird, like someone had turned down the volume, you know? I could see her talking like usual, but I could barely hear her. I should have been worried, but I wasn’t.” Pasha’s dulcet low voice soothed Emery nearly as much as her touch. “It just made my other senses more acute, and I knew instinctively I needed to pay closer attention to what I was seeing and feeling. Ahead of us a few blocks was a big intersection, and when I looked at it, I got this strange but very powerful sick feeling in my stomach. I just knew danger was there, so I hollered, ‘Stop, Mommy! Stop!’ She pulled over to the curb and started to ask me why I’d yelled, but I just pointed to the intersection. We both watched as a big propane truck collided with a taxi. The explosion melted everything around, and we were just out of range.”
The story fascinated Emery, but their embrace and Pasha’s lulling whispered tone made for a potent sleeping pill. She drifted off, cozy and content, her headache completely gone.
Chapter Twenty-nine
Next day, June 11
Pasha awoke to find Emery still nestled against her side. Everyone else was asleep as well, despite Skeeter’s buzz-saw snoring and temperatures so cold she could see her breath. She didn’t have a reason to get up yet. They had little to do but wait until help arrived, and it made no sense to start breakfast before everyone started moving because they needed to conserve what little fuel they had. So she lay there searching for ways to improve their situation and maximize their resources. Every now and then, however, despite her best intentions, her mind drifted to Emery and their growing connection.
She’d accepted the undeniability of their attraction days ago, and the impossibility of a long-term commitment. But not until the accident and her terror at the prospect of losing her had the depth of how much she had fallen for Emery really hit her.
The thought of Emery’s departure devastated her. Pasha already couldn’t imagine how she could deal with it, and once they had sex the pain of their separation would be even more acute, yet she wanted as much intimacy as possible once Emery healed and they were safe.
In that sense, she began to understand Emery’s current adrenaline-rush lifestyle, her desire to walk the razor’s edge. When a consuming need drove you, risks became afterthoughts.
Emery stirred.
“You awake?” Pasha whispered.
“Mmm. Sorta. I really need to pee but can’t stand to get out of this sleeping bag.”
“How’s your headache?”
“Gone. Completely. I actually feel pretty good, a lot better than last night.”
“That’s wonderful. But you should rest as much as you can today.”
“Exactly right.” Karla’s voice drifted over as she sat up. “It’s a very good sign that your headache’s gone, Emery, but I don’t want you to move around too much.”
“I can see I’m outnumbered,” she replied.
The others began to rouse, so Pasha kissed Emery’s forehead then gently extricated herself from their embrace to slip from her sleeping bag. “I’ll start some coffee and rustle up some breakfast. Be a lot warmer for you all to stay put.”
“No arguments here. I never get breakfast in bed,” Ruth joked.
Pasha set up the stove on a piece of metal just outside the plane, which acted as an effective windbreak. As the water boiled for coffee, she stared at the sky. The haze seemed as thick as when they’d gone to bed, and during the hours they’d slept, the fine brown-gray dust from the plume had further muted the landscape’s colors. The vivid green of the valley below had turned to a pasty olive. She tried the satellite phone again and wasn’t surprised to hear only static.
The improvised raft-door that covered the opening in the plane drew back and Emery emerged, Toni right behind her.
“Me first. I’ll be quick,” Toni announced before ducking around the plane to their designated latrine area with a roll of toilet paper.
“I can’t believe how much better I feel than last night.” Emery gazed over the valley below.
The difference amazed Pasha. Emery didn’t look so pale, she seemed to move around without pain, and her eyes
shone, alert. “I’m so glad. But don’t do anything today except come out here for pit stops. Right?”
“Yes, ma’am.” Emery grinned. “Long as you keep me company as much as possible.”
“I’ll do my best.”
After she’d served them all coffee and wild-blueberry pancakes they ate with their hands, Pasha caught Karla outside the plane when she went for her own bathroom break. “I’m going to hike up the ridge a ways and try the satellite phone again. Get a look at what’s around us. I should be back within three or four hours. How’s Skeeter?”
“He’s holding his own, so far,” Karla replied. “I’m worried about infection developing in his leg wound, though. I’d like to get him out of here before that has a chance to happen.”
“Emery looks a lot better.”
“Remarkably so, I’d say. But given the blow she took to the head, a subdural hematoma could definitely develop, so we need to keep her quiet until she can get to a hospital for tests.”
“I’ll leave you to watch them both.” Pasha zipped up her heavy coat and put the hood on. Stained with Emery’s blood, it painfully reminded her of the danger she still faced. “Wish me luck.”
“Be careful.”
Pasha set off toward the top of the ridge, carrying a six-foot length of thin metal tubing—a wing strut that had snapped off the plane. It made an effective probe to discern any hidden crevasses or overhangs in the snow. The depth of the snow and her meticulous care in testing the under layer before every step slowed her forward progress. She also had to pause to catch her breath if she exerted herself too much, and the higher she got, the more dangerous the ridge became, with sharp drop-offs on either side.
She tried the satellite phone again. Still no luck, so she pushed forward until her legs began to protest the strain of struggling against the thigh-high drifts. Resting, she stared out over the valley. She could see from here better than from the plane, but still not enough to find any reasonably safe way off the mountain. She pushed on.
*
Bryson emerged from her tent and stared into the cloudless sky, still hazy with ash. She doubted she might get out today but was still disappointed. She tried her satellite phone. Static.
After a breakfast of oatmeal and coffee, she spent nearly an hour clearing the ash off her plane. Still only nine a.m. She’d go crazy just sitting and waiting, so she packed her daypack with water, a couple of PowerBars, matches, the phone, flares, and a signaling mirror, and headed off toward the foothills of a nearby mountain.
The farther she got from the riverbank, the boggier the terrain became. Sodden patches of thawed permafrost that could trap an errant step as easily as quicksand surrounded uneven hummocks of fairly solid earth. She spent most of the morning reaching the base of the mountain. She’d chosen this particular peak because of its potentially scalable façade and its low height. Its steep rise, covered with scree—gravel-like rock debris that would be treacherous to climb—beat the nearby alternatives, all with sheer rock cliffs.
Gaining elevation to improve her chances of successfully making a call was worth the risk. She started climbing.
For every yard she gained, she slipped back a foot or two. Partway up the slope, she lost her footing and slid several feet on her knees. The sharp scree cut into the fabric of her pants like razor blades, shredding the material. “Damn it!” The bloody lacerations covering her knees stung like hell. She used some of her water to wash out the dust and debris, but she’d left her first-aid kit in the plane.
She rested only a couple of minutes before continuing her climb.
Four hours later, she hauled herself onto a narrow ledge about three-quarters of the way up the mountain. She could go no farther. She’d consumed her water, PowerBars, and energy reserves, and she couldn’t cover the remaining distance without climbing gear. Rocky scree gave way to a sheer ice wall.
Bryson pulled out her satellite phone and tried again to reach Dita. More static. She debated the wisdom of remaining here for a while to try again. She didn’t have to worry about darkness falling and obscuring her way back, and she didn’t have much else to do, but as soon as she’d stopped moving, the steady breeze chilled her.
She pulled up the hood on her coat and hunkered down to wait.
*
Bettles
Dita unplugged the coffee pot and threw a blanket over Megan, who’d finally conked out on the couch in the back after staying up all night and most of the day trying to reach Chaz. She hadn’t been able to reach Bryson, Pasha, or the outside world either.
Geneva was putting on her coat when she returned to the outer office. “Time for my shift. Let me know right away if you get through, huh?”
Dita nodded. “You gonna be okay? You look plumb tuckered out.”
“Gee, thanks, Mom.” Geneva smiled tiredly. “I’ll try to catch a nap after work, then head back over to relieve you if we haven’t heard anything. You should try to rest, too.”
“I will.”
As thoroughly exhausted as she was, however, Dita wouldn’t rest until she’d heard from all her people. She tried her satellite phone every few minutes and her computer every half hour. She’d muted the TV so she could see the instant a picture replaced the words satellite signal lost.
At seven p.m., Megan emerged from the back room with tousled hair and two mugs of coffee. “Bet you can use this.” She handed one to Dita. “I take it you haven’t heard anything or you would’ve waked me.”
“Nothing.” Dita took off her glasses and rubbed her eyes.
The bell above the door sounded and Geneva rushed in, still wearing her waitress apron under her jacket. “Tourist just got a call through on his satellite phone.” She sounded out of breath. “He got cut off, but his wife in Seattle has been watching the news ’cause she’s worried about him. She says they just reported that the eruption has slowed and a front is moving in tonight that’ll cause a shift in the wind pattern. That’s all. He couldn’t get the call back, but I thought you should know. Maybe it’s clearing up.”
“Thanks, Geneva.” Dita started to reach for the satellite phone, but Megan already held it.
“Please? I’ll be fast.” Megan pled with her eyes, and Dita knew how frantically she wanted to find out about Chaz, so she nodded.
“Nothing,” Megan reported after three attempts to connect. She handed the phone to Dita.
She tried Skeeter’s number first, encouraged by a break in the static, but heard no ringing and no response. She nearly jumped out of her skin when the phone rang a millisecond after she disconnected. “Eidson Eco-Tours. Dita.”
She had to hold the phone a couple of inches from her ear because of the static but thought she heard a voice cut in and out, so she forced herself to remain patient. “Hello? Bad connection. Repeat, please.”
More static, then the voice again, clearer this time. Clear enough for her to recognize Bryson and the words forced landing, but all right before it faded again to unintelligible noise. “Bryson? Got part of that. Where are you?”
“…valley, hundred miles north, near—” Bryson replied, before static cut off the rest.
“Bryson? Repeat.” The quality of the connection was awful, but Dita didn’t dare hang up to try again.
More static, then, “…Karla there?”
Dita gripped the phone harder and debated whether to tell Bryson that Karla was missing along with the rafting party. Bryson would just worry, but she couldn’t lie to such a good friend. “Karla isn’t here. She hitched a ride with Skeeter and Pasha to a medical run. We haven’t been able to reach them. They’re missing.”
Amidst still more static, she made out the word repeat, so she recited the message two more times.
When she listened again, she thought she might have lost the connection, but finally heard the words area? What time did—before Bryson’s voice cut out again.
Dita wasn’t certain, but it sounded like she was trying to determine where the plane ditched based on the flight’s
departure time. And Bryson could best calculate that. She knew the route, she knew the Cessna, and she’d been in roughly the same area when the plume forced all aircraft from the sky. “They left at ten thirty,” she replied. No response, only more static. “Did you hear me, Bryson? They left here at ten thirty yesterday morning.”
She had no idea whether Bryson heard her. The line went dead. She tried to get it back several times, but came up empty. She had the same result trying to reach Chaz, Skeeter, or any of the other Eidson Eco-Tours offices.
“At least we know Bryson’s safe,” Megan said. “The ash probably isn’t too bad up there, then, right?”
“Apparently bad enough to keep Bryson grounded,” Dita replied. “But maybe Skeeter set down okay, too.” She walked over to the window and stared at the sky. The haze seemed to have cleared somewhat, but she couldn’t tell with the sun so low in the sky. Could be wishful thinking. “At least Bryson knows what’s going on and is closer to them than we are. If the ash keeps us from getting a fix on their location through their PLB or the plane’s emergency transmitter, she’s our best option for getting to them.”
Chapter Thirty
“What time is it now?” Emery’s watch had broken in the crash, and she hated to have to keep asking the others for updates. According to Karla, Pasha had expected to be gone three or four hours, but lunch, such as it was, had come and gone. Still no sign of her.
“Half past three,” Toni said. “She left more than six hours ago. Shouldn’t one of us go after her? I’m willing.”
“No,” Karla replied. “Not yet. She knows what she’s doing, and she’d kill me if I let you put yourself in danger. If she’s not back by five, we’ll talk about it.”
