Rescued by the Woodsman

by M. S. Parker

  It will be the airline’s fault, of course. She rolled her eyes.

  One of the attendants had checked the bin after the woman closed it – at least I thought that was what she was doing, but maybe she’d been scolding the woman about getting out of her seat. I didn’t know.

  I was too busy being torn between being glad I was out of the air – that flight had been rough – and getting more and more frustrated that I wasn’t in Denver.

  And I wasn’t going to make it to Denver anytime soon.

  “The plane has to be cleaned, I’m afraid,” the attendant told the man in front of me. “A passenger was injured, and our policy dictates–”

  “I don’t care about the policy!” He thumped his fist on the desk. “I was supposed to be landing in Denver now. Why did we divert to Cheyenne?”

  A couple of people behind me murmured in agreement, while others stirred restlessly.

  I flicked my eyes to the digital screen overhead and watched with dismay as our flight went from delayed to canceled.

  Others noticed, and the cacophony around me grew until I stepped out of line. They weren’t going to be getting us to Denver anytime today. I knew that much. I could tell by the strained look in the woman’s eyes as she tried to appease one unhappy passenger after another.

  My headache increased, the pounding so severe I thought it might make me sick. Slowing down by one of the vendors, I bought a soft drink and some over the counter painkillers, chasing the pills with the liquid caffeine. Maybe that would help.

  The fact that I was in Cheyenne instead of Denver definitely wasn’t helping. The flight had been diverted here although we hadn’t been given a clear explanation why. The two cities were less than two hours apart. I wouldn’t think that the weather would be that different…would it?

  As I stood in line waiting to rent a car, I googled the Denver airport on my phone. A groan escaped me the second I saw the headlines. A small fire on a plane had temporarily closed one of the runways, and several flights had been diverted, the article informed me. It had nothing to do with the weather after all.

  Hell.

  No wonder the harried woman in the airline uniform behind the counter had looked like she was in need of a spa day – or ten.

  I didn’t need to be flown anywhere though. With Denver being less than two hours away, I realized I could just drive the distance instead.

  Less than ten minutes later, I found out just how wrong I was. I could have driven if I’d had the foresight to book a car, but since this day hadn’t gone as planned, I had no idea I’d need one.

  “All the cars?” I asked, echoing the words the counter agent had just told me.

  “Yes, I’m afraid so.” She gave me a sympathetic smile. “I’d tell you to try one of the other agencies, but with such a large flight being diverted because of that fire…” She shrugged.

  Groaning, I covered my eyes while the couple behind me started to murmur about finding a hotel room before all of those were gone.

  “Maybe we should go back to the airline counter,” the woman said.

  “The airline will cover a night’s hotel,” the car rental agent offered, clearly having overheard.

  I groaned. “I need to be in Denver today.”

  I’d already tried calling Aaron to let him know what was going on, but he wasn’t answering. I’d sent a text, but so far, I hadn’t heard back. I didn’t want him to get to the airport and me not be there. I should be landing and ready to greet him. I should be happy about starting this new phase in my life. I should be a lot of things…not standing here.

  “What’s this?” I picked up a brochure that showed an aerial view of the Rockies and the nose of a small plane.

  “Oh, that’s the sightseeing flight company my boyfriend owns.” She beamed at me, looking like a proud mama. Then she waggled her eyesbrows. “Actually… he’s going to Denver in an hour or so.”

  I waggled my eyebrows back at her. Perfect.

  * * *

  It’s a very different thing flying in a commercial jet compared to the small plane in which I currently sat.

  Hank Jackson’s little outfit boasted several small engine planes, and this one here, he’d told me, was his baby. His first craft and his personal favorite was “as sound as could possibly be.”

  It better be, because I was paying him double his normal rate to allow me to ride with him. He’d initially said no, said he was thinking about not going, but I think he’d done that just to make more money.

  Got some rough weather coming through. Going to get rougher in the next couple of days too. Best just to get yourself a hotel room and wait it out, honey.

  I’d persisted, and after offering double, plus a hefty tip, he’d agreed, but I had a very limited amount of time to get my keister to his place because he wanted to leave before the weather got bad again.

  In truth, I didn’t know why I was so desperate to get to Denver, but something was pushing me, driving me, to get there as soon as possible, by whatever means I could manage.

  If I could have gotten a hold of Aaron, I might have waited out the next storm, but so far, he hadn’t answered any of my texts or returned any of my calls – so yes, I was that determined.

  “You ever been up in a small plane before?” Hank asked, his voice friendly. He’d told me he would have pointed out some of the sights – if I liked – but I told him it wasn’t necessary. I wasn’t there to check out the mountains. I’d be living here. I had all the time in the world to do that.

  A heavy jolt shook the plane, and I couldn’t help but feel like somebody had thrown me into a large tin can and was rattling it. It hadn’t been like this on the jet.

  “Ma’am?”

  Belatedly, I realized he’d asked me a question, and I glanced over. “Pardon?”

  He had his eyes focused on the plane’s controls and was looking outside. “I was asking if you’d ever been on a small plane before?”

  “No, Mr. Jackson. I can’t say that I have.” I managed a weak laugh. “I’m assuming it’s not always this entertaining.”

  “Oh, we’re doing well enough, all things considered. Bouncing a bit, but that’s the wind. Everything going right as rain.” He laughed a little. “What’s right as rain mean anyway?”

  “I couldn’t tell you.”

  Maybe if I closed my eyes, it would be better, I thought. So I tried – for all of two seconds. The heavy bump and rolling sensation of the plane only seemed to intensify when I couldn’t see. Definitely not trying that again.

  “It won’t be much longer, sweetie. Good thing I’d already planned on tucking into Denver for a day or two,” he mused. “Won’t be a good idea to try and fly back home with the way things are getting worse.”

  My hands tightened on the armrests. “Are they getting worse?”

  “Oh, just a bit.” He sounded unconcerned, his round face still set in a smile. “Don’t you worry, honey. I’ve been flying planes since I was sixteen years old.”

  He sounded so calm, so self-assured, and I tried to take comfort in that. It might have even worked. But barely a second after he said those words, there was another tremendous shudder of the plane, followed almost immediately by the sound of something ripping.

  I shot Hank a look.

  That was the last clear thought before panic took over as the plane dropped from the sky like a stone from a giant’s hand.

  3

  I don’t know what woke me, the pounding in my head or the cold. At first, I just shivered and tried to pull the blankets around me, but there weren’t any blankets.

  There was something else holding me down, digging into my chest. I fingered the material.

  Straps!

  That really brought me out of the semi-fugue state I’d been in.

  Jolting upright – or trying to – I looked around. The instinctive, jerking movement sent pain crashing through my head, and I groaned, reaching up to rub at my skull.

  “You okay over there?”

&
nbsp; The sound of the voice, only vaguely familiar, had me stirring in the seat as a memory tried to come back. A name floated to the surface of my thoughts, and I grabbed at it. “Hank?”

  “Yes, ma’am. You okay?”

  It all came flooding back, and I groaned as I looked around. “We crashed, didn’t we?”

  “Yes, ma’am. We did. Are you okay?”

  He was going to keep asking that until I answered. I gave him the most honest answer I could at the moment. “I’m not entirely sure. My head hurts. I’m still taking stock.”

  “You just keep on doing that. I’ve already sent word about the crash, but that storm we were trying to outrun seems to have it in for us because it’s gotten bigger and meaner. I don’t think they’ll be sending out anybody until it passes.”

  I shivered, the words not really making sense as I wiggled all my body parts and gingerly felt for injuries. I didn’t think there was much of anything, which was a miracle considering we’d just been in a freaking plane crash. Then, abruptly, Hank’s words made perfect sense. “What do you mean they won’t be sending anybody out?”

  “They can’t, not with the storm that’s moved in. Now don’t go fretting, okay? I radioed the crash in, and they know we’re out here. We just have to wait this storm out.” There was a note of strain in his voice I hadn’t heard earlier, and I realized I hadn’t asked how he was.

  “Hank, were you hurt when we…um…” How did one phrase it? When we crashed the plane? When we fell? “Are you hurt?”

  Please don’t let him be hurt, I thought desperately. I’d bribed him with double the money to bring me up here–

  No. We weren’t up in the sky anymore.

  We’d crashed. Crashed, and I needed to calm the fuck down and think.

  “Well, I’m not too bad all things considered, but I do believe I got a broken leg.” He delivered the words with the same implacable calm he’d used throughout that hellish flight.

  “I…what?” He hadn’t just said what I thought he said, had he? Scrambling at the safety belt that had protected me through the flight – and crash – I finally managed to free myself. The light was fading, clouds rushing overhead like mad. Just as I took notice of them, I saw something fat and white floating down.

  Snow.

  It couldn’t be snowing. It was September.

  In the Rocky Mountains, I reminded myself. It could very well be snowing.

  “Okay…I’m just going to…” Swinging my legs out of the seat, I eased myself off of it, intending only to take a look at Hank and see if maybe I could do something to help.

  But I made the mistake of looking back toward the plane.

  Or what was left of it.

  “Aw, hell,” I whispered.

  “Don’t go thinking about it, Miss…Stella, right? Look at me right now,” Hank said, voice still gentle but firm.

  It helped. I swung my head around and met his gaze.

  “I think if you gimme a hand, I can get myself loose and we can make camp in what’s left of my bird here.” As he spoke, he wrapped his hands around his right leg, and that was when the odd angle of his lower leg became apparent.

  “I do believe you’re right,” I told him, echoing his aww shucks manner of speaking. “I think that leg is broken.”

  He grinned at me, a pained sort of smile, but a smile nonetheless. “We’ll stabilize it before I try to move. Think you’re up to helping me with that?”

  I swallowed, then nodded. “I’m game if you are.”

  * * *

  By the time we’d managed to rough out what Hank had decided was just as fine a camp as any he’d ever seen, the rest of the daylight was gone. I’d spent the past half hour searching for my phone, but since there might have been another twenty minutes left of sunlight, I gave up until tomorrow.

  “How far do you think we are from the nearest town?” I asked as I watched him add to the fire he’d built.

  We were in the hull of the plane, or what remained of it, and he’d used the emergency supplies he always kept on hand to build said fire and make some beef stew for us to eat. “It’s dehydrated stuff, but not bad, really,” he’d told me.

  I was just glad to have water and something to eat.

  Earlier, I’d damn near frozen my butt off so I could pee.

  Hank had made himself a crutch out of a length of wood I’d found while out scavenging for firewood. It was just barely tall enough to suit him, and he’d disappeared for just a few seconds, but he hadn’t frozen his tail off just to tend to his bladder.

  His rather miraculous emergency kit had everything in it we could need for a few days here, plus fishing line, a knife, and other odd items that I was sure he could put to use – if he could walk.

  “Nearest town…” He shrugged and scratched at the scruff growing on his face. “Hell…I don’t know. Denver or Fort Collins is probably a couple of days walk away. A few smaller towns are closer, I think, but still twenty miles…” He named one and looked around with a squinty-eyed look and pointed. “That’s as the crow flies. If I’m right about where we are, there’s a road about five miles away, but I’m afraid I’m not up to walking five miles.”

  I gulped. I didn’t know how anyone could walk that far in this weather, bad leg or not.

  He gave me a pained look. “We’ll be okay, though. I know they heard my relay, and I called ahead to the county airport. I’ve got all the doodads on my bird that they need to find me.”

  “Just…not tonight.” I managed a weak smile. “You know, I could walk five miles. Which way–”

  “Not happening.” He pointed a finger at me, shotgun style. “We stay together, and we stay with the bird. It’s the easiest thing to see from the sky, and that’s how they’ll come looking for us. Besides, we’ll be fine. It’s going to get chilly but nothing we can’t tough out.” He laughed as the wind whipped a few snow flurries in. “It’s a good thing it’s not winter yet!”

  * * *

  Waking up was pure hell.

  I’d been in a car crash when I was seventeen. There were reasons some parents didn’t like their kids riding with friends who only recently gotten their driver’s licenses. That wreck was one of those reasons. Teenagers could be very easily distracted, as I’d learned.

  None of us had been hurt, thankfully, but the first few days after the accident, I’d been stiff and sore, like somebody had worked me over with a baseball bat – or at least that was how I imagined I might feel after such an ordeal.

  This was even worse.

  Now, I felt like somebody had worked me over with a giant-sized bat – a studded one.

  Taking a few minutes to stretch and try to ease the various aches, pains, and kinks from my body, I drew in a few breaths and smelled something that bothered me. A lot.

  Last night, after we’d eaten, Hank had mentioned we were higher up in the mountains and that it probably wasn’t even snowing down in Denver, but the higher altitude up here changed the equation. I had a feeling the equation was about to be changed again. There was a faint dusting of flurries outside that I could see, but there was more coming, I could smell it. One thing about living in New York City and Michigan was that you got a good idea of what it smelled like when snow was in the near future.

  And it was most definitely in the very near future.

  Shit.

  I remembered what Hank had said about a rescue team not being able to look for us in the storm. Was another storm moving in or was the worst of it over?

  I had no idea, but the thought of being trapped up there with nothing but the wreckage of the plane for shelter had terror welling inside me. I had been so stupid, being so determined to get to Denver, I couldn’t even wait for a damn storm to pass.

  I inhaled a long breath. It would be okay.

  Hank hadn’t seemed too worried.

  Okay, he’d seemed concerned, yes, but panicked?

  No. He certainly hadn’t seemed panicked.

  It’s not good business ethics to panic
around the customers, I thought sourly. But then again, the plane was wrecked. Then again, I was alive. Would it matter if I saw him panicking?

  I wasn’t sure.

  Casting Hank a look, I eased myself upright and gazed around. He had some of those emergency lights in his kit – the kind that glowed green once you snapped them – but he hadn’t wanted to use those, and we’d decided to save the batteries in the flashlight as well. He did, however, have a light that was powered by wind-up, so I took that and felt my way out of the plane. Once I was farther away from Hank, I started to wind up the battery, hoping the noise wouldn’t wake him. He had slept restlessly, his leg hurting him, no doubt.

  Once the light was powered up, I used my hand to cover most of the beam and slid back inside, angling the tool so that it swept over the floor. I needed to find my phone. I had a dim hope that it might still be in one piece.

  Before, I’d focused my search near the storage compartment where I’d stored it and my purse. The compartment had been busted during the wreck, scattering everything inside. Now, with the beam of light forcing me to look at only one small place at a time, I might get lucky…

  Fives minutes past. Then fifteen. Then thirty.

  I was about to give up when… there!

  I found my purse underneath a piece of the wreckage. Excited, I pulled up other pieces until… I nearly cried out in joy. My phone.

  I examined it closely. I’d started buying the more rugged cases for my phones after a few hard drops had sent me to the store twice to buy a new phones. To my relief, the case had protected it from most of the damage. There was a crack in the screen, but I could still see the screen, and the crack was down near the bottom left-hand corner. I didn’t care about cosmetic damage as long as I could use the thing.

  Holding my breath, I pushed the power button. It powered on just fine, but my hopes were dashed when I saw there was no signal.

  I bit my lip as I shot Hank another look. He was still snoring softly, his injured leg tucked against the wall of the plane.