Sam's Folly (Midnight Sons Book 1)

by Carmen DeSousa

  The cliff face had shredded the wing, creating a hole in the fuselage, which unfortunately wasn’t large enough to crawl through.

  “Anyone inside?” he called, making sure no one was on the other side trying to get out before he axed his way inside. “What are you doing, Alex?” he berated himself again. He seemed to be doing that a lot lately, but Sam wasn’t here, so who else would tell him he was putting his life in danger?

  “If that plane shifts, it’ll pull you in with it,” he mimicked Sam.

  He hopped up on the skid and swung the pick edge of the fireman’s ax into the seam of the door and pried open a gap.

  “Hello!” He swung again, pried again. The words Heeere’s Johnny threatened to pop out of his mouth, but if there were any survivors inside, he didn’t want them to think he was some deranged psycho and shoot him.

  Repeatedly, he clawed at the hatch until the door broke free. He popped his head inside. The pilot was on his back. The seat had bent backward, and the innards and controls of the cockpit had him pinned. Blood trickled down the man’s face. That was a good sign. If he was still bleeding, his heart was more than likely still pumping.

  The contents of the cargo hold looked to have piled up in the front of the plane.

  Alex pulled himself up further to check for passengers. They would be his first concern; the pilot would be last.

  He saw only one arm flung over an armrest. “Well, at least I don’t have to drag ten people out.” He carefully pulled himself into the plane, trying not to jostle it.

  Before he could take a step toward the passenger, the plane shifted, causing one of the suitcases to fall in the cockpit.

  “Oh!” cried a woman in response to the loud bang. “Oh, God! Help!”

  The sound of the woman clawing at the seatbelt tore at his heart. It amazed him how often people couldn’t think in life-threatening situations. Something as simple as unlatching a seatbelt was nearly impossible. “I’m coming, ma’am, but the plane is —” Her head popped up, and Alex gasped. “Irene.” The missing Kodiak he’d been eyeing. How the hell had the pilot ended up in the middle of the gulf? Irene had said she was heading to Saint Paul.

  Irene blinked, confused. “I don’t understand. Why are you —” She shook her head, fumbled with the seatbelt again. “I can’t unlatch this blasted thing — I can’t get out!”

  Alex lifted his hands. “It’s okay, Irene. I’m coming.” He took another tentative step, thankful the plane held its position.

  She stopped fumbling with the latch and just stared up. Tears streamed down her face. Black stained her cheeks where her mascara had run. Scratches lined her face and arms, but he couldn’t see any blood — thank God.

  He took another cautious step, praying that the plane would hold as he bent down toward her.

  With one click, he easily unhooked the latch.

  She soared out of the seat before he could stop her, and the plane pitched again, this time backward. Her body slammed against his. “Oh, Alex! What’s happening?”

  With one swift move, Alex pulled Irene to his side and escorted her to the hatch he’d pried open. Outside, it was clear how far the plane had drifted. Waves crashed over the skids, leaving behind long strands of seaweed.

  “Out you go!” He lifted her, and she yelped. He’d learned not to ask questions in a rescue. People tended to be unreasonable. If he’d told her to step out, she more than likely would have argued. He set her down on the skid. “Go! Now! Head to shore!”

  “But my —”

  “Go, dammit! The plane is sinking.”

  Irene’s eyes widened, but instead of arguing further, she hopped off the skid and tottered toward shore.

  Alex turned for the pilot. Maybe it was better the man hadn’t come to. He leaned down and checked for a pulse. Alive. He was thankful and upset at the same time. Every second he remained inside the plane increased the likelihood that he’d drown. Once the thing broke free from shore, it’d go straight down.

  He unlatched the pilot’s belt and attempted to pull him from the seat. Normally he wouldn’t move someone if the plane wasn’t on fire, but he didn’t have a choice. And it wasn’t like an ambulance would be showing up.

  Alex looked at the buckled dash. Why wasn’t a rescue team showing up? Hadn’t the pilot called for help as soon as he knew there was trouble? Few crashes happened so quickly that a pilot didn’t have time to send out an SOS.

  An eerie squeak reminded Alex that he needed to get a move on. He stood and pulled up on the control panel, but it was no use. Even if he pried up the dash, he needed a second person to pull the pilot from beneath it. He should have thought about that before sending Irene to shore. Still, he wouldn’t have kept her here.

  Outside, a wave crashed against the side. The tide was coming in. “Can anything else go wrong?” Alex bent down and smacked the pilot’s cheek. “Hey, man, you gotta wake up.”

  Nothing.

  “Dude, the plane is going down. If you don’t wake up, you’re going down with it.”

  The man’s eyes moved beneath his closed lids, but he didn’t stir.

  Alex stood again, doing his best to pull the control panel up and push at the man with one foot.

  Splashing came from outside. Had a rescue team arrived? Odd that he hadn’t heard it.

  A red head popped up, and before Alex could scream No, Irene crawled back inside. She immediately shoved her hands beneath the pilot’s armpits and pulled. She managed to drag him to the open hatch before the plane bucked again.

  “Get out!” Alex screamed. “Now!”

  Irene hopped down, but stayed on the skid, waiting.

  “I said go, Irene.”

  “Not until you’re out!” she shouted back. “I’m not an invalid; I can help.”

  Alex latched an arm around the pilot’s body and under his arms. He slid the man forward, then moved his own legs out the opening.

  Irene immediately positioned her body under one of the man’s arms as Alex stepped out. Together the two of them hopped into the knee-deep water and dragged the man onshore. Alex bent down and checked for a pulse. Still beating, but the man needed an emergency blanket. And God knows what else, which meant he had to go back inside that sinking ship. Most of the luggage had soared to the cockpit, so he could easily throw them out now that there weren’t three people weighing down the plane.

  “Stay here. I’ll be right back.” Alex dropped his emergency pack on the beach and headed back into the icy surf.

  Water splashed behind him. “Where are you going, Alex? Are you crazy?”

  Alex smiled but didn’t turn or respond. He’d been called worse.

  At the plane, he realized he was crazy. Now that he’d rescued Irene and the pilot, he didn’t fear dying again. Had it only been the thought of someone else dying that had scared him?

  He climbed back inside and pulled two duffle bags from the cockpit. Since Irene refused to stay on shore as he’d requested, he tossed them as close to her as possible.

  Next, he hefted two heavy purple suitcases, which must be hers. Hopefully, she had something other than shoes and clothes in them.

  Irene sloshed through the water, snatched the handles of her suitcases with a vicious tug, then shoved them toward the shoreline. “Now get out of there, Alex!”

  Alex shook his head and went back inside. He had his first-aid kit, but you could never have enough medical supplies. He stepped back toward the cabin, but this time his foot landed in ice-cold water. He snapped the latches on the overhead bins, searching for the vital kit and anything else they’d need to survive. He took another step, and the water came up to his knee. “Damn. Where is it?”

  He flicked open bin after bin, finally breathing a sigh of relief when he found a blue plastic crate filled with supplies. He pulled it down and headed back to the hatch.

  Irene stood just outside the opening again. “Alex, get out of there.”

  He smiled at her concern as he handed her the crate. “Here. Take th
is. I need to get the radio.”

  “Ugh! All men suffer from macho-itis!” She grabbed the plastic crate and waded through waist-deep seawater. “This water is freakin’ freezing, and you’re screwing around.”

  “You won’t be saying that when the rest of my team shows up.” He laughed and headed back toward the cockpit. The plane dipped forward, tossing him into the rutted dashboard. “Crap!” The plane was loose. He’d hoped that without all the weight, it wouldn’t slip deeper into the ocean, but evidently, all the weight he’d tossed out had been anchoring the plane from the inside.

  Too late to pry the radio free … or even to attempt an SOS. He righted himself and shuffled back to the hatch as water surged inside the cabin.

  “Alex!” Irene’s scream sounded too far away.

  Unfortunately, the beach had a short shelf. An earthquake in the sixties had caused a sudden uplift of twelve feet. If he was still inside the plane as it slipped off the wave-cut platform, it would be Bye-bye Alex, as Sam liked to tease. Next stop: 26,000 feet under the sea.

  He gripped the seats, hanging on as the plane lurched backward. He gasped in a breath and held it as white foam from a crashing wave filled the cabin, making it impossible to see. He forced his way through the incoming water. He felt for the opening he’d created and held himself upright as a flood of water surged in, struggling to free himself as the plane threatened to take him under.

  His foot found purchase on a solid object, and he pushed off, sending himself through the hatch as the plane disappeared beneath him.

  Seconds felt like minutes as he held his breath. The outflow pulled him down. He just needed to fight long enough until another incoming surge. Just a few more seconds. Hang on for a few more seconds.

  It wasn’t the first time he’d had to hold his breath under water. He could do it. He’d practiced rolling his kayak enough times.

  His lungs burned, and his limbs felt like lead weights. The salt water stung his eyes, so he squeezed them shut. Not that there was anything to see but white foam. He kicked, or at least he thought he kicked.

  Something gripped his arm. Had the devil decided drowning wasn’t enough? Had he sent a shark to finish him off? He opened his eyes and realized he must be hallucinating. A redheaded beauty was swimming next to him.

  The surf switched, propelling him forward. The grip on his arm tightened, and he tried to kick again.

  He didn’t want to die, he realized. He wanted to live.

  I don’t want to die! he screamed in his mind. Still, he couldn’t breathe, so more than likely, he was going to die. Right now. From drowning, of all things.

  At least his last act had been a noble one.

  His ears strained from the pressure. The icy water numbed his entire body. He was going to die whether he wanted to or not.

  He no longer felt his heavy weighted legs. He no longer felt the pressure on his wrist. He no longer saw the red hair of his own personal mermaid.

  He had imagined her. Somewhere in the depths of his mind, he remembered that drowning became euphoric in the final seconds. It was supposed to be peaceful, so of course, he would imagine a woman.

  He didn’t feel euphoric, though. He was mad, mad that he’d planned to throw away his life over money, and now his life was being stolen from him. And Irene … Irene might die on this island if he didn’t make it. The tide will come in, and she’ll drown … Blackness engulfed him.

  He no longer felt the pain in his lungs.

  At least his father’s legacy would live.

  But I don’t want to die.

  ~ Irene ~

  Irene gasped as she broke the surface.

  She latched an arm around Alex and kicked toward the beach. How had they been swept out so quickly?

  A wave crashed over them, and she squeezed her eyes and mouth tight, gripping hard against Alex’s chest. The salt water scorched her throat, stung her eyes.

  Worse, Alex had become dead weight beneath her arm. “Alex! Wake up!” She stopped shouting as another wave broke against her face.

  Instead of screaming, she tried to ride the wave. She kicked as the next wave swelled beneath her, letting it propel her forward.

  Please don’t die, Alex, she thought internally, so she didn’t swallow even more salt water than she already had. She didn’t really know Alex, but the thought that she’d never see him again tore at her heart. If he hadn’t found the crash, she would be the one dead right now.

  Another wave pushed her forward, and she nearly cried for joy when she realized she could finally stand. She gathered a handful of Alex’s jacket and dragged him to the beach.

  On land, she lowered her ear to his mouth, but it was impossible to hear with the cacophony of seals and birds. She didn’t have time to second-guess; she tore open his shirt and layered one hand on top of the other. She used her body weight — what little she had — and pressed, hard and fast. She stopped long enough to tilt his head back, squeeze his nose, cover his mouth, and deliver two full breaths. Then she returned to the compressions, which she’d heard were more important anyway.

  “Alex! Damn you, you stupid macho maniac!” Press. Press. She hit his chest. One because she’d seen it work in a movie, and two because she was so damn angry. She was on some God-forsaken deserted island with two dead pilots and a million and one seals. Not to mention some God-awful stench combination of bird poop, rotten eggs, and ammonia made her want to puke. “Wake up!” she screamed as she forced her hands harder against his chest. “Wake up!”

  Water spurted out of Alex’s mouth, so she quickly pulled him to his side. He slowly moved to his knees.

  Aack. Aack. He spewed liquid, heaving until he collapsed.

  Tears burst to Irene’s eyes. “Thank God!” Then she smacked him on the arm. “You idiot!”

  He slowly turned his head and blinked, coughed again, then his light golden eyes locked on her. He coughed and gripped his chest. “Damn that hurts.”

  Irene stood and stared down at him. “Not as much as dying, I’m sure.”

  “Probably not,” he choked out and rolled to his back, one arm stretched above him. “How the hell did you end up on Middleton?”

  Her eyes traveled the length of the rocky beach, then she jutted her chin at the prone pilot. “Not sure. I guess something happened to the plane. I think he was trying to land.” She walked toward Kevin to make sure he was still alive. She knelt, stared at one of his carotid arteries. Now that Alex was breathing, she had to attend to Kevin.

  Since when did I become Florence Nightingale?

  She headed for her luggage, hoping the hard-shell cases she’d sprung for had kept at least some of her clothes dry. She unlatched a suitcase and heaved a sigh of relief when the inside was dry. She rummaged through the contents for the long overcoat she’d brought. She should put it on herself, but it was the only article of clothing large enough to cover him. Hopefully one of the bags Alex risked his life for held the pilot’s clothes, then she could get her coat back. She pulled out a lighter and yet still water-and-windproof jacket and tossed it over her shoulder. She snapped the lock closed on her luggage, then tucked the long jacket around Kevin.

  Irene walked back and stared down at the man she’d never expected to see again. “He’s still out, so I have no idea why I’m here. Why are you here, Alex?”

  Alex propped himself up on his elbows, cleared his throat again. “To save you, obviously.”

  Irene sighed and knelt beside him. “Thank you.” She smacked his arm again. “But you almost killed me with that stunt. I could have drowned. You almost died. And now I’m freezing worse than I was.” She pulled away when he reached for her. “I said I’m freezing. I need to put on some dry clothes.”

  “I was reaching for you to keep you warm,” Alex called out behind her.

  She turned and flashed him a scowl. “My jacket will do a much better job than you. You look like a drowned rat.”

  He clutched his chest. “Ouch! That hurts worse than the bruised rib
s you gave me. That’s the thanks I get for saving you?”

  “It’s an expression, Alex.” She rolled her eyes. “And you haven’t saved me yet. I would have managed to get myself out of the plane; you just confused me. You were the last thing I expected to see when I came to.” She started to pull on the jacket then realized she needed to change all her clothes first. No sense in putting a dry jacket over wet clothes. She opened her suitcase again and pulled out a thick sweatshirt and jeans, socks and hiking boots. She turned back to Alex, then glared at the unconscious Kevin. There was nowhere to change. No trees. No boulders. “Close your eyes and turn away.”

  Alex laughed. “Why?”

  “Because I need to change.”

  He shook his head. “You’re kidding, right? I saw every inch of you this morning. You’re not going to pull one of those ‘I was too drunk to remember’ lines, are you?”

  Just her luck to screw up a perfectly good one-night stand. You weren’t supposed to see the subject of a one-night stand the next day. Why did Alex, of all pilots, have to spot the wrecked plane?

  Irene dropped her head and scratched her forehead. “Nope. I knew exactly what I was doing. I hadn’t even had a sip of wine. This morning was supposed to be a one-night stand. I didn’t expect to ever see you again, which means I don’t expect you to ever see me naked again either.” She raised a hand, dropped the pointer finger, and gave him the universal sign to turn around.

  Alex rolled his eyes but obeyed and turned.

  Crouched, she quickly shed her wet zippered jacket and long-sleeve shirt and pulled on the sweatshirt, which fell over her hips, so it wasn’t as though he would have seen anything except her bra anyway. Next, she tugged at her wet jeans, clenching her teeth when a grunt slipped out. Removing skinny jeans was always a workout, but doing it while they were wet, and directly after performing a water rescue, was akin to cardio training.

  “Need some help?” Alex shouted.

  “No … thank you …” she huffed out. She toed off her sneakers, then rolled the wet denim off her feet. The sun was shining, but the wind whipped cold air against her bare ass. At least it might dry her off enough to make getting into a dry pair of jeans easier than taking them off. Chilled to the bone, she slipped a sand-covered foot into one leg, then repeated the process. She hopped up, shimmying into the tight denim. She collapsed onto her luggage and quickly pulled on the dry pair of socks and hiking boots.