Page 21 of Aviator
The storm.
And now. . . this.
I look over to where Dean is slumped against the shattered remains of the pilot’s chair. Panic rises in my chest as I see the way his head is twisted at an odd angle, his limbs akimbo. But even worse, he’s not conscious. I don’t think I’ve ever experienced fear so sharp it takes my breath away. Not even when I knew the helicopter was going to crash. Braving this alone? I can’t even fathom it.
Despite the fact that he’s been an asshole to me, I can’t leave him here to die. I need him.
Sweat beads on my forehead as I struggle to free myself from the mangled harness. “Dean?” I choke out, my voice sounding strange and hoarse to my ears. Smoke still billows from somewhere in the engine, meaning this thing could go up at any moment. I have to hurry.
I finally manage to break free and balance myself precariously over the instruments beneath me, barely daring to breathe. He’s curled forward, his body shaking and shuddering with each labored breath. I reach out, my hand trembling, and gently touch his shoulder. The only response is a low groan, and only then do I notice the trickle of blood staining his dark sweatshirt an even darker color. I suck in a shuddering breath, tears clouding my vision.
I don’t know how long I stay like that, lost in a blur of terror and despair. But eventually, I crawl out of the remains of the helicopter and survey our location. The snow isn’t letting up, and Dean may not make it if we don’t find shelter soon. Hell, if we don’t have shelter,Iwon’t make it either. The girls’ faces flash before my eyes. I can’t give up. I have to get back to them and survive long enough to find out what happened to Kady. To figure out what Project Sentinel means and what it has to do with Jamie and Kady’s disappearance.
With newfound determination, I search the surrounding area for any signs of shelter. My eyes scan the endless expanse of white and eventually spy a small overhang of craggy rocks nestled into the side of the mountain and sheltered by some trees. It’s not much, but it’s better than nothing. I can use some of the debris from the wreckage to enclose it. At least, it will block most of the wind and snow. Keeping us warm is my first priority.
I glance back at Dean’s unconscious form. His bulk was intimidating when he loomed over me on his porch with the gun slung over his shoulder, but now, it’s even more so. There’s no way I’ll be able to carry his weight. He’s almost two hundred and fifty pounds, easy, and it’s probably all muscle. Being unconscious means it’s dead weight, too. I’ll have to jerry-rig some sort of sled to pull him to the shelter. And I have to do it fast. I don’t know how much time has passed, and I don’t want to be stuck out here after dark.
My fingers fumble with the torn pieces of metal and fabric from the wreckage, my mind racing as I attempt to fashion a makeshift sled. My hands are shaking, and my teeth are chattering from the cold, but I press on, determined to get us somewhere safe as quickly as possible. There’s a large piece from one of the doors that, I think, is big enough to carry him.
Perfect.
Now I need to find a rope or something to pull with. My head starts to throb as I search the small space inside the helicopter. Then, I see the seat belt! A wave of elation rolls through me before I realize I have no way to cut it. Choking back a sob, I slump into the seat next to Dean, who still isn’t moving.
I press my fingers into my eyes until I see stars.Get it together, Kenna.
After several deep breaths, I force myself to take my time and inventory everything I can see around me. My pain and panic are slowly leeching away, replaced by a bone-deep weariness, but I can’t afford to be sloppy. Dean can’t afford for me to be sloppy.
I know they keep emergency supplies on most aircrafts, and Dean was a Marine, so they’re anal about everything, according to Kady. I have no doubt if there’s one helicopter that will have a shit ton of supplies, it’ll be this one. I just have to be patient and thorough and find them.
I force myself back to my feet and search through all the debris where the cockpit should be. Even if it was stored near the pilot, it may have become dislodged during the crash. I gather a flashlight, a lighter, and a bottle of water I come across and set them aside to take. Then, I let out a scream of triumph when my hand closes on my purse strap. It isn’t a cell phone or radio, but there’s no telling what treasures I’ll find in there. I put the other supplies I’ve found in my purse.
Finally, I strike gold. The first aid kit was wedged between the left side of the pilot seat and the wall. I almost gave up hope of finding it. Inside is exactly what I was hoping for—a small pair of scissors, a trove of other medical supplies, a map of the area, and an emergency blanket. I put the kit in my purse and use the scissors to cut through the restraints on the passenger side. It’s a tedious process because the scissors are small, and the seat belt material is thick. I do the same for both seats in the back and save Dean’s for last. When I cut his restraints, he’ll fall a short distance to the snow. The harness is the only thing keeping him in his seat.
I move to the makeshift sled and begin tying the scraps of the harness into a rope. I loop it around the busted window and tie it securely. I don’t have a cushion, but I don’t think Dean will mind at the moment. Once I’m finished, there’s no putting it off. I have to get Dean out of his seat and onto the sled.
With a deep breath, I reach up and undo the harness holding Dean in place. He slumps forward, and I realize his left leg must be broken because of the way it’s twisted at such an odd angle. I wince but force myself to remain calm. I carefully maneuver him onto the sled, trying my best not to jostle his leg more than necessary. Once he’s situated, I loop the makeshift rope around my shoulders and pull the sled toward the overhang I spotted earlier.
Breaths heave from my chest, which stings with the effort and the freezing air. “If you make it through this, you so owe me, buddy,” I say to his unconscious form. “You owe me big, and you also owe me an apology for being such a dick.”
His weight is almost too much to bear, but I grit my teeth and trek toward the cave. The snow is coming down harder than ever, and I can feel the cold seeping deep into my bones as we trudge through the snow. The going is slow, and my thigh and glute muscles ache with the effort, but we make progress. I’m careful to navigate around large boulders or wreckage, so it takes me for-fucking-ever to trek the distance from the helicopter to the cave.
When we finally reach the cave, I pull him as far inside as I can so he’s protected from the snowfall and the worst of the wind. It’s not much, but it’s miles better than where we were a short while ago. My breaths now come in short gasps, and I can feel the icy air biting into my lungs. But I’m not giving up yet. Not when we’ve come this far and are finally out of the snow.
If I had to guess, it’s been about two hours since the crash. Which would make it, what? Three o’clock or something? Not bad, but not good either. I’m already exhausted, and my energy stores are depleted. My head throbs with each heartbeat. The only thing I can do for now is construct the shelter to protect us from the brunt of the wind before darkness falls and we’re completely screwed. All I can think about is getting us as safe as possible. I’ll worry about myself when I’m sure we’re not going to freeze to death.
With shaking hands, I gather up some of the scattered debris, fallen branches, and boughs from around the wreckage and construct a crude lean-to against the side of the mountain. It’s not much, but it will at least block out some of the wind and snow. Satisfied with my work, I turn my attention back to Dean. His leg is still twisted in an unnatural position, and his skin has taken on a deathly pale pallor. I don’t know what to do or how long we could be stuck out here without medical attention.
I sit next to him for what feels like an eternity, watching helplessly as his breathing becomes more labored with each passing minute. Finally, I work up enough nerve and catch my breath so I can step outside our makeshift shelter and scan the horizon for any sign of rescue.
My eyes roam across the snowy landscape. We’re deep in the mountains, far from civilization, and I have no idea how long it’ll be before anyone comes looking for us.
But they have to be looking. . . right? Dean sent out a mayday call on his radio. Someone had to have heard it.
I take a deep breath and force myself to focus. We need to survive, and that’s all that matters right now. I turn back to Dean, who’s still sleeping soundly despite the freezing temperatures and all my worries. I know I need to start a fire to keep us warm, but the snow is piled high, and all the wood around us is wet. I cover Dean with the emergency blanket after tucking his jacket firmly around him and head back to the smoldering remains of his helicopter. It really had been beautiful before it played chicken with the mountains.
Later, I’ll worry about what exactly caused the crash—everything happened so fast—but for now, I have to focus on making sure there will be a later for both of us. I search through the meager supplies scavenged and locate the lighter I found. Thank heaven for small mercies. I don’t want to think about what would have happened to us without a fire. Nothing good, that’s for certain.
I gather what I can that will burn or any paper that doesn’t seem important. A book from my purse. Trash. I also find some wood, though there isn’t much that’s not soaked. Despite my frozen fingers, I bring it back to the shelter.
