Pathways (9780307822208) (25 page)

“Check.”

“Waterproof boots? We’ll have to hike a ways to get to Webster’s.”

“Roger that.”

He gave her a smile that told her he knew she was teasing him. “I just don’t want to get you up there, Doc, and have you whining about wet feet or something.”

“Have I ever been a whiner, Eli?”

“There’s a first time for everything.”

Eli flew over the Donnelys’ cabin to pinpoint their location, tipping his wings to let the family know that help was on its way. The rain started up again just as he was lining up for his landing.

Bryn closed her eyes.

“We’ll be fine, babe,” he reassured her, not taking his gaze from the windshield. They were a hundred feet up, seventy-five, fifty, twenty-five, and then skidding to a stop on the pond.

Bryn blew out a breath of relief. “You bush pilots really are the best, aren’t ya?”

“Was there ever any doubt?” he asked, cocking a brow at her. He ran the plane straight toward the bank, pushing forward on the pontoons. “Expecting some wind with this storm,” he said, nodding outside. “Want her firmly ashore.”

Eli climbed out first and shoved his arms into a rain slicker, then flipped the hood up. He shouldered her bag and helped her out and into her own slicker. They sat on the edge of the pontoons, under the wing and out from the rain, to yank on their waterproof boots. Then they set off for the Donnelys’ cabin.

In ten minutes they were there, and the professor was outside, dressed in a bearskin blanket and beaver cap. He shook their hands and waved an arm toward the open doorway. “Come in, come in,” he said.

Eli and Bryn entered the dark, tiny, one-room cabin. It still smelled of fresh-hewn wood and had a dirt floor. A pine-bough bed was in one corner with a child stretched out on it, and a narrow bed in the other corner doubled as a couch during the day. Along one wall stood a fireplace that resembled Bryn’s, with a cast-iron crossbar that allowed a pot to simmer over the coals. Bryn was glad she wasn’t hungry. Whatever was cooking did not smell good.

“Thank you so much for coming. I’m Susan,” said the mother to Bryn. She looked haggard and worn, like countless other mothers of sick children. “I’ve been so worried.”

Bryn followed her over to the corner and examined the child. “Can you bring that lantern over here?” she asked.

“Yes, yes,” said Susan. She hurried away to the central table and back. The men settled on the two chairs to watch, silent.

“What’s his name?”

“Jason.”

“Hi, Jason,” Bryn greeted him. “I’m Dr. Bailey. Can you open your mouth? I want to see your throat.” Obediently the child did as she asked. He was pale and, from the look of his lips and skin, a bit dehydrated. She used her penlight to check his tonsils, but there was no sign of enlargement or infection. He was wheezing, and she guessed his parents’ diagnosis of pneumonia might be right.

“Here, sweetie,” she coaxed softly. “I’m just going to take a quick look in your ears and then take your temperature again.” His eardrums were not inflamed. In three seconds her digital thermometer beeped, and she had the result—102.5.

“Running a zinger of a temp there, bud,” she said. Bryn looked to the mother. “Any Tylenol?”

“Aspirin, every four hours. That’s all we’ve had to give him. It’s the most I could talk
him
”—she tilted her head disdainfully at the professor—“into letting me bring here. That and a thermometer.”

Bryn ignored the barb thrown at Professor Donnely. Right now her focus was on the child. She brought out a stethoscope and listened to Jason’s lungs. She could hear rales at the lower base of one lung. He was clear everywhere else.

“How long has he been sick, Susan?”

“Started with a cold. Two, maybe three weeks ago. It wasn’t that bad, it just never got better. Then about five days ago he got this sick.”

“I think you’re right. He has pneumonia. I’ll give him a shot of a powerful antibiotic. Should get him feeling better within twenty-four hours. And I’d like to run an IV while I’m here. He’s a bit dehydrated. Is he allergic to anything?”

“No, he isn’t,” she said.

“Good. You should see a remarkable change in him in the next day. If not, I want you to either bring him out of the bush or call me back.”

“We can’t leave here,” Professor Donnely said. “It’s only our fifty-eighth day!”

“Professor,” Bryn said calmly, rising. “This is your son. I don’t care how important your research is. You can do it again next summer. You don’t get a second chance with a life. And what Jason has is potentially life-threatening.”

The man opened his mouth as if to retort and then closed it. Opened it, and then closed it. He reminded Bryn of a trout dying on a bank. He knelt down and placed a reassuring hand on Jason’s shoulder. Bryn turned away to clean the back of Jason’s hand and then insert the needle for the IV bag. “You’ll feel a prick, and then it will sting a bit, Jason.” She nodded for Susan to hold the child. “I’ll move quickly so it’ll hurt less.”

“We shouldn’t even have you here,” the professor muttered to Bryn. “The pioneers never had IV bags and prescription drugs. I told Susan we could find the herbs to treat him, that he would make a recovery in time.”

Bryn took a deep breath to steady her nerves. “You made a wise choice, Susan,” Bryn said, looking into the mother’s eyes. “Your responsibility is to him,” she added in a whisper, nodding at the child between them. “The IV’s just saline solution. Nothing too twenty-first century,” she said to the father.

“Couldn’t find that plant, Dad,” said an older child, suddenly appearing in the doorway. “Sorry. Looked everywhere.”

“That’s okay, Son,” the professor said woefully.

“Can I go see their plane?”

“No plane. By having visitors here, we’ve already jeopardized the integrity of my research.”

“Aw, Dad,” the boy said. He came in and pulled off his bearskin coat and beaver cap.

“You can go out with us when we see them off,” the professor said.

“How’s Jason?” the boy asked, kneeling beside his little brother.

“He’s going to be all right,” Bryn said. “I’m Dr. Bailey. What’s your name?”

“Seth.”

“Nice to meet you, Seth. Want to do me a favor?”

“Yeah.”

“Hold this IV bag, right about here.”

The boy obediently took the plastic sack, looking with wide eyes down his brother’s arm to where the needle entered the back of his hand. Bryn turned to her Housecalls bag to fish out some children’s Tylenol. The IV fluid was on slow drip, but it was entering the child’s system quickly. He already looked a little better.

She turned to Eli. “I’d like to wait an hour, see if we can get this temp down a bit.”

“We can’t wait that long, Doc,” he said, staring at her with warning in his eyes. “Not unless you want to spend the night here. That storm system is coming in fast.”

Staying the night was certainly an unappealing idea. If she had to spend more than a couple of hours with the professor, she really would let him have it. And their living conditions were truly rudimentary. To add two visitors would infringe on the family’s comfort, to say nothing of Bryn and Eli’s. Suddenly all she could think about was her big bed in the river cabin.

“We might have to come back tomorrow,” she warned.

“Fine by me. Can’t do better than you for a flying companion.”

“What about your schedule? Leon said you had a full roster tomorrow.”

“They’ll have to understand. Cancelled on behalf of a sick kid in the bush. It will be something for them to talk about at the lodge over their moose steaks.”

“Eli, that’s kind of you.”

She looked down at the sick boy, running her hand along his feverish brow.

“Bryn, let’s do what’s best for Jason. You need to stay here for an hour to make sure he’s going to get better, let’s do that. I’ve slept in worse places,” Eli said, eyeing the floor. “Besides, maybe the storm will wait for us.”

Bryn sighed. It wasn’t what she wanted, but it was the best plan. “I really would like to stay for an hour. I won’t sleep at all at home if I’m worried about him.”

“Done,” he said, nodding once. He stepped away, giving her room, and she took the IV bag from Seth.

By the time they left the Donnelys’, Jason’s temperature had dropped to 100.8, and he was more responsive. The IV fluid had definitely helped. With strict instructions to administer the Tylenol every four hours and monitor the child’s temperature at least three times a day, and to radio if he showed any signs of becoming worse again, Bryn bid the family farewell.

Eli led the way, splashing through puddles and eyeing the sky. He was practically running.

“Eli, wait,” she said. Even though Eli was carrying the Housecalls bag for her, it was tough to keep up with his long stride.

“Gotta get out of here if we’re to have a chance at getting home,” he said over his shoulder.

“Maybe we should just stay here.”

“If we can make it, I’d like to. As you pointed out, I have that full roster tomorrow.”

“Okay.” She concentrated on following in his footsteps through the muck. The rain had let up, but even the air was pregnant with moisture, and the pewter clouds were low in the sky. “Think we’re gonna get more rain, Eli?” she asked nervously.

“Could be. Worst-case scenario, we set down on a remote lake and snuggle in the fuselage until dawn.” He paused to wink over his shoulder.

“That sounds like a recipe for a fall,” she said, shaking her head in amusement. She wouldn’t mind kissing until dawn, if they could just stop there.

“We’ll get home,” he said.

When they reached the plane, each pushed on a pontoon to dislodge it from the muddy beach, and once it was turned for takeoff, Bryn climbed aboard and stowed her bag. Eli climbed in after her and radioed Talkeetna.

“Beaver-four-two-six-Alpha-Bravo calling Talkeetna.”

“This is Talkeetna radio. Go ahead, Beaver.”

“Talkeetna, we’re headin’ home. Comin’ from the hot springs.”

“Roger that, Beaver,” came the crackling response. “See you soon.”

With one last worried look to the sky, Eli ran through his routine flow check and took off into the wind.

Fifteen minutes later they left the high valley and headed south toward Talkeetna. The clouds lifted, and Bryn breathed a sigh of
relief. They were going to be okay. She had rarely felt uneasy in the Alaska skies, but today there was a tickle on her neck, a vague unease in the pit of her stomach. What was the matter? She decided it was all in her head, that the combination of her red-eye flight to Anchorage, the drive to Talkeetna, and the late visit to the Donnelys’ cabin had simply driven her to exhaustion.

“You’re quiet all of a sudden,” Eli said, looking her way.

“Tired. I just realized how tired I am.”

“You must be. I’m bushed, and I didn’t get up at three o’clock.”

“Boston time,” she reminded him.

“Boston time,” he repeated with a nod. “Gotta get you home and into bed, Doc.” He reached out and rubbed her neck. “You okay?”

“Yeah. Mostly.”

“You handled the professor well.”

“Can you believe that guy? I just don’t understand …” Her words trailed away as she looked to Eli and noticed the concern etched on his face. She followed his gaze, noticing the angry steel-gray curtain a dozen miles ahead. “What’s wrong?”

“Multicell thunderstorm. Unusual in this area. We’ll have to go back and wait it out.”

She sighed as he banked the de Havilland into a smooth turn east and radioed Talkeetna again. Beneath them were miles and miles of unbroken forest. “Back to the Donnelys’?” she moaned.

“Rather find that hidden lake,” he teased, waggling his eyebrows.

She hit him on the shoulder playfully. “Guess the Donnelys’ is the best place for us.”

“You’ll be so tired, even a dirt floor will look good,” he said. “Or you can sleep in here, and I’ll go to their place.”

“That could wo—”

A fluttering form darted into view immediately ahead, and Bryn choked on a gasp. Then another to the right, a huge—

“Geese!” Eli shouted, as if using a swear word. He kicked the rudder pedals and rolled the Beaver hard left, but two geese dived in the same direction, grew larger for an instant, and with a bone chilling crash one pelted into the windshield.

The airplane jolted, and the propeller flickered to a stop.
It can’t be
, Bryn thought.
This can’t be happening
. A sickening silence, broken only by the rushing wind, fell over the cockpit’s interior as Eli’s hands flew over the instrument panel, trying to restart the engine.

“Come on,” he ground out through clenched teeth. “Come on!” He turned the ignition key again and again, so hard that Bryn was afraid the key would snap. He swallowed hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing in profile. He keyed the mike as he settled the aircraft into a smooth, shallow glide toward the forest below.

“Mayday. Mayday. Mayday. Beaver-four-two-six-Alpha-Bravo. Bird strike. Engine failure. Two souls on board.” He dropped the radio and gripped the wheel with both hands as the entire plane fought him.

The trees below loomed closer. “Eli,” Bryn said, trying not to scream. He didn’t respond, merely pulled a thick blanket from behind her seat and shoved it into her lap.

“Here. Get this between you and the panel.” He pushed her forward, and she heard him unlatch her door. “Just sit tight like that. Keep your muscles loose.”

The Beaver slid inexorably downward. There was no choice but the trees, no waterways visible in a land of rivers and ponds and lakes.
“Dear God,” Bryn cried softly. “Dear God!” No other words came to her other than the cry for help.

“Some sort of lake up ahead. If I can just hold her a few hundred feet,” Eli said, still clenching his teeth, every muscle flexed as if defying gravity by sheer will alone.

He leveled off the airplane, letting the speed bleed now as branches and trunks rose into view. He muttered to himself, as if repeating an old instructor’s demands. “Slow down as much as possible, let the wings take the impact, keep a level flight attitude …”

The treetops brushed along the bottom, sending a chilling scratch along the fuselage, and then there was a deafening
boom
and the scream of tearing metal as the wing next to Bryn was wrenched away. She looked up to see the dull silver gleam of water, and she shut her eyes as the windshield shattered. She found herself thinking of her river cabin, of Summit, of Eli, of Grampa Bruce, of keeping her muscles loose … before all went black.