Remember Me (9 page)

“Holy Mary, please,” she cried. “I need to help them!” She tried again, once more bracing her boot on the side. This time she leaned all of her weight into it, even knowing she was apt to fall backward when or if the door gave way. Another grind of metal on metal and this time it moved. Lucy’s innate sense of balance was the sole factor that kept her on her feet.

Snow tumbled from inside, and now she saw the sleeve of Brandon’s blue jacket. Tempering her desire to get him out as fast as possible with the knowledge she needed to be cautious, Lucy began removing the snow with swift, careful movements. She freed his face first, and gasped when she saw a bump and a jagged cut near his hairline. It was bleeding, but sluggishly. As a rule, didn’t head wounds bleed a lot? Fingers shaking, she stripped off her glove and pressed two fingers next to his windpipe, sighing in relief at the pulse beating there. He was alive, his heartbeat regular, so maybe the lack of blood had to do with the snow.

“Brandon?”

He moaned. Scraping at the snow faster now, she uncovered more of him. When she reached his lower left leg, Lucy swallowed. His ankle was at an odd angle. She’d seen a broken ankle once when she was a teenager at her last foster home. One of the younger kids had jumped off a trampoline, landing on the hard ground in the backyard. The boy had screamed bloody murder. Looking at the ankle, and the cramped space, Lucy realized there was no way to stabilize it before she moved him. And moving him was going to be no easy task if he remained unconscious. He was tall and muscular.

She looked around for something to cushion his fall and gathered a few of the many pine boughs severed during the crash, piling them outside the door. With as much gentleness and care as she could muster, she pushed his slumped form back so she could get to his harness. This time she had to stop because her fingers were getting cold. Lucy blew on them, rubbed them together and then tried once more to unbuckle. Damn it. It was jammed. An image flashed into her mind of their first day out on the ski slopes. Her binding had jammed. In an instant, Brandon had produced a jackknife from his pocket. Would he still have it? She eased her hand into his jeans, her fingers just touching the knife. Digging a little deeper, she grasped hold and pulled it out.

She was hoping she could use it to give her leverage. If she had to cut through the tough nylon belt, there was no telling how long it might take. Luck was with her. At the point where she feared she would snap the blade, the latch released. She had just enough time to flick the knife closed and shove it in her pocket before Brandon’s unconscious form started sliding toward her. His ankle smacked the plane and he moaned.

“I know,” she whispered. “I’m so sorry, baby, so sorry to cause you any pain. And I wish I could bind your ankle for you right now, but I have to see if I can get Mr. Hanson out. I’ll be as quick as I can.” She wasn’t sure if he could hear her, but talking to him calmed her too. The fact she’d heard nothing at all from Hanson turned her stomach, but she crawled into the cockpit anyway, pulling snow away from him.

She freed his face and gasped. His eyes were wide and staring into nothingness. Teeth chattering and hands shaking, she made herself look for a pulse, but she found none. Oh God. Frantic and frightened, she pulled at the snow, and her hands came away bloody.

“Hanson! Tom!” She shook him, but his head lolled, and then she uncovered the branch that had pierced his chest. There was nothing she could do for him. He was dead. Lucy’s stomach lurched. She stumbled from the cockpit, barely missing Brandon in her haste and tripping over a couple of branches. Bending over, she threw up what was left in her stomach, heaving until nothing remained. Lucy had seen a lot of things during her life people shouldn’t have to see, but never anyone dead. When she had control over her emotions and her stomach, she made herself return to the plane.

She found the mic Brandon had used and traced the wire to the control panel. A lot of things looked smashed, but she had to give it a try. She clicked the push-to-talk button, but there was no indication anything was working. She stared at it in frustration. Weren’t these things supposed to have some sort of emergency beacon that automatically activated? Somewhere, she had read something about transponders and emergency signals, maybe in other crash stories that had made the news. She rubbed her hands up and down her arms for comfort and to ramp up her circulation.

The radio didn’t seem to be working, so she would have to trust that some emergency locator signal was going out. She didn’t know how flight plans worked, but even if no one official was expecting them, the kid at Air Service would be. He would call the guy at Coyote Creek when they didn’t show… Someone would look for them. The question was how long until they did?

Lucy looked around. Hanson had said they would be short of Haven Lake. If she assumed the plane was facing in the direction they had been going, then she could use it to orient. From the glow of the sun, her assumption felt valid. She was no navigator, but she had spent time sailing, so she was used to figuring out direction. She forced her gaze back to Hanson.

“I’m so sorry, Mr. Hanson. I can’t move you and Brandon both. There’s nothing I can do for you, but I can still help him.” She made herself climb into the cockpit and closed his eyelids. There was something spooky about his glazing gaze. A search behind the passenger seats uncovered an emergency kit containing a space blanket, bottled water and some granola bars. After jumping out, she pocketed the water and the granola bars and covered Brandon with the Mylar blanket. Maybe the cargo area had something she could use. She pulled open the door, rooting around for anything that might help her. When she pulled out two nylon tarps, several bungees and a long piece of rope, Lucy breathed in relief. She’d hit the jackpot.

With Brandon covered, she took the smaller tarp and climbed into the cockpit. She couldn’t do much for Hanson, but she could at least cover him and do her best to secure the plane. All she could do was pray the rescuers would find them before any animal discovered his remains. She had no idea what kind of family he had, but she knew what her own feelings were…and Hanson was a virtual stranger to her.

It worried her that Brandon was still unconscious. What if he had internal injuries? How would she know? Going on instinct, she checked his pulse again. It felt strong and regular. If he was bleeding internally, shouldn’t she be able to tell from his pulse? She huffed out a shaky breath. What the hell did she know? She was a stripper, a freaking city girl from back East out in the middle of nowhere with a dead guy and an injured, unconscious man.

Whoa
. Hold on. She was losing it again. Step back, Lucy girl. She needed to decide what had to be done and in what order. Okay. Brandon’s ankle needed splinting. They needed shelter. She needed to figure out another way to try to contact help. She looked around. She couldn’t have much daylight left, so finding shelter meant she would have to move Brandon at the same time she searched. Hanson had mentioned fishing cabins. If they were near Haven Lake, then maybe one of those cabins was close enough to reach.

So how could she move Brandon? She looked at the tarp, the bungees and the rope. What if she wrapped him, almost like swaddling him? She could attach the rope to the grommets on the tarp and use it like a harness so she could drag him. She chewed her lip while she thought about his ankle. If she dragged him without doing something about it, she could damage it even more. Right. The splint had to come first.

By the time she had him wrapped and ready to go, Lucy was dripping with sweat.

“Okay, baby. This isn’t going to be fun for either one of us, but it’s the best I can come up with.” She zipped her jacket and lifted the rope over her good shoulder so it crossed her body. Blowing out a breath, she leaned into the rope and began pulling Brandon, swaddled in the tarp, over the lighter snow blanketing the area beneath the trees. Ahead, she could see the woods thinned, and she prayed what she’d see when she came out was the lake. Even better, a cabin in close proximity because she was running only on adrenaline.

She reached the edge, crying with relief when lying in front of her was the smooth expanse of Haven Lake. Her relief soon disappeared. The closest cabin was along the northern edge of the lake. Even worse, out here in the heavier snow cover, the going was exhausting. This snow wasn’t like the packed and groomed runs of the ski resort. It was deep natural snow. With every step, she punched through the thin top crust, but she had no choice. If she couldn’t get Brandon to a cabin, he would die. And leaving him behind was not even in the equation.

Halfway there, she knelt in the snow, gasping for breath. The next thing she knew, she was crying. Blubbering, in fact.

“I’m losing it, Brandon,” she sobbed. “I don’t think I can do this.”

Silence was her answer. This high, in the middle of winter, not even the chirp of a bird disturbed the crisp air. After a couple minutes, she swiped her hand across her eyes and nose. This wasn’t getting it done. There was no choice to be made. She could either suck it up and get them to shelter or they’d both die because she wouldn’t leave him. She’d already had to leave one man behind, but not this one. Never this one.

The light was fading fast by the time she reached the small cabin tucked in the edge of the trees surrounding the lake. Barely able to lift the rope over her head, she let it drop behind her and stumbled to the door. The latch turned with a small squeak of cold-stiffened metal.
Oh, thank God
. Something had gone her way. Just one small thing. It was enough to lift her up so she could face what still had to be done.

There was a wide cot in the corner, bare of any blankets, but that was okay. At least for now, she would concentrate on getting Brandon inside. She pulled him in, but instead of getting him all the way to the cot, she stopped in front of the fireplace. With exhaustion dragging at her, she wanted to cry with relief when she saw not only wood in the woodbox, but kindling, paper and matches. Building a fire was a task she could do. She’d practiced with a pit kiln two summers earlier until her neighbors had complained about the fire and she’d had to purchase her own kiln.

With the flames licking the dry wood, she shut the cabin door and turned to Brandon. Time to begin unswaddling. His color seemed okay. Once she got them both warmed, she would see about cleaning the cut on his head and taking another look at his ankle. She needed to try a last ditch attempt at reaching help first. Reaching into his left front pocket, she pulled out his cellphone. When she looked at it, her hopes crashed. The phone was cracked. She tried turning it on, but got nothing.

God in heaven… They were stuck until someone figured out they hadn’t returned and initiated a search. Hanson was dead, Brandon was unconscious and they were without any kind of communication with the outside world. Could it get any worse?

From behind her, she heard movement. Brandon was waking. She spun and knelt next to him. With shaky fingers, she brushed his hair off his face, being careful to avoid the bloody bump.

“Wake up, baby. Come on. Talk to me and let me know you’re okay.”

“What happened?” His voice was nothing more than a hoarse croak.

“There was an accident,” she told him, trying to keep her tone calm. “A crash.”

“Thirsty,” he whispered, his tongue touching his parched lips.

“Lie still. I’ll get you some water.” She pulled the bottle from her jacket, unscrewed the lid and lifted his head so she could tilt the opening against his lips. “Not too much, baby. I’ve got to get everything squared away here, then I’ll get you some more.”

He nodded, his hazel eyes tracking her movements around the cabin while he lay on the floor. Lucy took off her jacket and tucked it beneath his head, then began a systematic search of the cabin to determine what was there. A quarter of an hour later, she had lined up two cans of potted meat, a tin of saltines, some coffee and three pouches of dehydrated beef stew. What she hadn’t found were any pots and pans or dishes.

She eyed the vanishing light. There was another cabin about two hundred yards away. She would have to search it before darkness fell. They were in the middle of nowhere, and it would be pitch black. She was reluctant to take her coat, but she needed it. Brandon had slipped into a doze. He stirred when she slipped the jacket from under his head, but then settled back to sleep.

“I’ll be right back.” Of course he couldn’t hear her, but it made her feel better to say it anyway.

* * * *

Matt Petersohn tried calling Brandon again, and once again got dumped straight to voicemail. It wasn’t like Bran to be out of touch. The guy was permanently plugged in. A glance outside, and Matt gritted his teeth. He’d gotten a call less than a half-hour earlier from Air Service at Falcon’s Head Airport. Brandon and Lucy had flown out with the company’s co-owner to Coyote Creek. They’d been scheduled back two hours ago. There’d been no radio contact, and despite checking, no emergency beacon. The plane and its occupants had disappeared. After Nick Hanson had called his dad to alert him, Jim had phoned Matt. Jim was letting the authorities know now that the plane was missing. While Matt was on tenterhooks about his friends, he knew it was even worse for Jim. Tom Hanson was his older brother. The two of them had been running the charter service for more than twenty years.

Matt’s phone vibrated and he punched it on. “Yeah.”

“We’ve initiated a search. According to Coyote Creek, they left on schedule. Problem is we’re losing daylight, so unless someone can pick up an emergency beacon, there’s not much we can do until tomorrow morning.”