by Amy Lane
“The wind’s picking up!” he called over the noise of the chopper blades revving up and the howl of the wind. “I’d say we’ve got about half an hour before it’s over forty knots and we can’t lift off. You guys okay with this?”
Tevyn met Mallory’s gaze grimly. Missy could be around for another five months, but it was far more likely she would fade into unconsciousness in the next week.
“Go for it!” Mal called back. “If it gets too rough, we’ll turn back. Your call.”
“Deal!”
Mal opened a smaller compartment at the arm of the seat and pulled out earplugs and two headsets. Tevyn picked the headset, the better to know what was coming next, and made himself comfortable in the seat across. Both of them did their seat belts and glanced simultaneously outside, where the snow seemed to be falling thicker and faster now than it had two minutes ago when they’d boarded.
“Ready!” Damie said over the headset, and the chopper rose smoothly up, barely buffeted by the demonic wind.
Tevyn dug through his go bag and pulled out a protein bar from a box of twelve and offered Mal one. Mal shook his head, and Tevyn started to wolf down his own. God, flying. He was over the old joke that the guy who spent his living sailing into the air without a net and an engine was terrified of traveling in a helicopter. If he flew up twenty feet into the air on a snowboard, at least he could control his fall back to earth.
He crumpled up the protein bar wrapper and looked around them anxiously.
“It’s getting heavier,” he said, heart pounding in his chest. “I can’t see the helipad anymore.”
“I don’t even know which direction it is,” Mallory confirmed. A particularly brutal gust of wind caught the chopper broadside, and for a moment they swung, suspended by air pressure and the lift of the whirling blades. Tevyn’s breath caught in his throat, and their forward momentum resumed.
“Should we tell him to turn it around?” Tev asked, covering the mouthpiece of the headset. “I meant what I said—nothing’ll piss Grandma off more than us beating her to heaven.”
Mal let out a short bark of laughter. “I hear you. We should trust Damie—”
“Had enough?” Damie called. “We’re about ten miles out from the mountain, but guys, this isn’t working. I’ve flown storm conditions before, but the crosscurrents and updrafts here are bigger than anything I’ve seen.”
A huge gust of wind shook the chopper from stem to stern, and Tevyn didn’t even have to look at Mal. “Abort!” they both called. “Turn her around! This isn’t going to—”
The fist of God grabbed their helicopter, crumpled it into tinfoil, and threw it over his shoulder.
The Edge of the Cliff, the Top of the Mountain
THE world stopped spinning, and Mallory found himself sideways, suspended from his seat belt as his battered body dangled, looking down through the passenger window…
Into the vast nothingness of a snowscape far below.
“Oh my God!”
“Don’t panic.” Tevyn’s voice, with that flinty Colorado accent, kept him from flailing. “Don’t panic,” he repeated. “But I need you to move. We’re on the edge of the cliff, see that?”
“Can’t see anything else.” Down. Down down down, into a snow-covered gorge with spires of granite poking out like hammers and knives.
And the occasional white-topped tree.
“Well, stop it!” Tevyn snapped, and Mallory managed to look up to see that Tevyn had already undone his belt and scrambled up toward the door on the other side of the copter. “We need to get the hell out, Mal, and we need to get Damien out too.”
Of course. Because Mallory was a hero like that.
“Absolutely,” he said, his Mal’s-got-everything-covered voice coming out of nowhere. Usually this was the voice he used with businesses that thought they were going under and had stocks that plummeted to the basement.
He’d never once used this voice when lives were at stake, but suddenly just pretending he had everything covered made it true.
Using a whole lot of Pilates, he maneuvered his body as though he were sitting, took the pressure off the seat belt, and hit the catch. He supported himself with his arm over the back of the seat, and by the time he’d clambered upward, Tevyn had managed to unlock the side door and—against all laws of gravity—push it open.
The frigid air blowing thick, wet snow into the compartment was a dire warning that surviving the crash was only the first part.
“Can you make it out?” Tevyn called. “I’m gonna check on Damie!”
Mal nodded grimly and ignored the ominous shudder as a gust of wind hit the helicopter and it shook, moving on the slushy snow.
From what he’d seen looking down, they were on the downward slope of a sharp cliff—and perilously close to the edge. If they didn’t get Damien out of the cockpit quickly, they’d all go tumbling into the gorge.
Mal gasped as he pushed himself out into the lung-stopping cold, and his hands hurt immediately. Shit! He was still wearing his overcoat, and he scrambled in the pocket for the thin cashmere gloves he wore in the city. They’d get soaked quickly out here, but Tevyn was going to need some help.
Tevyn had been wearing his Gore-Tex parka and a hat, scarf, and sweater knit by Missy herself. Mal would put money down on him having gloves in the pocket, but Tevyn had grown up in the Rocky Mountains. His hands were inured to the cold, and he was struggling with the latch to the pilot’s compartment as Mallory got in position to help him.
“Here!” he called. He had his house key, of all things, in his overcoat, and he pulled it out and knelt on the slippery metal hull, surprised the wind didn’t just push him and Tevyn out into the canyon, it battered them so fiercely.
Tevyn saw what he was doing and pulled at the catch again, giving Mal a chance to pry at the stuck part with his key. The key shattered, and Mal struggled to catch himself at the same time Tevyn gave the latch a mighty yank, almost tumbling backward when it gave. Mal reached out a quick hand, terrified. Tevyn had his back to the canyon. One wrong move and he would have gone over, and Mal’s heart fully stopped beating until Tevyn grabbed his hand.
“Quick thinking,” he said with a tight grin. “Thanks.”
Then he stretched out on the hull, bending at the waist to reach into the copter. “Damie!” he called. “Damie! Dammit, we gotta get out of here! Can you move?”
Damien’s next words were mostly curses—Mal caught a burst of “goddamned updrafts” coupled with “spun me like a top” and ending with “motherfucking leg!”
Tevyn pushed up and looked at Mal seriously. “You need to help me haul him out of here and then get down to catch him. Normally I’d say tend to the leg first—bone’s through the skin and it’s pretty bad, but….”
Mal nodded. Neither of them wanted to say it. The fact was, they had a very limited time on that cliff slope before the helicopter slid off and fell into the canyon below.
“Go. I’ll haul him up.”
“He’s gonna scream,” Tevyn said soberly. “It’s gonna hurt. Just remember, he knows why we’re doing this, and we all want to get down this mountain. Deal?”
Mallory nodded and swallowed, wondering what hard experience Tevyn had with injuries and blizzard conditions to give him that certainty. He didn’t ask, though. He just made sure his body was closer to the mountain than the canyon, to counterbalance whatever Tevyn was doing in the cockpit that made the whole helicopter tremble and groan.
Mal was shaking with cold, his jaw clenched from keeping his teeth still, by the time Damien’s hands appeared as he barely supported himself. One look over his shoulder showed Tevyn lifting the lower part of his body from below, and Mal hustled in to help because Damien wasn’t screaming—yet.
He bent at the knees, slick loafers barely giving him traction, and hauled at Damien’s arms, and now Damie really did start to scream. Another effort, and he was high enough to turn himself so his bottom was on the edge of the doorway, and Mal looked behind hi
m dubiously.
“This thing doesn’t look that big when you’re in it!” he hollered over the sound of the storm.
Damien let out a grunt. “Slide down the side and catch me.”
“Will do!”
Mal went down on his stomach, feet facing the ground, grateful for the slightly higher temps of the Sierras versus other mountain ranges. The bad news was the snow was wet and they were going to be soaked to the skin very soon.
The good news was his clothes and skin weren’t sticking to the icy hull of the copter—he just slid right down, caught his fall on his feet, and bent his knees to lessen the impact. He held up his arms and waited for Damien, yelping when Damie’s big body came hurtling down faster than he expected. He managed to catch him by his shoulders, but momentum carried them both down into the snow, where Damien howled in pain and Mal struggled to get up, wet and freezing and scared in his balls.
It wasn’t until he managed to turn Damien over and scramble to his feet that he realized Tevyn wasn’t down on the ground with him. This side of the copter was relatively sheltered from the wind, which was a blessing, because the cold flakes had been stinging their faces on the hull, but as Mal steadied himself on one of the runners, he saw he had no visibility. He couldn’t see how close they really were to the cliff, he couldn’t see the top of the hull or the open hatches, and he couldn’t see what the bloody hell Tevyn was doing.
The helicopter gave a long, shuddery groan because Mal had put weight on it, unintentionally, just by touching the runner on the downward slope.
God. He’d better get Damien up toward the peak, or they’d both go tumbling into the gorge if they weren’t careful.
Mal got behind Damie and hauled him from under his armpits, his broken leg leaving a trail of blood in the snow. Oh God. Damien was going to bleed out if they didn’t do something to stop that, and Mal thought about the arms of his overcoat and how they might use snow to make a pressure bandage, about how the overcoat might be used as a travois—but he had no idea what he’d do to survive if he took it off—and about anything, anything, but how the helicopter was sliding… sliding… slowly, now more quickly, and Tevyn was still monkeying around inside it.
“Tevyn!” he screamed. “Goddammit, Tevyn, get the hell out of there! What are you doing in—”
An object came sailing out of the passenger’s compartment just as Mal got Damie up to the peak, where he couldn’t slide down anymore. Mal dropped him unceremoniously, heartened by his squawk of pain because it meant he was still conscious. He made his way to the red thing in the snow and grunted.
A first aid kit. Goddammit. “Good job! Now get the fuc—”
This object was bigger, and the weight redistribution must have been bigger too, because the copter gave another groan. Mal trudged through the thigh-deep snow to the other thing Tevyn thought worth risking his life.
“Your go bag?” Mal called, looking at the large equipment bag Tevyn used for clothes and other supplies. “Okay. Fine. Are we getting your snowboard next?”
Actually that wasn’t a bad idea. If he and Damie could make shelter, the snowboard could be Tevyn’s ticket to go down the mountain and get help.
Mal hadn’t even thought it before the copter gave another groan and Tevyn’s bright rainbow-colored hat popped over the edge of the open hatch.
And the copter started its final slide over the edge.
“Tevyn!” Unconsciously, Mal started to slog toward the copter, toward the cliff’s edge, toward Tevyn, who was hauling himself out by main strength and starting a perilous, tripping race along the side of the copter.
If Mal hadn’t just slid down the side of the thing, he wouldn’t have known what he was doing, but now he realized Tev was avoiding the runners on the bottom—and getting ready to leap off the nose of the copter, since the tail was leading the fall.
Oh God. It was going to be close. Mal watched, heart in his throat, as Tevyn took a giant step, then another, and then propelled himself off the nose of the copter in a leap that would have done a gazelle proud.
He landed on his knees on purpose and rolled, right as the copter gave a mighty creak and disappeared into the canyon below.
Mal stared at the open maw where their only means of transportation and shelter had disappeared and then at Tevyn, who was dusting snow off his jacket as he stood. He was wearing boots, and unlike Mal’s footwear, they gave him some surface area. He sank a foot or so instead of all the way down past his knees. He practically ran to where Mal stood, shocked, holding a first aid kit and a go bag.
“You got ’em?” he asked, pleased and exhilarated.
“What in the hell?”
“There’s a pressure bandage in the kit!” he said, still looking at Mal with that wide-eyed expectation of approval.
“That’s fine. Why the go bag? What was in there you needed so badly you’d risk death to get?”
Tev’s mouth set mutinously. “Not me, idiot! You and Damien! I got sweaters, water bottles, hand warmers, protein bars! If you think I’m getting off this mountain all alone, you’re damned mistaken!”
Mal gaped at Tevyn, who stalked up the hill like snow and blizzards and cold didn’t even exist.
Well, good for him. Apparently Mal’s brain was frozen and useless, because dammit, Tevyn was right.
But Mal’s heart wasn’t slowing down. All he could think of was if that copter had taken Tevyn down, Mal might not have been able to keep from throwing himself into the canyon with it.
THEIR irritation at each other was forgotten as they neared Damien, wet and shivering in the snow.
“The tree line starts about a hundred yards from here,” Tevyn said as he drew near. “We’ve got to get you both warm, but—”
“He’s bleeding too much!” Mallory chattered. “We need to stabilize his leg!”
They met gazes tensely, and then both of them looked to the tree line, which was becoming less and less visible with every breath.
They looked at each other again and nodded. It was going to be close.
Tevyn reached into his pocket and tossed Mal a bowie knife. “Take off his boots and cut his jeans. Pack snow around the wound, and I’ll figure out the bandage.”
Mal nodded, opening the blade and sinking to his knees next to their friend—and thanking God for Boy Scouts until the eighth grade, because otherwise he wouldn’t have been surprised if he cut off his own finger.
Damien let out a weak scream as Mal struggled with his boot, and then he whimpered and lay still. That made the rest easier on one level, but it was also disturbing on another. Damien was usually so quick-witted, so snarky—the silence was unnerving and urged Mal to greater speed. Their friend was far too vulnerable like that, head lolling in the snow.
The break itself was grisly, and Mal—who had never before considered himself to have a weak stomach—had to stomp down on nausea as he cut the denim around the protruding bone. By the time he’d laid the limb bare, Tevyn was at his side with the bandage.
“Crap, that’s bad,” Tevyn muttered. “God. Here’s the thing, Mal. Moving him with that is gonna be a nightmare. I’d really like to reset the bone, but I’m not a frickin’ doctor. I’ve had a lot of experience getting worked on, and I’ve paid attention—but I’m not a frickin’ doctor. This is like a life-or-death thing, man, and on the one hand, we could pack the wound with snow and wrap it and haul him down the mountain with that thing sticking out threatening to sever a major artery.”
“And the other?” Mal knew the answer, but Tevyn needed to say it out loud. Mallory trusted Tevyn—trusted him more than anything—but if Tevyn didn’t trust himself, this was not going to work.
“The other is I pull gently on his foot and calf and see if the bone will at least slide back to where it’s supposed to be. Then we pack the wound with snow and wrap it and haul it down the mountain and hope it doesn’t sever a major artery or get infected and kill him. Goddamn it!”
Mal nodded and watched as Damien twitched and whi
mpered. “I trust you,” Mal said quietly. “You know your anatomy. You know your physical therapy.” Mal had seen him studying old injury X-rays while watching performance footage to see if the injury had impaired a movement or not. Tevyn was smart, and what the human body could or could not do was in the realm of his expertise.
“I do,” Tevyn said. He took a deep breath. “Hold his thigh and say a prayer. We gotta do this now ’cause he’s not gonna last, exposed like this. Let’s go.”
It took a surprising amount of strength, kneeling in the snow, and Damien’s low, anguished moaning didn’t help. But Tevyn’s body was finely tuned, and his sure instinct for body mechanics made the final realignment possible. When the bone slid into place, they both let out a sigh of relief, and packing the wound and bandaging it was so much easier after that.
“Grab his other boot,” Tevyn commanded as he was working. “I’m going to wrap his bottom half in one of the fireproof blankets. If we grab the corners, it’ll be like hauling a really heavy sled.”
“What am I doing with his boot?” Mal asked, teeth chattering.
“Putting it on. Your Italian loafers are for shit.”
“I’m wearing shoes?”
Tevyn’s unexpected bark of laughter gave him heart, which he needed, because his feet and toes ached fiercely. His socks had soaked through in his first five minutes on the ground, hauling Damien to safety.
“Do you have dry socks?” he asked.
“Yeah.” Tevyn grimaced through the cloud of snow so thick they could barely see each other. “You want to wait until we get to the tree line?”