Survive the Fall (EMP: Return of the Wild West Book 1)

by Grace Hamilton

  “I don’t know,” Greg’s father said, idly scratching his whiskered chin. “Maybe it’s not the helicopter. Maybe it’s another group of campers. Could be a bonfire, I suppose.”

  “That’d have to be an awfully big bonfire,” Greg said, “but I guess it’s possible.”

  Eustace coughed, spat a big wad of phlegm at his feet, and shook his head. “No, I think you were right the first time, Tuck. This is private company land as far as the eye can see. The nearest township is over two hundred kilometers from here on the edge of the provincial park. Nobody’s going to hike into this valley and set up a big bonfire like that unless they work for me, but then I’d know about it.”

  Clouds were rolling in, filling the southern sky with shadows that made the trail of smoke look even more ominous somehow.

  “We didn’t hear it crash,” Tuck noted.

  “Would we have, though?” Eustace said. “The crash site is really far, and we were chatting and moving around a lot. I don’t know.”

  “Actually, we heard thunder last night,” Greg said. “I even mentioned it, Dad. Maybe you don’t remember. It never occurred to me that it might be the helicopter going down, but it could have been.”

  “Well, it sucks, man,” Eustace said. “That was a nice company helicopter, and it was expensive as heck. Plus, the pilot was a decent guy.”

  Greg heard a distant rumble and thought, at first, that it had something to do with the burning wreckage. A secondary explosion perhaps? But then he saw a flash of light moving through the dark storm clouds to the south.

  “See that,” Tuck said. “Maybe it was thunder you heard last night. A lightning strike could have caused that fire.”

  It was too like Tuck to identify the problem immediately then spend an inordinate amount of time trying to talk himself out of it. Greg thought of it as a corollary to his tendency to make promises and fail to keep them.

  “There was no bad weather last night,” Greg said. “The sky was mostly clear. Not a drop of the rain or snow we worried about. Actually, if you recall, it was also beautiful on the flight in. Other than a bit of cold wind, it couldn’t have been more lovely. That’s not a lightning strike burning over there. Heck, you yourself talked about how beautiful the stars looked while we were eating dinner around the campfire.”

  “Okay, okay, I get it,” Tuck replied. “I’m just trying to think of alternative explanations.”

  Eustace unleashed a deep, chest-rumbling sigh and bowed his head. “Well, boys, there’s no getting around it. I’ll have to hike over there and check it out. It’s my helicopter, after all, and my pilot.”

  “That’s farther than it looks over there,” Greg said.

  “With no trails,” Tuck added. “It’s all wild and overgrown.”

  “Don’t you think I know it?” Eustace said. “I’ve hiked this land plenty of times. I know what it’s like, but I still have to do it. God forbid it burns out of control. I’ll head back to camp first, so if you want to stop off and relax, feel free, but I’m going all the way. If I’m lucky, we’ll find the pilot alive somehow, and I might even be able to salvage a few things.”

  And with that, and another deep sigh that seemed to tremble in the air, he started back the way they’d come. Greg traded a look with his dad. It would be a rough and very long hike, but then again, he hadn’t come all the way here just to sit around in the camp.

  “I got nothing better going on,” his dad said with a shrug. “What about you?”

  “I had wanted to spend some time fishing, but plans change,” Greg said. “This seems a little more important. It’ll be a rough hike, though, that’s for sure. Can you handle it?”

  “I can handle just about anything the wilderness throws at me,” Tuck said with a frown. “Mark my words.”

  They followed Eustace back down the slope into the trees and then walked along their trail of nylon trail markers, untying them from the branches as they went. Once they got back to camp, they found Emma lounging beside the fire. She’d done quite a bit of work setting up a curtained area at the edge of the camp for processing wild game. When the men walked back into the camp, she beamed at them proudly.

  “She takes after me, that’s for sure,” Tuck said.

  Greg made his way to the pile of gear, which was stacked beside the tents. Tuck’s friend Tommy was seated on a rock nearby, whittling a bit of dead wood with his pocket knife.

  “You gonna take that kid hunting, man?” Tommy asked. “It’s all she’s talked about.”

  Looking over his shoulder toward the campfire, Greg found that Emma was looking in his direction with a hopeful smile on her face.

  “We’ll go soon enough,” he said, giving her a thumbs-up. “Just hang in there a little longer.”

  This seemed to bolster her smile, and she nodded at him.

  Greg resumed gathering supplies for the long hike. He refilled the canteens, then dug through their supplies, retrieving a large machete and some more trail mix. He’d also brought a sturdy compass, but he couldn’t find it, even after digging through practically every pocket of his large backpack.

  “Has anyone seen my compass?” he asked. “It’s a Sportneer sighting compass in a little green bag.”

  “I have it, Dad,” Emma said, rising from the campfire and walking toward him. She pulled the compass from her jacket pocket, unbuttoning the flap of its carrying case.

  “Oh, that’s fine, then,” he replied. “I’ll need it for a little bit. We’re taking a hike to check on something a few kilometers from here. It’s almost due south, and I know how easy it would be to veer off course down in the forest.”

  She started to hand him the compass but suddenly drew back, and he could tell by the slight scowl on her face that something was bothering her.

  “What’s wrong?” he asked. “Are you worried about us leaving you here at the camp?”

  “No,” she said immediately. “I’ll be fine here. It’s just…well, I’m not sure what’s going on or why. Am I just going to sit here for the whole day?” She pulled the compass out and thrust it at him.

  “No, of course not,” he said, taking it from her. “One more little hike, okay? We just have to check something out. I’ll tell you all about it when we get back.”

  “Okay,” Emma said, “but you’d tell me if something was wrong, wouldn’t you? Everything just seems weird right now. Tense. I don’t know.”

  “We’re just going to check something out,” he said again. “We’ll talk and make some plans when we get back. Don’t worry about it.”

  Just then, Eustace rescued him from the awkwardness, lumbering by like a Sasquatch. “Let’s go, guys. We’ve got quite a hike ahead of us.”

  Emma hung her head and retreated back to the campfire. “Just be safe, Dad. Hurry back.”

  “We’ll be fine, I promise,” he replied. “We’ll be back before you know it.”

  7

  Eustace, Tuck and Greg set out for the crash site a few minutes later. Emma and Tommy stayed behind again. Tommy seemed content to lounge about. He was a close enough friend to Tuck that he was practically family, but he mostly kept to himself.

  Eustace led the way, cutting down the slope into the valley at an angle, intending to approach the smoke from down the hill. However, they quickly found that the wilderness was not amenable to a long walk. The campsite was a flat, open clearing, but most of the area was filled with young growth trees and dense foliage crowding around the bottoms of the enormous pine and spruce.

  Not a hundred meters south of the campsite, they found it all but impassable, just a wall of green. Greg strode forward with the machete, but Eustace held his hand out.

  “Let me try it,” he said. “I got the arms for it.”

  Greg couldn’t argue with that. The man’s forearms strained his flannel jacket.

  “Here you go,” Greg said, turning the rubberized handle of the machete toward him.

  Eustace grabbed it, waved the other men back, then took an almighty s
wing toward the dense undergrowth. As he did, he unleashed a throaty sound that sounded something like a moose being killed. Though the machete was fairly new, and the blade looked sharp, it only cut through some of the leaves. The small vines were mostly just pushed aside and immediately swung back in the way after the blade passed.

  “It doesn’t work as good as in the pictures,” Eustace said, dabbing his forehead on his sleeve.

  He took another swing and cut through a bit more, but it didn’t create a clear path.

  “Aim lower,” Greg said. “Cut toward the roots.”

  But Eustace sighed and shook his head. “We can push through. Come on, gents.” And with that, he crashed right through the dense growth and kept going.

  The foliage wasn’t the only problem. The men had to pick their steps carefully as they progressed slowly over uneven ground, crisscrossed by tree roots, rocky in some places while soft in others. Eustace made use of the machete from time to time, always waving the others back first, but he was largely ineffective.

  They were passing through a dense cluster of baby spruce, Eustace using his forearm to push the foliage aside, when a small branch snapped back and hit Tuck in the face. Greg’s dad sputtered, raised his hands, and took a step to one side. When he did, the sole of his right shoe slipped, and he went down. He landed hard on a root and cried out.

  “Dad, are you okay?”

  Greg knelt beside Tuck and grabbed his arm to help him up, but the crusty old man brushed his hand away.

  “I’m fine,” he said, sitting up. “I just slipped, but I’m not helpless. Give me a second.”

  Greg rose and backed away, biting back a sarcastic reply. Tuck wasn’t helpless, sure, but he was a miserable old geezer. It took the old man a few seconds to pick himself up, and when he finally got to his feet, he wobbled and had to lean against the nearest tree. He glared at Greg and Eustace in turn, as if to say Don’t pity me, then brushed off the seat of his pants.

  “You need a hiking staff,” Greg said.

  “If you insist,” Tuck said. “I’m not hurt.”

  It’s not merely out of sympathy, you sour old fart, Greg thought. I don’t want this damn hike to take all day.

  Working together, Greg and Eustace picked out a large fallen branch, stripped it, and turned it into a crude hiking staff. Tuck received it with a nod, but no spoken thanks, and resumed walking.

  As it turned out, the hiking staff proved vital to the old man’s continued progress. Every few minutes, he seemed to slip or stumble on something, but he was able to use the staff to maintain his balance. Eventually, they reached an area where the foliage was less dense, and they fell into a bit of a rhythm, picking up their pace ever so slightly. Over the course of a couple hours, they worked their way down into the valley to the south, hopped a small trickling creek, then worked their way back up the slope in the direction they’d seen the smoke.

  Greg wished he were less annoyed so he could fully appreciate the beauty of the surrounding forest. Wind stirred the high canopy of branches, and the occasional animal scampered, unseen, through the underbrush. In places, hazy beams of sunlight shone through gaps in the leaves, creating shifting bands of light that cut at angles across their path.

  They managed the rest of the hike without incident, though Eustace was heaving and hacking by the time Greg first smelled the smoke, and they were all drenched in sweat. Finally, they caught a glimpse of a large smoldering mass through a gap in the trees.

  “Well, boys, looks like Tuck’s first guess was the right one,” Eustace said, shouldering his way through some brush and giving a small sapling a backswing of the machete.

  Indeed, as Greg moved up beside him, he saw the crumpled and blackened wreckage of the Bell 407. The rotor was broken and scattered in pieces on the ground, the tail bent upward by the trunk of an enormous tree. The cockpit was a charred shell, and though there were no flames, small tendrils of smoke still rose from the husk.

  Eustace and Greg picked their way around the wreckage.

  “Don’t get too close,” Tuck said. “Fuel tank could combust.”

  “I’m guessing it already did that a long time ago,” Eustace replied, gasping for breath from the long walk. “It burned good. Definitely not salvageable. What a shame.”

  Nice priorities there, Greg thought.

  Greg managed to pick his way around to the front of the helicopter. The cockpit glass had broken loose and lay on the ground, shattered but largely intact. Through the opened window, he saw the remains of the pilot. The poor guy seemed to have died on impact, or shortly thereafter, as he was still strapped into his seat.

  “I hope he didn’t suffer,” Greg said, gazing at the man’s burned face, which was cracked and split like a pork roast. Greg grabbed his queasy stomach and backed away. “What a way to go.”

  “Could’ve been worse,” Tuck noted. “Poor guy could’ve been injured and lain out here all night with no help and slowly bled to death.”

  “At least you look on the bright side,” Greg muttered.

  Eustace approached the helicopter boldly, moving toward the open door in the side, and reached out to brush the charred metal with his gloved right hand.

  “It’s not too hot,” he said, grabbing the doorframe. “Cool enough to touch, even.”

  “What are you doing?” Greg said.

  “There’s a storage compartment behind the copilot’s seat,” Eustace said. He set the machete down and leaned into the vehicle, bracing himself against the doorframe. “I just want to check it. Something might have survived the fire. You never know.”

  Greg heard a click, as Eustace popped open the storage compartment and rooted around inside. He pulled out a fistful of charred debris and cast it aside, then dug deeper.

  “This is a waste of time,” Tuck said. “Can we please head back now? We got another long walk ahead of us, and we did what we came here to do.”

  “Calm yourself, Tuck,” Eustace said. “You need to rest a few minutes anyway. I didn’t come all this way just to stare at the damn thing.”

  He cast aside another fistful of charred debris from the compartment, then dug in all the way to the bottom. Finally, he gasped, glanced back at Tuck with a mocking smile on his face, and slowly drew his hand out.

  “Now, look at this, Tuck. Not everything burned. See what I would’ve left behind if I’d listened to you?”

  He pulled out what appeared to be a folded, laminated map. The edges were burned, but as Eustace unfolded it, Greg saw that most of the map was intact. It was a topographical map of the entire area. Somehow, being in the very bottom of the enclosed storage compartment had protected it from the worst of the fire.

  “You give up too soon, Tuck,” Eustace said. “When you set out to do something, you gotta be thorough. Remember that. Stick to your guns, be relentless, and see the thing through all the way.”

  “Please,” Tuck said, pushing long, wayward strands of white hair back against his narrow skull. “You found a map. Congratulations. Can we head back now?”

  Eustace gave Greg an exasperated shake of his head, as if to say Can you believe this guy? Then he carefully refolded the map and tucked it into his jacket pocket.

  “Okay, old man,” he said, stooping down to retrieve the machete. “We’re going now. Don’t get so worked up about everything.”

  “I’m not worked up,” Tuck replied, sourly. “This is just a bit morbid, that’s all, and I don’t want to be here any longer.”

  “First, you said it was the helicopter, then you said it wasn’t the helicopter. Then you said you wanted to hike over here, now you say you want to hurry back. You are a flighty old man, Tuck. Do you know that?” Eustace laughed and shook his head. “Let’s go.”

  As Eustace headed back toward Tuck, Greg glanced upward. The only gap in the trees was overhead. It seemed like the helicopter had come straight down. If he had not seen the state of the helicopter, he might think it had landed there on purpose. It must have been hovering and com
pletely lost power all of a sudden, but what would have caused such a thing?

  The same thing that killed the phone? he wondered.

  Greg took a long swig of water from his canteen. He was hungry, but he couldn’t bring himself to eat in the presence of the dead pilot. It seemed like they should say something over the man, maybe pray for him or something, but Greg couldn’t think of anything and none of the other men suggested it. Finally, he just bowed his head briefly in the dead man’s direction then followed Eustace back into the trees.

  “What do you guys think caused the crash?” Greg asked, as they started back toward camp. “Seems like it happened suddenly, so probably not a mechanical problem. I mean, the trajectory was practically straight down.”

  “Oh, sure, a mechanical problem can happen to a helicopter just like that,” Eustace replied, snapping his fingers. “I read about this reporter in the States who died in a helicopter crash back in the seventies. Sprag clutch on the rotor was the wrong size, and it just came apart all of a sudden, no warning, and down they went during a live broadcast. Horrible. Just horrible.”

  “I imagine your company has competent mechanics,” Greg said. “Surely they wouldn’t install the wrong size clutch.”

  Eustace gave him a weird little smile. “I’m glad you think so highly of my company, Greg. Thanks. No, I doubt that would ever happen to one of our choppers, but the point remains. A mechanical problem could occur all of a sudden, and down you go.”

  “There is another possible explanation,” Tuck said between heaving breaths. He stumbled on a root and nearly went down again, but jabbed his hiking staff into the ground to stop himself. When Greg reached out to help him, he shook his head vigorously, then he continued talking. “There’s something that would explain the helicopter, Greg’s phone, and your GPS. It’s called an electromagnetic pulse. Set one of those off in the area, and it’ll cause all sorts of tech to go screwy. An EMP could certainly drop a chopper out of the sky.”