by Mia Sheridan
She nodded just as we hit another small bump and then turned her head, leaning toward the window on her right where the Rocky Mountains were just beginning.
The wind kicked up a bit and so did the turbulence, but we’d left the rain clouds behind and a cold but clear morning stretched before us. I’d looked at the weather report the day before and was glad I’d picked today to fly. The following day was supposed to bring a snowstorm to Colorado and I wouldn’t have flown in those conditions. Too unpredictable, especially when traveling over a mountain range.
A few swirling snowflakes blew past the windshield and I took off my sunglasses as the sun dimmed, going behind the clouds. I lowered the altitude slightly to find some milder air and for a few minutes enjoyed a smooth ride, the sky a vivid blue, white fluffy clouds just covering the snowy mountain crests.
“It really is gorgeous up here,” Audra murmured.
I opened my mouth to respond when a huge flock of birds came from behind a cloud, my heart careening crazily and a yell falling from my lips as we collided. For a second I lost control of the plane as the awful sound of shrill bird screams on every side of us overwhelmed me. But as the birds that had been hit fell from the sky and the others continued on their path, the sound diminished. I righted the plane and released a huge gust of breath. “Holy fuck,” I muttered, taking a moment to check the plane’s readings and making sure we were still on course before looking at Audra, who was as white as a ghost. “Jesus, that’s never happened before. You okay?”
She bobbed her head, but she didn’t look okay. She looked like she wanted to vomit.
“Hey, Audra, look at me.” She did, although her eyes were wide and full of panic. “I got you, all right?” She nodded, just as the plane went deadly quiet and we dropped so suddenly, my stomach went up into my throat.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Then . . .
Audra cradled the small bundle, her heart a vast pit of cold, hollow despair. Tears burned her eyes and yet somehow, refused to fall. She was numb, empty.
Empty.
Her child was gone and yet still in her arms. She hadn’t known, not until now, that this kind of pain existed.
Outside the hospital room door, she heard Dane telling his family she didn’t want to see anyone.
“Oh, darling, I’m so sorry. I thought you two would at least have him for a few hours after he was born.” His mother’s voice.
“We did too,” Dane answered, his voice hushed and yet echoing so she heard each word. “The doctor seemed so sure he’d survive a couple more weeks of pregnancy. But his heart wasn’t strong enough.”
There were clucks of sympathy and a wave of misery rolled slowly through her as she gazed into the face of her perfect baby. He looked like he was sleeping. Just sleeping. Only he was so cold, and nothing she could do would ever warm him. Her mother’s heart wailed in grief at the inability to care for her baby, and yet the tears remained locked inside.
How did this happen?
She wanted to go back in time. To before that twenty-two week ultrasound, before the silence that descended on the room, the look of alarmed sadness on her doctor’s face, the explanation about his damaged heart that she’d barely taken in through the buzzing in her head. Still, they’d told them they’d be able to hold him after his birth, to look into his eyes for just a little while . . . It had sustained her—though in a grief-filled purgatory—all these long weeks as he’d grown and kicked inside of her, each movement a reminder that she would never get much more than this. And now . . . they hadn’t even gotten the few precious moments she’d counted on so desperately. She had gone into labor weeks early, and by the time they’d made it to the hospital, their baby boy was gone. None of this should be real.
She must have done something to deserve this. She ran her finger down Theo’s cold, silken cheek. “I’m so sorry,” she choked. “So sorry.” She rested her hand on his small chest, the place where his damaged heart should have been beating.
“She’s such a tiny thing, Dane,” she heard his grandmother comment. “Perhaps her body wasn’t strong enough to—”
“Shh,” Dane hushed, a note of sharp annoyance in the sound. “She’ll hear you. This is not her fault.”
Only maybe it was.
Not strong enough to what? Grow a perfect baby? Go full term?
Was this gripping agony somehow her fault?
Dane came into the room and Audra’s eyes moved slowly to his, red from sadness and lack of sleep. He gave her a small, tired smile, his gaze moving to the body of their son in her arms. She saw the tiny flash of relief in his expression, and a spike of pain ripped through her heart. When his eyes rose to hers, she looked away, out the window to the mountains in the distance, solid, unmoving. She focused on breathing, clutching her baby boy more tightly to her chest. “Thank you for keeping them out,” she murmured. Her voice sounded flat, unemotional.
Dane came to sit on the side of the bed. “Hey, Audra honey, remember how I told you Dalila and Dustin and I used to swim across the pond?”
She looked back at him, giving a small nod.
“Remember the signal?” He raised his hand, putting two fingers in the air. “If you’re drowning, if you need help but can’t form the words to ask for it, I need you to make this sign.” His voice was raspy, filled with emotion, but she couldn’t conjure any of her own.
She simply stared at him, finally giving another small nod she didn’t think she meant.
His eyes lingered on her for a moment, his expression sad and uncertain, before he nodded back. “Whatever you need, honey. I got you, all right?”
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Audra
Now . . .
I got you, all right? Those words. They rang through my head once, twice. He’d said them before . . . then. Only things hadn’t been okay. He hadn’t been able to protect me then and—
It sounded as if the plane just . . . shut off right before we dropped from the sky. I grabbed the armrests of my seat, a scream lodged in my throat. Dane looked panicked as he clicked switches and turned knobs.
Oh God, oh God, oh God. Those birds, all those birds. Had they . . . disabled the plane somehow? Had they flown straight into the engine? Everything seemed overly bright and there was a high-pitched alarm ringing in my head. I wanted to scream. I wanted to cry, but I didn’t seem capable of anything at all. I was completely frozen with horror.
Dane was saying something into the handheld radio, but I couldn’t focus, the buzzing in my head so loud I thought my brain would explode. Dane grasped my shoulder and shook me. “Get in the back and strap yourself in,” he commanded in a loud shout that brought me temporarily out of my frozen state. “Now, Audra!”
On shaking legs that seemed incapable of working yet somehow did, I jumped from the copilot seat and stepped out of the cockpit and practically fell into one of the passenger seats. The plane was descending fast, but not smoothly now. It was jumping and jerking and as I buckled myself in, my gaze locked on Dane whose arms were gripped tightly to the steering wheel, sweat dripping down the side of his face. A sob tore from my throat and hot tears flowed down my cheeks. Dane was here, but I was alone. He was fighting a battle, trying to keep us alive, and I . . . all I could do was silently pray. He was talking into the radio about losing both engines—how was he speaking? How did he sound so calm now?—and I clenched my eyes shut against my terror, chanting in my head, please, please, please, please.
When I opened my eyes, the mountains rose up in front of the windshield, the face of a cliff so close I choked on a scream, putting my hands up in front of my face instinctively. Oh God, we were going to crash straight into the side of a rock. Oh please don’t let it hurt. Let it be quick. Help us, Theo, help us.
The muscles in Dane’s arms were straining so hard it looked like they might rip right out of his shirt and sweat had soaked what I could see of his collar. He used one arm to swipe quickly over his eyes and then gripped the wheel again. Could you even
steer a plane with no engine?
High cliffs rose on either side of us and through the windows, snow swirled around the plane so that I could barely make anything out. How could Dane see a thing?
“Brace for impact,” Dane said and his voice was so deathly calm that it made the fear ratchet up even higher. “Brace for impact,” he said again, louder this time and with more authority.
I didn’t know what that meant. What should I do? I wanted to ask, but I had no voice, no breath. And so I gripped the armrests, leaned my head back on the seat, closed my eyes and waited. For the space of three heartbeats, all was deathly silent, and in that quiet before impact, it suddenly occurred to me that I was going to see my baby. I choked back a small sob that, despite my terror, held within it the tiniest burst of joy. I was going to look into his eyes, I was going to know—
The plane suddenly wrenched to the side, jarring my head against the window, metal screamed as a blast of freezing air hit me from the back. We continued down, down, down. Something burned into my chest, my teeth rattled, and all went black.
**********
Something heavy was pressing on me and I struggled weakly to break free, crying out in pain when my small movements caused a searing ache across my chest and belly. My teeth were chattering. I was so cold. Freezing. My head cleared, reality rushed in, and I suddenly remembered. Brace for impact. Oh God. We’d been in a crash. There had been birds and then the engines stopped and we’d . . . oh, we’d fallen straight from the sky.
It was cold.
Oh, it was so cold.
“Dane,” I called weakly, my voice sounding tiny and smothered, a croaky whisper. I pushed at whatever was on top of me. It was part of the ceiling—dark gray plastic. Once I was able to put a small amount of strength behind my push, the debris moved, thankfully lighter than I’d thought. Moving it to the side, I realized it wasn’t even the entire ceiling, just several panels that had been above me. I could see sky and clouds and whirling snow. There was a hole in the roof of the plane and I was on my back on the floor, the seat still beneath me. It’d been torn free from the floor, and when I reached up tentatively to feel the place on my chest that still burned, I realized it must have been caused by my seatbelt as it cut into my skin.
The seatbelt was still wrapped around my chest and though I wasn’t sure if it was actually holding me to the seat or not, I reached down and pulled the metal clasp under my right hand and it fell open. The pain eased and I took a moment to bring my hand to my chest again, pressing gently. It ached and the skin underneath my sweater burned. I hoped it was only a surface wound and that nothing internal was damaged. I didn’t seem to be having trouble drawing in a breath, despite my accelerated heart rate.
I called Dane’s name again but was greeted only with silence. My heartbeat whooshed loudly in my ears. Oh God, please don’t let him be dead. Oh God, no. No, not that.
The fear brought a surge of adrenalin and I grasped a large piece of debris next to me and leveraged myself up and out of my seat. Okay, okay, you’re okay. I did a quick assessment of my body as I pulled myself into a crouch next to the seat that had once been bolted to the floor. The ceiling of the plane seemed to be caved in in spots and torn away in others, so I wasn’t able to stand. I walked, hunched over, a few steps, pushing the larger pieces of debris out of my way.
Looking behind me, I gaped when I saw that the entire back section of the plane was gone. Outside, a few snowflakes swirled in a sea of white. Looking forward again, I moved the larger portion of the ceiling panel to the side and that’s when I saw his hand hanging limply in the doorway of the cockpit. With his body and head leaned in the opposite direction, I couldn’t see him from where I was. I choked out his name, afraid to step forward. Afraid to know the extent of his injuries. But I had to. I had to. There was no one to call for help. Just me.
Okay, okay, okay, you’re okay.
I halted suddenly when I felt the plane shift. It slid forward slightly and I realized I had no idea where we were positioned. The cockpit was a crumpled mess of twisted metal and exposed wires, but I eased forward slowly, terror gripping me with each step. The plane made a yawning screech as if it’d suddenly come alive and slid forward again, tipping downward. “Dane,” I choked out a whisper, afraid to speak too loudly for fear that any noise would cause the plane to shift again. No response.
Inching forward once more, I finally made it to the doorway of the cockpit. I startled when an exposed wire suddenly sparked, hissing loudly. And oh, there was blood. So much blood. Dane was bleeding from somewhere and it was pooling on the floor of the cockpit. I swallowed heavily, horror making me weak in the knees.
But I stepped forward anyway, touching his hair and whispering his name again. There was no reaction and I froze with another burst of dread when I looked out the small piece of front windshield that still offered a view of what was in front of us. We were positioned on a downward slope at the edge of a cliff that dropped off sharply, too far down for me to see. What had once been the nose of the plane seemed to be snagged between two trees, but even as I stood there, one of the trees made a loud snapping sound and the plane shifted again, coming to a shuddery rest. Oh, dear God. Oh, dear God. I swallowed, my heart beating out of my chest, my breath trapped in my lungs as I stood frozen with my hand on Dane’s hair, his blood dripping onto the floor in small plinks of sound. For several moments, it was the only sound on earth, the only sound in the entire universe. I forced myself to swallow my fear, to move, even though in some respects, I wanted to stay frozen forever. Just to give up and die right there. Or to be a coward and dive out of the opening at the back of the plane so I didn’t have to experience another moment of dropping into the unknown. I couldn’t do it twice.
No. I wouldn’t leave Dane here alone. If he died, I would too. If either of us were getting out of here, it was up to me.
I placed my trembling fingers on his neck and though he was as cold as I was, I felt the low thrum of life under his skin. I let out another small sob of relief, just as a different wire sparked on what had been the dashboard. The spark, combined with the knowledge that Dane was alive, gave me the courage to take the final step to him so I could crouch down and lean around him. He was out cold, but his face looked peaceful as if he were only taking a brief nap. “Not a good time, Dane. I sorta need you to help me out here,” I said. Talking to him—the sound of my own voice—helped me focus on what needed to be done. I wouldn’t look out the window. I would focus on getting Dane out of here.
I’d let myself break down later.
“Please, little trees,” I murmured, “hold us steady, okay?”
Then I sucked in my fear as best as I could. Put it away, Audra. Put it all away. I leaned around Dane just a bit more and grimaced when I saw where the blood was coming from. There was a jagged-looking piece of metal sticking in the side of his left thigh, blood soaking his blue jeans, so they looked black. “We’re going to have to deal with that later, all right? The first order of business is getting us off this plane.” I was able to pull the seatbelt buckle and it clicked open, releasing the strap around him easily. Thank God.
Stepping backward and coming to a bent position again, I wedged my arms behind Dane and pulled him to the side and backward with all my might. He moved enough that I was able to turn him sideways and lower his butt to the floor between the doorway, but his legs were still under the tangled mess of dashboard. He was a big man, I was a small woman, and at the moment, he was dead weight. Despite the frigid weather and my chattering teeth, I broke out in a light sweat as I pulled him again, grunting and gasping with the effort it took to pull him out of the pilot’s seat. Despite my efforts, I only managed to move him about an inch.
There was another small snapping sound outside the plane and I froze, but let out a breath of relief when the plane made no movement forward. Good little trees. Strong little trees, I encouraged irrationally. The wires on the dashboard sizzled yet again and this time, a spark jumped, one of
the wires catching fire and spreading to an already warped piece of plastic.
Oh no. Oh God. Please, dear God, not fire. Not fire. But despite my prayer, the fire grew, spreading along the dashboard where another wire sparked and caused the fire to grow. I pulled harder at Dane, moving him another inch. There was no moving cautiously now. The fire was growing, spreading, and if I didn’t get him out of there, it would jump to his clothes and . . . oh God, oh God, oh God. With all my strength, I heaved him backward, the floor under his butt helping as he slid along it, his legs coming out from under the destroyed dash and falling into the open space in front of us. “Okay, okay, that’s good,” I huffed, pulling him back again. He moaned slightly, his head lolling to the side. The pain of his injured leg being jostled must have penetrated even his unconscious state.
With a small cry, I fell backward, tripping over something in the path behind me, Dane’s head landing in my lap. Hot tears of frustration and mind-numbing fear slid down my cheeks as I panted with exertion, my arms burning, and the pain in my chest increasing with every movement. For a single moment, I allowed myself to sit and cry, looking into Dane’s peaceful face. “I need you, I need you,” I cried, but I knew he couldn’t help me, and I knew it wasn’t his fault. Even so, the feeling of being deserted was a hollow pit of crushing despair in my stomach. There’s no time for this, Audra. Get it together.
The heat from the spreading fire snapped me from my mini breakdown, and with a swipe at my face, I laid Dane down as gently as possible and turned around to clear a path out of the plane. I moved carefully, but as quickly as I could, moving things out of the way so I could drag him through. Picking him up was impossible. As I moved a piece of debris aside, I saw my cell phone on the floor, so I snatched it. My hands were shaking. Where had I last had it? Had it been in my hand when Dane told me to get to the back of the plane? I couldn’t remember. I pushed the power button and it came to life, hesitating for a count of five, but there was no signal. Of course. We were on a mountaintop in the middle of nowhere. I shoved it in my pocket and moved toward Dane.