Somewhere Montana

by Platt, MJ

  Somewhere Montana

  By

  MJ Platt

  This novel is a work of fiction. The characters, incidents and dialogues are the creation of each author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is completely coincidental.

  The author is solely responsible for the content of her work and that content does not necessarily reflect the opinions or ideals of Duncurra, LLC.

  All rights to all stories included in this collection are retained by the individual author. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the individual author except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews. The unauthorized reproduction, sharing, or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to five years in federal prison and a fine of $250,000.

  Somewhere Montana

  Copyright 2015 MJ Platt

  ISBN-10:1942623135

  ISBN-13:978-1-942623-13-7

  Produced in the USA

  Cover design by Dawné Dominique

  Edited by Theresa Stillwagon

  Proofread by Courtey Karmiller

  Table of Contents

  Table of Contents

  Dedication

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  About The Author

  Dedication

  To Mom and Dad who encouraged us to follow our dreams and gave us the wings to fly.

  Chapter One

  This was not how Sage Burnett envisioned the end. She had survived Marcos Diego’s attack and managed to thwart his stalking, for the present. Had he figured out she had taken her father’s plane instead of her own? Would ditching the ELT system somewhere over the northern mountains as she flew low toward Whitehorse, Yukon Territory convince them she had crashed? Hopefully the locator beacon would die before any rescue team could discover it.

  Can’t worry about that now. The bigger question is how and where to land this plane. She agonized as she stared through the white curtain surrounding her. Considering how much time had elapsed since she doubled back, she had no idea of her location.

  The plane descended rapidly. Sage fought with the controls, trying to keep the nose up. The ice was getting heavier on the wings and each time she managed to climb a few feet, the engine would cut out. Just what she didn’t need, ice forming in the fuel lines. It was bad enough her visibility was practically nil in the violent snowstorm.

  Again, she had to bring the nose up, but weakness spread through her, her vision turning gray around the edges. She had to concentrate to stay awake. The mountain was coming up fast. Could she belly-land her Diamond D four-seater jet in the deep snow and still be able to walk away?

  Suddenly the thick, white blanket lightened to where the wiper blades kept the windshield clear and she could see the landscape below. The tops of the trees were too close for comfort. Ahead she spotted what looked like a clearing. A possible landing spot? As she reached the edge of the tree line, she eased back on the throttle. Rapidly losing altitude, the engine stalled and she quickly thrust the lever back to full throttle. In her path sat a fair sized cabin. She yanked back on the controls as the engine caught and barely managed to miss the roof.

  On the far edge of the clearing appeared to be a roadway. Was it wide enough? It was hard to tell with her vision blurring. She aimed for it and dropped the throttle all the way down. The engines quit just as the belly of the plane touched down on the surface of the snow. Air speed was still up, but the nose had dipped down and now dug into the snow pack.

  She had no control over the plane as it sped wildly for the opening in the trees. Instinctively she knew those two monstrous chunks of granite on either side of the opening were part of the mountain, not freestanding boulders. Although braced for the crash, she was still tossed about in her seat when the granite tore the wings from the plane in a grinding screech of metal. The forward momentum drove the fuselage on, spewing snow up over the windshield, partially burying what was left. It came to a shuddering stop, listing to the right, the weight of the damaged tail twisting it over.

  Unaware her death-defying ride was over, Sage slumped unconscious, strapped into her seat. Wisps of smoke curled from under the panel in the cockpit.

  Sage surfaced into a dark world filled with pain. She wanted to scream as she relived the attack by Marcos, being held down so she couldn’t move. As she came fully awake, she remembered she was in the plane, the restraints her seat harness. Marcos was nowhere near. Her face felt wet and she touched it with her fingers, tracing the long jagged cut Marcos had inflicted with his knife. They came away smeared with blood. Some of the stitches the surgeon had so meticulously placed were broken.

  Looking around the cockpit, she realized the plane was not moving. She must have passed out before it crashed. Then she saw the darkness was due to the snow piled on the windshield and the side windows.

  “I may be six feet under, but I’m not pushing up daisies—yet,” she mumbled. “But I better get out of here before the weight of the snow pushes in the windshield.” When she tried to move, excruciating pain in her left knee stopped her cold.

  She pulled up her pants leg ever so gently, each small movement causing her to clamp her jaw tight. As she revealed the knee, she could see the kneecap slanted partly to the side. She uttered a few unladylike curses. Her college soccer injury come back to haunt her at a very inconvenient time.

  “Before I can fix this, I need to get into the passenger area,” she said. Talking aloud to herself helped her calm her fears and to focus. Contemplating any movement made her break out in a cold sweat. But she made herself inch sideways to the space between the seats in the cockpit. Nausea roiled up into the back of her throat as she scooted backward, lifting her leg over the console with both hands.

  When she sat with her back against the passenger seat and her leg out in front of her, she knew what she had to do. No coach or team doctor this time to do it for her.

  “Bite the bullet, Sage,” she ordered. “You can’t wait for a rescue team. They might not find you till spring thaw. You have to get out of here now.” Taking a deep breath, she placed both hands on her kneecap and gave a quick shove, at the same time snapping her leg out straight. The pain raced up her leg, through her body, to connect with her brain cells and she passed into unconsciousness.

  She came to with a scream echoing around inside her head. Until her mind cleared, she held her head with both hands. Struggling to her feet, she took stock of the situation. No way would she be able to take her suitcase with her. The backpack carried essentials and a few emergency items, the normal things she took when hiking into high country. She had packed well for her disappearance.

  Releasing it from the harness on the passenger seat, she stood it beside the door and grabbed her parka from the back of the pilot’s seat. She definitely needed that now. She shoved at the door. Not an easy task with the fuselage canted in the opposite direction and only one good leg to give her leverage.

  After a mighty shove, the door swung back to crash against the side of the plane. She maneuvered the backpack out and dropped it
to the ground. Slipping her parka on, she eased over the edge. When her feet hit the deep snow, she fell on her face, part way under the plane. In regaining an upright position, she noticed a patch of bright red on the snow.

  This is not good. She looked at her side where blood seeped through her shirt. The stab wound she had suffered in the attack had reopened. The other stab wound on her shoulder she found to also be oozing. Guess I know now why the doctor wanted me to stay in the hospital more than twenty-four hours. But I couldn’t. Marcos had made bail and he knew where I was. She scanned the surrounding area, fear making her movements twitchy.

  She opened the backpack and pulled out a T-shirt and a pair of socks. The shirt she wadded against her side and cinched her belt tightly, then zipped her parka closed. She slipped the socks inside the coat over the shoulder wound. Easing her backpack into place, she positioned the strap over the socks, hoping the weight of the pack would be enough to staunch the bleeding.

  Sage surveyed her surroundings, thankful the snow had abated to where she could see some distance. Was that dark square out there a building or a big rock? Could it be the cabin she almost crashed into? She started for it, placing one foot carefully in front of the other as she waded through the waist deep snow. Her knee screamed at her each time she put weight on it. But she had to tune it out. She could rest it when she reached the cabin.

  Once she gained the area behind the plane, she veered into the trough the plane had dug on its way in. It was a little easier walking until she arrived at the edge of the clearing. She stopped to view the mangled wreckage of the wings, the jet engines gaping like a fish gasping its last breath. The stench of jet fuel assaulted her nose. She looked from the wings back to the rest of the plane half buried in the snow.

  Another reason for Father to hate me. It won’t be an ‘Are you okay?’ More than likely a ‘What in Hell did you do to my plane?’ I doubt if all the king’s men could put this Humpty Dumpty back together again. I wonder if he and Mother will even give a thought to where I could be?

  Pushing her thoughts away, she turned and trudged through the deep snow to the cabin. It was slow work climbing the steps, stepping with the right foot, then bringing up the left. The pain was almost unbearable when she put weight on the injured knee, and her muscles were quivering with fatigue. With no answer to her knock, she tried the door and found it unlocked. Cautiously she entered and looked around. It looked familiar.

  She hobbled slowly into the kitchen and eased the backpack off to stand it by the back door. Now she recognized the place. It belonged to Elm Creek Ranch. She had been there during her stays at their survival camps. Wincing at the memories it invoked, she hoped nobody was home at the ranch to hear her plane come down. She knew the area well and was confident the ideal place to hide for the time being was close by. At least until she healed and could decide what she wanted to do. Right now it would be a place Marcos would never find.

  Her immediate priority was to get a fire started in the small stove. She felt like a solid block of ice. While the flames licked greedily at the sticks she put in, she couldn’t help but stare, thinking it the friendliest sight she had seen in a long while. Shaking her head to stop the memories invading, she searched the cupboards for the trauma kit kept there. The first time she had seen it, it looked like they could perform major surgery with all it contained. Hopefully it was still kept well stocked.

  As warmth permeated the room, she removed her jacket. Not wanting to take off her shirt yet until she had warm water to wash her wounds, she filled the teakettle and put it on the stove. While waiting for it to heat, she rummaged in the kit for an ace bandage. She sat heavily in the kitchen chair and pulled up her pants leg. The knee was swollen and beginning to turn purple. As she wrapped the ace around the knee as snug as she dared, she felt like she would not be able to get back on her feet. She couldn’t give in to the weakness.

  Battling dizziness and nausea, she staggered to the sink where she had laid out the items she needed. She had to take some deep breaths before she dared retrieve the kettle from the stove. After removing her blouse, she carefully cleaned and bandaged the two stab wounds. The one on her shoulder had stopped bleeding, but the one on her side still oozed. That one had opened fully, the outer stitches completely gone. The small open area on her cheek seemed to be okay, so she left it alone.

  She rinsed out the blouse, T-shirt, and socks the best she could and hung them over the stove to dry. She couldn’t afford to throw them away. There weren’t that many articles of clothing in her backpack. She pulled on a thermal shirt and leaned weakly against the counter. Time to think of food. Had to keep strength up. Couldn’t afford to surrender to the darkness that wanted to overtake her. Not until she reached her hidey-hole. Had to keep moving.

  * * * *

  At the Elm Creek Ranch, Callum “Mac” MacLain, a Marine home on medical leave, stopped in the doorway of the barn, a bale of hay in his hands. He called back to the other man inside. “Someone’s in trouble.” He cocked his head to listen. “What darn fool would be out flying in this weather? He’ll never make it over the mountain. His engines keep cutting out.”

  “Doesn’t sound like he’s headed for the airstrip in Somewhere. And in this snow he’ll never see ours,” said the older gentleman walking up beside Mac. He dropped his bale of hay on the big sled hooked to the back of the Snowcat, then turned toward the mountain. Flakes of snow quickly covered their hats and shoulders.

  “It’s a small jet, not one of the bigger commercial flights,” said Mac.

  “We have anyone arriving today? Winter survival school’s not for another month yet,” noted Grandfather Two Feathers.

  “Nobody I’m aware of,” Mac answered. “Mom and Dad planned on staying in Arizona with the MacDougals until April. They only left a week ago, so I wouldn’t expect them back so soon. They would have called if there’d been a change in plans.”

  “Listen,” ordered his companion, holding up his hand. Carried to them faintly on the wind, muted by the falling snow, the sound of metal being torn from metal drifted to them as if in slow motion. “I think whoever it is has found the side of the mountain.”

  “Damn! It will take us an hour or better to get up there in this storm,” Mac exclaimed. “And we don’t know where to start looking.”

  “The weather distorted the sounds, but I’d be willing to bet it’s up around the hunting cabin. There are a lot of steep cliffs in that area. We may be too late to help them.”

  “But we’ve got to try. I didn’t hear any explosions.”

  “Snow’s too deep for the horses.”

  “Our best bet is the Snowcat,” said Mac. “With the cargo compartment we could bring back any injured. Or at least bring down any bodies before animals can get at them.” He strode to the back of the Snowcat and unhooked the sled. “We’ll grab blankets and whatever else we think we’ll need from the house. There’s plenty of supplies at the cabin, but we can’t be sure the plane didn’t crash into it.”

  Soon they were headed across the open fields toward the trail up the mountain. As Mac drove, he wished he could push the machine to its top speed of twenty miles per hour, but weather conditions forbade it. Something told him this trek would be important to him and it sent shivers down his spine. He maneuvered the cumbersome machine over the snow, chafing at their slow progress. The pair of antelope they surprised only looked curiously at them and continued to paw through the snow to reach the grass below.

  “At this rate, we’ll never reach the cabin before dark,” he growled.

  “It’s only noon,” answered Grandfather Two Feathers. “We won’t be more than another hour or two.”

  “Well, it would help if this snow would let up,” complained Mac, trying to see out the windshield the wipers barely kept clear. As if he had ordained it, they drove out of the heavy snow into the weakened edge of the storm. He immediately shifted up a higher gear and picked up speed. The wide tracks churned over the snow as if the Snowcat sensed
the urgency of the mission. The engine roared a bit louder as they began the ascent up the mountain.

  “I hope we make it in time.” A flashback, of racing across a desert in a Humvee only to reach the site of the downed helicopter too late, flicked through his mind. He pushed the machine harder.

  “Easy, Mac. I don’t think our speed, or lack thereof, will change the outcome.”

  “Why can’t I let it go?” He groaned.

  “Give it time, Son. You’ve been home only a month. You are strong. The atrocities you saw and endured would have downed a lesser man.”

  “Sometimes I wonder,” mumbled Mac, stroking a gloved finger over the scar running from above his left eyebrow across his nose to the middle of his right cheek.

  * * * *

  Sage finished the bowl of soup she had heated on the stove. She was amazed she had eaten the whole can. Limping to the front door, she opened it to step out onto the small porch. It had stopped snowing, the sky still gray with menacing clouds. Fatigue had set in and she thought she might catch a nap before continuing her plans. She might even take one of the pain pills the doctor had ordered. The relief would be a blessing.

  She remembered the good times she had there during the winter survival camps she attended. She wondered if Callum and his parents were at the ranch. Were Grandfather Two Feathers and Grandmother Little Mouse still there? Hopefully no one was aware of the plane crash and came looking for survivors. That would only endanger them.

  If Marcos discovered where she was, he would want to be rid of any possible interference. The place she had chosen to hide, the cavern behind the waterfall, was defensible by one person. Providing she was strong enough, she could take care of herself. She needed a couple days to fight back from the trauma of Marco’s attack and the injuries she sustained in the crash.