by Lyz Kelley
Relief eased the knots between her shoulder blades. “Thanks for the help. I’ll be careful.”
Without waiting, she locked knees and arms around the dog. Guilt weighed her down. Why had she waited?
If Lucky hadn’t been so persistent, she still might be waiting. Speeding over the terrain, she scanned the horizon. Rescue and survival techniques played like a YouTube video in her head. By the time she reached the top of the ridge, the wind had hidden the tracks, and she switched on the headlight.
With adrenaline flowing through her, keeping her tired body alert, she paused at the top of the ridge and looked back. The rest of the crew had begun their search. The minutes floated by like the snow in the wind.
Lucky tilted his head back and licked her jaw underneath her helmet.
She turned off her machine and lifted her visor. “Chase,” she hollered, and then waited. She yelled again, and again. The dog’s ears perked, then flattened. Neither she nor Lucky caught a sign or scent.
“Where could you be?” she whispered.
The memory of their first trip jogged her mind, and she started the sled and turned into the setting sun. Hoping and praying her instincts were right.
Chapter Twenty-One
Chase’s entire being fizzed at the power of the snow machine between his legs and the sting of the wind on his cheeks. Racing along the snow-covered trails expanded and freed his soul.
All afternoon, a ruthless restlessness had tracked and haunted him like a shadow. Now, he wadded the uneasiness into a tight ball and tossed the gnawing feeling over his shoulder, breathing in the richness of freedom.
He was packed, the trucked filled with gas, so there was nothing left to do but say goodbye to Ashley. And he’d do anything to delay that knife in the gut as long as possible. Ashley had asked if he wanted to run into town with her, but he couldn’t find it in him to say goodbye to one more person. Saying the words landed like a fist to his jugular each time, and he couldn’t bear one more emotional blow since he had yet to say good-bye to Ashley.
The last three-and-a-half weeks had created a fishbowl ambiance, the swimming around and around in circles, bouncing off the side of the glass bowl, questioning his judgment over and over again. Losing Bobby, returning to the States, the funeral, bumping into Ashley…his emotions reeled from taking one punch after another. His brain wrestled with his heart about what future he should choose.
Finally, the turmoil overwhelmed him.
He needed to experience the rush of speeding across the snow-covered landscape, if only for a little while. With a twist of the wrist, he propelled the snow sled faster. Zipping across the open field, he headed through an Aspen grove toward the next ridge. Clearing the first hill, he climbed the next, feeling the euphoria. The snow deepened, the hill grew steeper, and the path between the trees narrowed. His thoughts returned to Ashley, and the way she’d looked that morning after he woke her to make love. She…
Dhuk-dhuk-dhuk-dhuck. Machine gun. Fuck. Dhuk-dhuk-dhuk-dhuck.
Tips of tree branches splintered to his right.
Dhuk-dhuk-dhuk-dhuck-dhuck-dhuck.
He steered left. Suddenly, the handlebars jerked, ripping his hands off the snowmobile controls.
Weightlessness, tumbling, confusion.
Pain.
Time stalled.
The pale blue sky and trees above whirled dizzyingly while his gloved hand wiped snow from his goggles. He blinked, trying to stop the rotating sensation while an elephant sat on his chest. He lifted his head. No, not an elephant, a five hundred-pound snowmobile. He worked hard to drag in a deep breath, but couldn’t. He dropped his head and groaned. Dismay crowded his thoughts, but he fought back with ingrained training.
Think.
Stay Calm.
Plan.
Claustrophobia made his mind race. He couldn’t move. Mentally, he retraced the ride. His mind registered the hidden mound under the snow. Ashley had warned him. He should have been paying attention. He should have stuck to the wider roads and trails. He should have stayed away from the same ridge where the last shots had been fired.
The wind picked up, and he hoped it wouldn’t wipe his snowmobile tracks away. He shoved at the machine, frustrated. It didn’t budge. A slow shadow of dread engulfed him.
He must survive long enough for someone to find him.
Someone, anyone, but who?
This was his own damn fault. In a hurry to get away, he hadn’t left a note with a location or path, or any indication of when he’d be back. He knew better. There were a few other sets of tracks, but nothing fresh. He wanted to be alone, and he’d gotten his wish.
Totally alone.
Pain in his right leg sent tremors up his spine. At least he could still feel his legs. Or could he? He couldn’t see below his chest, so he concentrated on wiggling his toes. The left foot responded, but not the right. One foot. Good sign. It was a comfort to know the snow-covered rock that had launched him backward off the snowmobile hadn’t broken his back.
Was he bleeding?
A scared breath shuddered out. His lung capacity had been squeezed into a small space. He pushed angrily, and pushed again. Drops of sweat beaded on his upper lip. Sweat, a deadly sign of hypothermia. His body temperature had dropped, and a cold chill triggered body tremors.
Shit. This can’t be happening.
Putting pressure on his left arm, he leaned to the right and struggled to reach the nylon-padded shoulder strap of his backpack. The bone-crushing pain doubled, and black spots blocked his vision.
He lay back, his mind working to convince his body to ignore the searing ache and keep trying. He lifted again, pulling the strap. Several more tries, and the bag released from beneath his body. He removed his gloves and tugged on the zippers to open the sack. His large black helmet weighed heavy on his neck. He dropped his head to rest while he used his fingers to search the bag. Water. He lifted the plastic bottle to his goggled face. His eyelids closed and he sent a silent prayer to the heavens. Tipping back the container of precious water, he steadily drank until the bottle appeared half-empty. Refilling the container with snow, he pushed the container toward the hot engine, hoping to melt the snow, knowing dehydration and hypothermia were his biggest concerns. Exhaustion blanketed him, but he needed to keep moving. Moving and thinking. He couldn’t give up.
A Marine wouldn’t give up.
He pulled the gloves over stiff fingers and spread the poncho liner over his upper half. His mind registered his worst fear, and he looked toward the sky. A snowflake landed on his goggles, setting off mind-melting hysteria. He’d already run the gamut of emotions—disgust for not being more alert, anger when he’d been unable to move the snowmobile trapping his body, then acceptance and the need to think and plan.
Despair circulated in his mind, trying to convince his body of defeat.
He’d had enough training to realize being trapped in more than a foot of snow under a gigantic piece of equipment, and with a storm moving in, couldn’t be much worse.
Short bursts of breath partially filled his lungs. He fought for consciousness. With each passing minute, the battle to retain body heat intensified. He wiggled his fingers and the toes of his left foot, the snow eating away at what little heat he managed to generate. When he tried to yank his body free, the intense, burning pain nearly shoved him over the edge into unconsciousness.
The shadows from the trees lengthened, and the sun had about run out of steam for the day. The cold coaxed him toward slumber, but his training fought off sleep, since he knew only hypothermia and death waited at the end of the tunnel. He stretched the poncho, shielding as much of his body as he could from the surface wind, and worked to center his mind.
The earliest childhood memories clicked through his mind like a slideshow. Racing downhill on a cobbled-together bike, the hot summer sun pounding on his back. Falling in the lake, barely knowing how to swim. Camping with a foster care organization. Boot camp. Staring at the television in horror th
e morning the Twin Towers fell. Each memory highlighting a cherished moment, a disappointment, or an image that never quite got erased.
The image of Ashley’s face appeared with the memory of their first kiss. He’d been so shocked by the sizzling energy, he’d had to make sure it, and she, were real. His mind told him to walk away then, leave town, not look back, but somehow he couldn’t quite move on. Right now, he wanted her soft lips on his.
Black dots filled his vision, and he tried focusing on dancing drops of snow. His delirious, agony-filled mind created a ballet of fairies fluttering in and out among the branches. Laughing, playing, swirling, dancing. Bobby’s image appeared at the edge of the clearing. Chase blinked, his mind denying the illusion but craving the comfort of a friend.
Bobby crouched beside him. Fight, Marine. You fight. Don’t you give up.
Chase laughed, a crazy, this is bullshit laugh. Here he was. A Marine. In Colorado. As a person who’d signed his life over to the military, he never considered he’d die on U.S. soil. He’d never contemplated dying alone in a heap of snow.
“Not sure I’m going to make it this time, my friend.”
Suck it up, man. You still have things to do. It won’t be long. Have some faith.
How long had it been? Fifteen minutes? Fifty?
Chase stretched his arm toward Bobby. He needed to connect to something, to hold on, but the shadowed image kneeling in the light faded.
More time passed. He tried holding onto consciousness, but wasn’t quite sure he succeeded.
His thoughts drifted to Ashley and Harold and Jenna. His new friends. His new family. It really sucked that the minute he believed he’d found his paradise, he was going to die. At least he’d gotten to feel what it was like to be part of something bigger. Maybe this was Bobby’s final gift.
Warm air blew in his face. He moved his head toward the sensation. A nudge of his head, accompanied by a soft whine, roused him. Another burst of warmth drifted across his face. Not an illusion. Chase fought for consciousness, but the effort was beyond his strength until an angel called his name.
“Chase?”
A yearning so strong and profound rolled throughout every limb. “Ashley?”
His lips cracked open to form her name, but no sound emerged. He’d give anything to see her one more time—to hold her hand. He’d tell her he loved her. He wouldn’t hold back, or wait. He’d tell her with his entire being how much she meant to him.
“Chase? Wake up.”
At the demand, he cracked his eyelids open.
A concerned, scared face appeared. “You’re such an ass. Don’t you know not to go in the mountains without your cell? What were you thinking?”
I was thinking about you.
Her voice drifted away. Another illusion. An aching loneliness filled his soul until warmth came to his fingers. He frantically held on, feeling a stinging and painful sensation return. After a tough negotiation with his mind, he willed his head to turn and got his reward.
“Ashley?”
“Chase. Help is coming. You better hold on. Hold on, please.” Warm lips touched his. “Don’t you dare leave me.”
The distress in her voice moved him. He wanted to open his arms and pull her to him, but he couldn’t quite figure out where his arms were. He could track her with his eyes, but that was all. A weight pressed onto his right shoulder. Heat. Glancing down, he recognized the hunter green wool coat and the black fur. Trusting golden eyes met his before he slipped back into the darkness.
His dream of seeing Ashley had come true.
He needed to tell her something, but the words drifted away with the snowflakes.
His throat tightened to push out the word love, but he couldn’t hold on.
Bone-chilling cold replaced the warmth and tore him away.
Far away.
“Chase? Chase, wake up.”
Ashley’s heart pounded to a stop.
Removing her gloves, she reached, frantic to find a pulse. She forced herself to focus on anything other than the dried blood on his face. The swelling and bruising reminded her of the time the high school quarterback broke his nose playing football. Her heart kick-started again, pounding a frenzied cadence, pushing her to act.
She’d figured her life couldn’t get worse.
She’d been wrong.
Apprehension restricted the flow of air reaching her lungs. Finding a weak beat of Chase’s heart, she lifted her backpack from her shoulders. Using the emergency radio Rivers had given her, she relayed her GPS coordinates and asked Harold to call for a medevac helicopter. Lucky lifted his head and whined with urgency, but she couldn’t take the time to calm him. Chase needed the dog’s body heat. Her dad’s voice filled her mind—stabilization, warmth, hydration. She opened her pack and broke four hot packs. Lifting the poncho liner, she unzipped Chase’s snowsuit and shoved a packet under each arm and as far down his chest as she could reach. Gently lifting each arm, she checked for signs of damage, careful to not move his neck or spine, rubbing and warming as she went. Hearing the echo of engines off the hill, she considered the anxious dog.
“Lucky, get help.” The dog’s ears lifted, his head tilted to the side. Ashley threw her arm wide and pointed to the tree-covered ridge. “Go, fetch.”
Fetch. Sit. Stay. She hadn’t had time to teach the dog any commands. She hoped he understood because she couldn’t leave Chase. With the wind now blowing snow into the air, there was literally no visibility, making the search and rescue job even more difficult. She couldn’t save him on her own. She needed help.
“Lucky, fetch.”
The dog launched to his feet and disappeared beyond the snowmobile, all her hopes going with him.
She removed the energy drink from her pack but hesitated to lift Chase’s head, concerned his immobility might mean a spinal injury.
“Chase? Open your eyes, you jerk. You can’t do this to me. Come on.” She waited. “Come on, Chase.”
A flutter of movement.
“That’s it. You can do this.”
Chase’s arms lifted and sporadically moved in the air. She grasped his gloved hand and rubbed it against hers. His pain-filled eyes opened, and he rolled his head.
Monitoring his movement, she made a decision. Unscrewing the bottle top, she slid her hand under his neck and held the bottle to his cracked lips. He choked on the first sip, but managed to swallow a little more before turning away. She released his head at Lucky’s frantic bark and the buzz of machines cresting the hill, and then several snowmobiles appeared and glided to a stop next to them. Discussions took place all around her, but she never left Chase’s side.
Within minutes, the snowmobile trapping Chase was lifted from his body, and Jack Burke took command, providing trained medical attention. He raced toward her, his booted feet crunching through the snow.
Bright red drops splattered across the snow like paint flung onto a canvas. Jack hovered over Chase’s twisted leg, which was rotated at an odd angle. The bile in Ashley’s stomach churned, making her look away. Jack relayed Chase’s vital signs to the dispatcher, who transmitted the information to the helicopter crew. Jack continued to work on stabilizing Chase’s lower half while she hovered over his swollen face.
Inspecting each inch of visible skin, she grew nauseous with worry. “Chase, look at me.”
His eyes rolled uncontrollably, not able to connect to anything solid. He groaned. “Ashley?”
“I’m here.”
“I’m sorry.”
The surrender, the hopelessness in his voice produced a mind-numbing panic. Frantic, she tugged off her gloves and touched his face. He couldn’t give up. By some miracle, she’d found him. He couldn’t let go. Not now.
“Chase?” She pinched his chin to get him to focus. “Don’t you dare give me that snivel, Marine. Your job is to stay conscious.” She squeezed his jaw again. His lips contorted. “You better do your part, or I’m going to take your balls and put them through a meat grinder. I’ll do it, to
o.”
Jack grunted, and Rivers coughed behind her, but she paid them no heed.
She leaned in, her lips touching cold, clammy skin. “You have a mission, Marine—stay awake. Do you hear me?”
His lips thinned in a straight line, almost like he knew the end of the line was coming. “Chase. Don’t. Don’t go there.”
His glazed eyes finally managed to connect with hers. “You’d make a good drill sergeant.”
She delighted in his response. “Is that so?” Her mind eased.
The constant metronome of time ticked by, like a steady drop of water in a steel sink, one second at a time, never rushing. Finally, the thumping, rumbling sounds of chopper blades filled the valley. She covered Chase’s face with the poncho and her body to protect him from blowing snow and debris, but within minutes, she had to relinquish her position beside him to let the professionals do their job.
Lucky ran to her, wanting another command, but she didn’t have any more instructions to give. She stood frozen in place. She could only hold the dog’s collar and watch the emergency crew immobilize Chase’s neck and body, prepare him for transport, and load him into the chopper.
An eternity passed before the helicopter rotated and tilted east. When the aircraft disappeared over the horizon, she prayed for another miracle.
Keep him alive.
The men moved off to confer in a small group. Her gaze swept over the mangled machine. She dropped to a squat and rubbed Lucky’s chest.
“You’re a good boy. You found him for me.” Lucky licked her face and nudged her hair.
And it had been all Lucky’s doing. Twenty minutes into the race to find Chase, the tracks had disappeared. She’d circled the area, drawing wider and wider circles in the snow, working to find a clue. Then the taut muscles holding Lucky had cramped, and she couldn’t continue. Forced to stop, she’d stood, pounding her fist into the cramped thigh muscles, her mind begging the pain to stop.