In this area, JoNell saw a few Indian villagers scraping through the rubble of their homes, a blank expression on their faces. One snaggle-toothed old man, his face wrinkled from years in the hot sun, looked at them without seeing. Then a faint light flickered in his fading black eyes. "Seňor Del Toro," he called weakly. Then he and Del Toro spoke briefly in the native language.
"The people have all gone to the marketplace," Del Toro explained. "The earthquake did the least damage there."
"Does he know anything about Angelita?" JoNell asked anxiously.
Del Toro spoke to the man again, then shook his head, and motioned them on to the marketplace.
The closer they came to the marketplace, the fewer structures were destroyed. When they rounded the last corner, they came upon a makeshift first-aid station. Injured people were lying on straw mats and llama rugs on the ground. Moans of pain were everywhere. There were anguished sobs of persons bending over some of the deathly still. The children played quietly while cries of pain and sorrow were heard in the background.
Immediately, Del Toro began unpacking medical supplies and the doctor ripped off his coat and went to work over the more seriously hurt. A crowd of men gathered around Del Toro, who rattled to them in their strange dialect. He gestured broadly. They nodded and then were gone.
"They're going to bring the rest of the supplies from the plane," he said. "As soon as it's unloaded, I want you to fly back to Lima for more. Miguel will meet you at the airport."
"But what about Angelita?" JoNell protested. "I can't leave until I know what's happened to her."
Del Toro called to an Indian woman sitting beside a small child on the ground. She mumbled something incomprehensible to JoNell. Del Toro motioned for JoNell to follow her. She led the way to the interior of the market building. There, they found more injured. Anxiously, JoNell searched among the dark-haired women. Finally, she spied a familiar head. Immense relief flooded her. She made her way through the rows of injured and to the side of Angelita.
The woman was crooning softly to a man JoNell recognized as Angelita's escort the night of the special festival.
"Angelita! I'm so glad you're all right."
The woman turned to look at her. Her face was deeply lined with grief and fatigue. Her eyes widened with surprise. "JoNell! What are you doing here?"
"I came to help," she said simply. "Is this your friend, Carlos?"
"Yes," Angelita said tearfully. "He has been badly injured, and he is in such pain. If only we had a doctor."
"You do now," JoNell reassured her. "Jorge had me fly a doctor here with medical supplies. He's outside the marketplace right now, taking care of the injured."
"Oh, gracias por Dios," she wept. "We knew Jorge would come to help us. Please tell the doctor to hurry."
"I will," JoNell promised. She rejoined Del Toro and they went to tell Dr. Torres about the injured Carlos.
"I'll walk back to the plane with you," Del Toro said. "But you'll have to fly back by yourself. They need me to help here."
"Yes, I know." She felt a sudden wave of pride to be walking beside this big man. In his commanding way, he was a tower of strength here in the mining village. Miguel had spoken the truth when he said the people here loved and respected him. She remembered how Angelita had said with simple faith, "We knew Jorge would come to help us."
They were halfway to the airplane when they heard a terrified shriek. They both responded immediately, running in the direction of the agonized cry. Del Toro outdistanced JoNell considerably. Her breathing was labored from the thin oxygen. She arrived in front of a crumbling hut to find a young woman sobbing hysterically and pointing to the rubble.
Del Toro shoved the woman aside roughly. "Keep her here," he ordered. "No matter what, don't let her follow me."
JoNell gasped when she saw what was causing the woman's agitation. Sticking out from under the crumbled adobe was a tiny arm clutching a toy llama. Poised right above the debris was a huge slab of heavy adobe hanging precariously on more wreckage. Del Toro maneuvered gingerly through the mangled bits of furniture and caved in roof. JoNell's mouth went dry. She clutched the woman's shoulders with a fierceness born of panic. At any moment, the slab could tumble free from its tenuous support and come crashing down on Del Toro and the child, burying them both in a rock-like grave. Del Toro bent over the little arm and began gently lifting pieces of plaster and wreckage. A gust of wind blew through the ruined building and the adobe slab swayed menacingly over Del Toro's head. He paused, looked up momentarily, then resumed this task with the same gentleness, but at a faster pace. The young woman began to babble hysterically again. She fought to pull free of JoNell's clutch.
"I'm not sure I can hold her," JoNell yelled in fright.
"Slap her hard across the face," Del Toro commanded.
"What?" she asked incredulously.
"Do what I say!"
JoNell obeyed, swinging her palm as hard as she could.
The young woman gasped. But the glassy look faded from her eyes. She collapsed into JoNell's arms, sobbing, but no longer struggling to free herself.
JoNell held the woman and turned her attention back to Del Toro. He had uncovered the upper half of a small, dark boy with curly black hair. Again the wreckage groaned, and the adobe wall teetered precariously.
"Hurry!" JoNell called frantically. "It's not going to hang there much longer."
Del Toro now began to dig furiously at the rubble. He pulled on the boy's torso, but still could not free him. He dug still further until he uncovered a bed frame which was pinning the boy's small foot. Perspiration glistened on his forehead. His powerful muscles bulged as he lifted the bed frame which was weighed down with piles of rubble. At last he was able to free the limp child. The young woman in JoNell's arms began sobbing again.
There was a loud crunch! JoNell screamed. The adobe slab that had been threatening the lives of Del Toro and the boy came crashing down, missing them by inches as he darted out of the way.
JoNell's knees threatened to give way. The young woman rushed to Del Toro and the boy. She was again babbling tearfully.
Del Toro interpreted for JoNell. "She has been searching for the boy ever since the earthquake. She found him just as we were passing by. The boy is still breathing. We're going to take him to Dr. Torres. You go on back to Lima for more supplies."
JoNell nodded, wiping her damp palms on her jump suit. Del Toro was dusty and sweat-stained. His shirt had been torn, revealing powerful muscles. He was magnificent. JoNell remembered the day on the polo grounds when she had likened him to a fierce conquistador. Her throat felt tight as admiration and love for him welled up in her.
She turned quickly, before he saw what was in her eyes. She hurried away, down the dusty lane, half blinded by tears. After this crisis was over, there would be a quick divorce. She would return to the States and probably never see Jorge Del Toro again. But the memory of his strength and bravery would remain a part of her for as long as she lived.
JoNell made her second round trip with supplies from Lima safely. As the men unloaded the plane, she marveled at the calm manner in which Del Toro had taken charge of the village. He had organized the men into clean-up crews and had set up a portable kitchen. The high altitude and thin oxygen did not seem to affect him. His energy seemed boundless. Where the village had appeared stunned and demoralized when JoNell first surveyed the wreckage, now there was a spirit of hope and optimism. And she knew the whole village was drawing its strength from Jorge Del Toro.
JoNell flew back to Lima for her final load of supplies with a feeling of deep sadness. She truly felt sorry for herself that her marriage to this remarkable man had not been a real marriage. How empty her life was going to be…
This time Miguel was her passenger on the flight back to the village. JoNell took off with a feeling of apprehension. This final load was heavier than the others. But so much was needed that she and Miguel had crammed every inch of space with supplies. Miguel added
to the weight problem. He was not a light man. He weighed in excess of two hundred pounds, she was sure. But darkness was fast approaching, and the villagers were in dire need of every ounce of supplies she could ferry in. So she took a chance that the plane could bear the load.
After a sluggish takeoff, JoNell concentrated on trying to maintain the right altitude. She and Miguel spoke little, each too wrapped up in concern over the village to engage in idle chatter. Approaching nightfall added to JoNell's worries. Was she cutting the time estimate too thin? With the added weight and no tail wind, the flight was taking much longer than she had planned. Already the jungle below was a mass of twilight shadows. Sunset among the mountain peaks was a magnificent sight, with golden rays arcing across the violet sky. Another time she would have felt a breathless thrill at the sight. But now all she could think of was how to make a landing on that skimpy meadow in the dark. Knowing how resourceful Del Toro was, she thought he'd no doubt have the men build bonfires along the landing strip. But would that be enough?
She was debating whether the prudent thing to do would be to go back to Lima and start out in the morning when the plane suddenly began to sputter. Her gaze darted to the gas tank gauge. There was plenty of fuel. The problem was something else. She worked the throttle back and forth to try and restore power. She breathed easier when the engine coughed back to life and purred contentedly. But her relief was short-lived. Again the engine began missing. JoNell's gaze raced over the instruments. Her eyes widened when she saw the temperature gauge. It was inching into the danger zone. Her mouth felt dry. She pulled all the tricks she could think of out of her mental bag of airplane skills, but nothing helped. The altimeter needle began to swing downward. The engine ran rougher and rougher.
"What's the matter?" Miguel asked nervously.
"I'm not sure," JoNell admitted, "but all that weight in the back of the plane isn't helping matters any."
"Can we make it to the village?"
"I don't know, Miguel," she confessed, her hands growing clammy. "We're going down fast. We may have to make a forced landing."
"You mean we're going to crash?" Miguel asked fearfully.
"No," she tried to reassure him, "I'll just have to find a place to land here. If I can find a smooth, flat surface, I can land the plane just like at an airport."
"But then what do we do? We are many miles from civilization here in the mountains."
"I'll radio for help. I'll give our position as near as I can figure it. Then we may have to wait until a search party finds us. It may take a while, but we have a whole plane full of supplies. We won't starve, at least—"
The engine suddenly died completely. There was an eerie silence broken only by the lonely moan of the wind around the airplane.
"Madre de Dios," Miguel whimpered. He clasped his hands and began to pray.
JoNell hoped Miguel had a good patron saint because they were going to need the help of providence: She saw only occasional smooth patches in the rocky terrain that was fast zooming up toward them.
Quickly, she had to make her decision. She selected a spot that appeared to be somewhat smoother, although there wasn't much from which to choose. Her hands gripped the stick tensely. She had practiced forced landings many times. But never had she been confronted with such poor choices for a landing site. In spite of her confidence in her flying ability, she knew this was a situation that would put all her skills to the utmost test.
Suddenly, the ground came up fast. JoNell pulled back on the stick, trying to keep the plane from nosing over. She had to put down in a small clearing surrounded by trees on three sides with a sheer drop into a canyon on the fourth side. The plane rolled briskly toward the edge of the cliff, threatening to shoot off into empty space. JoNell mashed the foot pedals to the right to avoid rolling over the cliff. The plane did a ground loop. There was a rending, shuddering crash as they struck a boulder.
JoNell sat stunned in the pilot's seat. Somewhere a bird squawked. She became conscious of pain inching up her left leg. She looked at Miguel, whose head was slumped forward, his chin touching his chest.
"Miguel?" she asked painfully.
He did not answer.
Chapter 10
JoNell reached quickly for his wrist. Her fingers searched for a pulse, couldn't find one, then at last did. The pulse was weak, but steady. She drew a shuddering gasp of relief.
The pain in her leg was growing more intense. She pulled her jump suit pant leg up and saw a long, ragged gash in the calf of her leg. It was bleeding profusely.
She looked around the wreckage of the cabin. Then she remembered the radio and tried it. She heard nothing but static. The receiver was not working. Could she transmit? She tried, sending out "Mayday" calls in Spanish, giving her location as well as she could reckon it. But she had no way of knowing if the transmitter was working. She had the dismal feeling that she was wasting her breath.
JoNell unbuckled her seat belt and tried lifting her body from the confines of the airplane's interior which had been smashed in around them. When she was able to free herself, she unbuckled Miguel's seat belt, but his considerable weight proved impossible for her to move.
His breathing was shallow. He remained unconscious. His color was not good. JoNell was frightened for him.
She thought that she must try to find help. Miguel needed medical attention. They couldn't wait for hours, maybe days, for searching parties to find them.
JoNell climbed down from the plane. The right wing was flattened back over the cockpit. The front of the plane was crumpled like a ball of wastepaper. She winced at the sight of the wreckage.
When her right foot touched the ground, searing pain shot up her leg, making her cry out. She crumpled to the ground. The leg was hurt worse than she'd first thought. There must be some torn ligaments in addition to the deep cut. The leg couldn't support her weight.
She lay on the ground, gathering her strength. Then she dragged herself back into the plane. By now the sun had disappeared behind the mountain peaks. The long shadows had turned into twilight. Soon they would be swallowed by inky darkness.
She rummaged around in the wreckage that littered the cabin until she found a flashlight. She was going to need that light in the dark hours ahead. Next, she painfully shoved and pushed the boxes around until she located one containing medical supplies. With a pair of scissors she found in the box, she cut away the leg of her jump suit. Then she made a bandage out of a roll of gauze and tied it tightly around the gash that was bleeding steadily. In no time, the bandage was soaked red. She replaced it with a fresh wrapping. She was near the ragged edge of panic. What if she couldn't stop the bleeding? There was no telling how much blood she had already lost. Red stains were splattered all over the cabin. Waves of dizziness assaulted her, either from the loss of blood or shock and pain.
She rummaged through the box of supplies. It contained numerous bottles of drugs. She tried to read the labels by the light of her flash, but they were all generic names in Spanish. She had no idea what they were. But she did find a box of American brand aspirin, and she quickly swallowed two tablets.
Her leg did not stop bleeding until she had applied the third tight bandage. With that under control, she worked her way back around to where Miguel still sat slumped over, unconscious. Again she felt for his pulse. It was the same as before, a weak thread. JoNell now became aware of an ugly bruise on the side of his head that was becoming swollen. He'd evidently suffered a severe head injury. He might have a concussion or worse, a fractured skull with internal, cerebral bleeding.
A wave of desperation seized her, and with it an overpowering sense of guilt. She should never have tried to take off with the plane so heavily overloaded this close to nightfall. If Miguel lost his life, she'd have her poor judgment to blame.
She tried the radio again, giving her location and sending an urgent call for help. "Please…" she begged, tears streaming down her cheeks. "We need help. Please hurry and find us…"
But she still did not know if the transmitter was working. She could hear nothing on the receiver part of the radio.
Then she became aware of a new threat that turned her blood to ice—the unmistakable smell of gasoline. The crash must have ruptured a fuel line or a tank. If there were the slightest spark, they would die a fiery death in the plane.
Again, she tried her best to move Miguel. She tugged and lifted with what strength she had left. But after a bit she fell back in her seat, panting and damp with perspiration. There was no way she could move him. The door on his side was jammed solidly shut. And she did not have the strength to lift the heavy man across her seat and out of the door on her side of the cabin.
She began to shiver. With darkness came the bone penetrating chill of the night air at high altitude. On this trip, their cargo was only boxes of medical supplies. No blankets. Nothing to wrap up with against the cold.
She shone her flashlight over the boxes of supplies in the vain hope that she could find something that could help them. The light touched several pairs of crutches. When she saw them, a plan born of desperation began forming in her mind.
She located her map and studied it carefully in the glow of her flashlight. They were closer to the mining village than she had first thought. Actually, they had gotten to within about fifteen kilometers of their destination when they went down. Translated into miles, they were roughly ten miles from the village.
But ten miles could as well be a thousand if nobody knew they were here. They could easily sit here a week or longer as searching parties combed this wild, mountainous terrain, looking for them. That would be all right if neither of them had been injured. They had food and water to sustain them. But Miguel urgently needed medical attention.
As she was pondering the situation, she heard the distant rumble of thunder. She looked anxiously out of the open door on her side and saw lightning flashes along the eastern horizon. A worried frown crossed her brow. An electrical storm in the mountains could be an ominous threat to them. If a bolt of lightning struck around this gasoline soaked wreckage…
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