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“Here we go.” She patted Rich’s arm.
Rocking and jouncing in a vehicle with no shock absorbers went on for a small eternity. Finally, they stopped and the door swung wide. Kent stood framed in the opening. He was puffing, and a trickle of sweat traced a path from his left brow to his chin, but the white cloud of his breath testified to the chill in the air. When the sun went down, chilly would become downright cold. They had a lot to accomplish in the few hours before sunset.
Lauren pulled her blanket tighter around her and stepped down out of the wagon. They were parked in front of a weathered clapboard structure with a sagging porch and very few intact windows. The faded sign over the building announced it as the Trouble Creek Mercantile. Whatever supplies the mercantile had stocked were bound to be long gone. Trouble Creek had been abandoned for quite a while.
“Doesn’t look like much,” Kent said with a wave toward the shabby building, “but I’ve laid down sturdy boards from the steps to the door so none of us is going to fall through on our way inside. The structure is sound, though I can’t guarantee the roof doesn’t leak. But if we can scrounge things up to cover the broken window panes, the potbellied stove in the middle of the front room should warm us up considerably. No lack of old wood for fuel around here.”
“You’ve thought of a lot of things in a little time.” Lauren beamed up at her mom’s pilot hero.
The guy certainly had a good head on those impressive shoulders. It might be interesting to get to know him better—not as a boyfriend, of course, but as a person. He probably had a thing for his copilot anyway, judging by how protective he acted toward her.
Kent’s gaze dropped toward his feet. “Just doing what I can.”
Lauren narrowed her eyes. “What is it that you don’t want to tell us you can’t do?”
His lips pulled tight beneath grim eyes. “Let’s get everyone transferred safely, and then we’ll all have a powwow.”
Simmering, Lauren barely restrained herself from stomping across the porch boards. Aggravating man. One thing Lauren had learned to hate in her early years—other people deciding when to tell her things she was entitled to know. All she wanted was straight answers to important questions...even though everything she dreaded might be in those answers.
* * *
Kent tromped toward the downed plane, empty wagon in tow. He’d left Phil and Cliff with Lauren and her patients to see if they could get that stove going, as well as find ways to cover the broken window panes.
On this next trip back to town, Dirk could walk or even help him pull. That measly broken finger didn’t qualify him for a free ride. Phil had told him they called the guy DJ at Peerless One where they worked together. The nickname drove Dirk nuts, because he thought they were referring to his brief and unstellar career as a disc jockey in the nightclubs before he made it in arbitrage. No one had ever told him the initials stood for Dirk the Jerk. Not hard to guess how he earned that name. Kent suppressed a grimace.
A half hour later, he helped Mrs. Barrington into the wagon. At her insistence, she was the last to climb aboard.
The dainty woman awarded him a large smile. “Thank you, sir,” she said, “And please call me Nina. I can see you are among the last of the true gallants. I believe you have impressed even my headstrong daughter with your courtesy and service.”
Kent shut the wagon door and shook his head. Impressed Lauren Carter? Aggravated would be more accurate. He seemed to have a gift for pushing her buttons.
He headed back toward town with the wagonload of people and supplies. Dirk Dixon plodded alongside him, wearing a scowl. Fat chance the guy would help him pull.
They arrived back at the abandoned general store to the tune of lively hammering. Was it possible the former inhabitants had left tools behind? Might there be other survival treasures lying around, too?
Kent smiled as he helped his passengers out of the wagon. Everyone—even Dirk—carried a load of food and other supplies inside the store. Kent placed himself last in line and stopped short just over the threshold.
Someone had brought order out of hodgepodge. He could about guess who. The fixed counter that sat on one side of the open area, as well as the moveable shelving, appeared to have been wiped off, though the floor remained thick with dust due to lack of a broom. The shelving had been arranged to afford both organized storage and a margin of privacy between the bulk of the room and the most critically injured passengers. He caught a glimpse of Lauren kneeling beside Mags, taking her pulse.
A fire blazed in the stove, and the building was already much warmer than when he’d left about an hour ago. Cushions were arranged on the floor around the stove to allow a little seating comfort up off the dirt on the floor.
Kent deposited his load of food and beverages on the glass-fronted shelving unit that was fixed to the floor and had probably served as the checkout counter. He gazed around at broken windows being covered with what looked like thin slabs of wood. Cliff turned from one of the windows and held up a shiny nail and a partially rusted crowbar, now serving as a hammer.
He grinned. “Found a sealed box of these.” He wagged the nail. “And some old, empty crates in the back storage room. Busted up the crates. Found this on the floor,” he lifted the crowbar, “and, voilà, wooden curtains.”
“And I found these,” Phil said, pointing to a pair of oil lamps on the counter. “No kerosene, though.” He frowned.
“Maybe we’ll run across some,” Nina said and patted his arm. “Or some candles. In the meantime, I believe we are all due a break. How about some of these peanuts and pretzels and a soft drink for everyone?”
No one turned her down, especially not Kent. But water was his preferred beverage after all the exertion, and he wasn’t done yet. One more trip today.
“We need to go get the luggage,” he said. “The stove and wooden curtains are great, but we’re still going to need our jackets and probably dress in layers to stay warm.”
Lauren came around the wall of shelving and grabbed a bottle of water. Her clothes were dusty, and dirt smudged one cheek. Weariness etched small lines around her big, green eyes. How come the disarray, brought about by trauma and compassion, emphasized her attractiveness far more than Elspeth’s haute couture ever had?
Lauren’s gaze caught his, and his heart did a stupid skippy thing. A motion with her water bottle beckoned him to follow her. She led him into her makeshift hospital. Richard Engle had his eyes closed and appeared to be lying comfortably, though his leg was raised, resting on an extra cushion, and his knee was immobilized in bulky wrappings. The blood had been washed from Mags’s face, and a towel-wrapped cold pack pressed against a spot on her head, but her complexion was waxen. She lay unnaturally still. Kent swallowed a lump in his throat.
“I managed to put Rich’s kneecap back in place,” Lauren said, “but Mags needs a doctor and a modern hospital immediately. I believe she’s hemorrhaging inside her skull, which puts life-threatening pressure on her brain. Don’t you think it’s about time we know what chance there is of rescue happening anytime soon?”
Kent nodded. “Step out here. I’ll talk to all of you at the same time.”
They went back to the counter where the others were still snacking, and Kent cleared his throat. Attention was instantaneous and electric.
“I wish I could tell you that we will be rescued any minute now.”
Dirk barked a laugh. “All these housekeeping preparations pretty much told us we’re not looking for anyone today. So when is the cavalry coming? Tomorrow? Any later than that, and I can tell you it’s going to cost Peerless One, and me personally, a bundle. That’s unacceptable. We need to be—”
“Shut up!” Neil growled. “Lives are more important than the next stock trade. How many companies do we represent here? At least three. But I guarantee you, in the big picture, our no-show within the next few days will wind up a minor hiccup in the big scheme of business. I’m on the fast track toward retirement, but I’ve been digging in my heels about taking the plunge. This little adventure has convinced me that it’s time to let go of work, work, work, and enjoy life. When we return to civilization, my company will have to bid me sayonara for good.”
“Everyone, hush, please.” Lauren’s voice quivered like a plucked violin string. “Right now, our pilot is the only one who has anything to say that we need to hear.”
Kent’s heart hovered somewhere around his toes. If only he could tell them what they wanted to hear. But truth was the only commodity worth trading in at this moment.
“I’ve flown under a lot of adverse conditions, but I’ve never heard of or experienced anything like what happened up there. My instruments, including the radio, went out in the blink of an eye. Something catastrophic happened to the plane.”
“The explosion.” Cliff jabbed the air with a nail. “Accidental malfunction or—”
“A bomb!” The hysterical edge had returned to Phil’s voice. “Terrorists tried to kill us!”
“Whoa!” Kent held up a quieting hand. “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves. Tomorrow I’ll go over every inch of the plane, and then I might know more.” His gaze skimmed the expectant faces. “But here’s the thing. I can fly and land a plane without instruments. Had to do it under extremely tough conditions and on challenging terrain when I was in the air force, but I cannot promise to resurrect that radio. And even if I did, I have my doubts it would be able to communicate with the outside world.”
“Why not?” Dirk demanded.
Kent pulled a small compass out of his pocket. He held it up so they could see the needle jumping all over the place. “The rocks coating the ground are taconite. I’m pretty sure this area was mined for iron. If there’s enough metal around to confuse my compass, there’s probably plenty left to scramble a radio signal. Maybe even to keep any signal from leaving this valley.”
Phil wrung pudgy hands. “What about that black box thingy we hear about on the news? Doesn’t that send a signal to a satellite when a plane crashes?”
“Same problem.”
“In plain speech,” Lauren said, tone flat, “no one knows where we are, and no one is coming to rescue us.”
The proverbial pin-drop would easily have broken the silence. A nail plummeted from Cliff’s hand and hit the floor with a noise like a sonic boom.
“Why can’t a few of us just hike out of here and send help for the rest of you?” Neil’s matter-of-fact tone breathed sanity back into the atmosphere. “This was a town. There must be a road in and out.”
Kent frowned. “Unfortunately, I got a pretty good look at that ‘road’ on my way down into the valley. It doesn’t exist anymore. Avalanche closed off the route.”
Dirk spat a foul word. “We’re in a box canyon. Trapped like rats.”
Kent lifted his hands, palms out. “It’s not a great situation, but it’s not hopeless, either. When we don’t arrive at our destination, searchers will look along the route of the flight plan we filed before we took off. Our current location is a little off that path, but not radically beyond reasonable range. One thing we can do is position chunks of glass on the stone chimneys of one or more of these buildings and along the cliff walls that will reflect the sunlight and hopefully draw the attention of airborne searchers. However, their search pattern will be lower than regular flight altitudes, so they are unlikely to fly through these mountains at night, which means we probably shouldn’t bother with setting and tending bonfires after dark.”
Lauren’s mom let out a long gust of air. “At least we have a plan. Let’s keep our hopes alive, people. And another thing we should do tomorrow is search this town top to bottom for anything we can use to make our time here easier, however short or long it may be.”
“That’s the pioneer spirit, Mom.” Lauren exchanged a fist bump with her mother.
Kent smiled as ragged laughter erupted among most of the passengers, and the atmosphere lightened. Quite a pair of admirable women, these two.
Dirk’s scowl barely dimmed. “The shorter the better.” He tromped away to hunker down on one of the cushions near the heat source.
“I’m going to make one last trip out to the plane,” Kent said. “Phil? Cliff? Are you still my main men?”
“What about me?” Dirk jumped up.
“I didn’t think you’d want to handle luggage with a broken finger.”
Dirk snickered. “You’re right. I don’t.” He turned his back and held out his hands toward the stove.
Kent gritted his teeth.
Cliff brushed past him with a sidelong look. “I’m about ready to smack the smirk off of Dirk.”
Swallowing laughter, Kent followed him and big, lumbering Phil out the door. An hour later, as the sun closed in on the horizon, they returned with a full load of luggage and one stunning item that left all humor out in the cold.
Kent hauled Mags’s wheelie and a bulky bundle into the makeshift hospital area. He stared down at his inert copilot, frost riming him from the inside out. Lauren took a look at his face and rose from her kneeling position.
“What is it?” she said. “And don’t give me a slick answer.”
Kent eyeballed the activity going on near the door where everyone was crowding around to receive their luggage. The prospect of jackets and additional clothing, as well as toiletry items, was exciting in a good way after all the excitement in a bad way. The thumping and bumping and babble of eager voices would likely cover any conversation between him and the too-insightful physician’s assistant.
“This.” He lifted the bulky pack. “It’s a parachute.”
Her eyes widened. “Isn’t that standard equipment aboard your aircraft?”
He shook his head, bereft of speech as the possibilities—no, probabilities—buzzed around in his brain.
“Someone else brought it on board?”
“There is no tag on this item, so none of our passengers checked it in. Mags oversaw the loading of the luggage. She’s the only one who could have put it there.”
“But why?”
“That’s the gazillion-dollar question, isn’t it? Unfortunately, the answer stinks to the moon and back. Who would have needed an unorthodox exit from the aircraft?”
The sharp intake of Lauren’s breath marked comprehension. “Only someone who knew an emergency was going to happen.”
“Bingo. And the layout of my plane allows access to the luggage bay from the bathroom. Just sneak back there, don the chute and out you go. Nice and neat.”
Color receded from her face. “So we have to conclude that the plane was sabotaged. Would Mags have had the know-how to rig whatever caused the explosion?”
“Oh, yeah.” Kent crossed his arms. “She was the bomb expert on our flight crew in Afghanistan.”
“She was in the air force with you? Somebody you trusted? Wow. That’s got to hurt.”
Kent’s skin tightened. She’d said a mouthful. It was hard to explain the camaraderie that developed between soldiers in the military. Such a level of betrayal bit deep, and somehow, this woman got it without explanation.
Lauren laid a hand on his arm. “We still don’t know why she tried to destroy the plane.”
“That, and which one of our passengers was in on the deal.”
“What do you mean?” Her brows knit together.
He grimaced. “This is a tandem chute. Two people dive in it. Somebody was planning to leave with her, but got stuck in the plane with us because Mags was incapacitated.”
Lauren’s jaw dropped, and she leaned in toward him. “Someone walking around in this room tried to kill us? Wow. And they could try again!”
Kent delivered a single, decisive nod. “For now, let’s keep the discovery of this parachute our secret. Her accomplice doesn’t need to be alerted that his existence has been exposed.”
“Allow him to relax, get complacent and maybe slip up somehow?”
“Exactly. And we need to pray that Mags wakes up—at least long enough to tell us his name—or we’re all the proverbial sitting ducks. Anybody with the brains and guts to devise and carry out this sabotage plan will be quick to implement a Plan B that will glean him the same results—us dead and himself home free.”
FOUR (#u263a1f91-3beb-5ca2-9b2d-2c6ee9580b21)
A deep cough rent Lauren’s chest, jerking her awake. A blanket wrapped around her where she lay against a hard floor, head cradled by a leather cushion. Acrid smoke gagged her nostrils and burned the back of her throat. She lunged to a sitting position, as hacking coughs and cries of “Fire!” converged from every direction.
Her mind spun. In front of her eyes, the room was dark as the inside of a barrel. From behind her shoulders, a ruddy heat cast a muted glow. Where was she? Oh, yes. The sabotaged plane. Emergency landing. Shelter in the abandoned mercantile. And now...fire!
Crash-bruised muscles protested her sudden scramble to get to her feet, but the blanket entangled her, and she fell backward hard on her behind. A moan and a cough came from her immediate right. Richard. No sound from her left. Mags remained unconscious...or worse.
“Help!” she cried through a strangled cough. “Help me with the patients.”
Thumping noises, like hurried footsteps, answered her, but the sounds were headed in every direction except her location on the far side of the stove.
“Where’s the door?” a male voice screamed. Cliff.
Yes, where was the door, but also, where was the fire? She glanced over her shoulders, and made out the dark form of the potbellied stove. All normal enough, and yet bitter, pine-tinged smoke swirled everywhere.
She had to get her patients out of here! Lauren yanked herself from the blanket’s grip and stood, staring around. Hazy lights bobbed here and there. As they’d done before the group turned in last night, people were using their cell phone flashlights. Without cell service, the phones weren’t good for much else, and from the volume of smoke in the room, not much good for lighting, either. The glow was more disorienting than illuminating.
“Where are you, Lauren?” Feminine tones rose above the panicked din.
“Mom!” Lauren answered. “Don’t look—” she coughed “—for me! Find a way out!”
“Jade Eyes!”
A burn in the pit of Lauren’s stomach joined the burn in her throat. Kent. She needed his strong arms and back to move Rich and Mags.
“Over here. Help me with the patients.”
