| |
Skye white-knuckled the yoke of the Cessna 185 as a punishing gust of wind battered the side of the plane. Giving it more left rudder and compensating with the ailerons, she wrestled her way back on course. Despite the chilly breeze seeping into the cockpit, sweat beaded on her forehead. This flight might possibly have been the stupidest thing she’d ever done.
From the preflight briefing she’d gotten in Fairbanks, there’d been a fifty-fifty chance she’d outrun the storm. Clearly, that hadn’t happened. The blizzard had come in hard and fast, and now she was winging her way to safety on a prayer.
Her gaze darted to the instrument panel. If the readings were correct, she was flying about two-hundred feet above the Richardson Highway, but the swirling snow and darkness blotted out anything recognizable below her.
Pressing her face against the frigid door window, she squinted. Nothing. Not a hint of highway or a light from a motorist or home.
“Shit.” She refocused on the churning darkness in front of her. “Shit. Shit. Shit.”
Often times, people called her reckless. She’d correct them, saying she was merely adventurous. Delusions of grandeur was one of her many loveable faults, but as much as she hated to admit it, her current predicament seemed to prove them right. She’d flown to Fairbanks to pick up supplies for her sister Haven’s bachelorette party. Hopefully, they wouldn’t be planning Skye’s funeral instead.
Her GPS beeped, signaling her arrival at the alternate destination she’d punched in when the storm had gotten bad. Paxon Lake Lodge, home of her future brother-in-law and his two brothers. With any luck, somebody would be there once she landed—landed, not crashed.
She punched the button, silencing the GPS’s piercing chirp. “All right, let’s see if I can get this baby down without killing myself.”
When she dragged back on the carb heat knob, the plane engine rumbled. So far, she’d been lucky, but she needed to land before she iced up and crashed. Pulling on the throttle, she powered the engine down slightly. Somewhere below her was a runway, but no way was she going to chance missing it and crashing in the trees, or worse, the lodge. She’d have a better shot landing on the road.
As the plane descended, the Arctic winds swept under the belly, lifting it again. She pulled the flaps and dropped several feet. The instruments indicated she was lined up on the highway even though it felt as if she’d drifted way off course. Too many times, pilots death spiraled into the ground because they didn’t trust their instruments. She wasn’t cocky enough to believe her perception was better than her plane’s readings.
According to the altimeter, she’d descended another hundred feet. Again, she pressed her face to the side window. Directly below, the faint edges of the hills lining the Richardson Highway drifted in and out of view as her landing lights passed over them. The blasting winds fought every foot of her descent, lifting the plane and buffeting it from side to side.
What she could see of the highway remained dark and empty. She prayed it stayed that way. Running into a car, or God forbid, a snowplow, would be the end of her. With Herculean effort, she battled to keep centered on the road and not ram into the hills on her left. Snow spun in a white vortex from her propeller, obscuring her view.
The plane plummeted a few feet, sending her stomach into her throat. “Come on, girl, touch down.”
Biting back a colorful string of curses, she wrestled the plane through the floating ground effect. Her breath caught in her throat as the plane hung in the air, scooting mere feet above the highway.
“Touch,” she hissed. A second later, the big tundra tires smashed onto the highway, but before she could get on the brakes, the plane lifted again. “Shit.” She eased the yoke forward. Again, the plane dropped, the wheels touching the road, and the weight of the Cessna settling. This time, thankfully, she stayed down.
Tromping on the brakes, she tried to roll to a stop, but the blasting wind fought her every attempt. When it pushed her one direction, she’d attempt to compensate. Finally, the plane skidded to a stop.
Her heartbeat thundered against her chest as she powered the plane down. Yes, she’d safely landed, but now she wanted to get it off the road.
When she lifted her feet from the brakes, the plane rolled forward. She bit back a curse. Even though she knew the general vicinity of where she’d landed, she needed to get out and scout the side of the road to make sure she wasn’t driving off a steep embankment.
She lifted her feet. Though the plane rocked, it didn’t move. “Okay.” She released the yoke but hovered her hands an inch above it in case the plane decided to move again. When it didn’t, she exhaled. “Good. Okay. Good.”
The tension she been holding in her shoulders melted. Now to make sure her plane didn’t become roadkill.
With a tight grip on the handle, she eased the door open. The wind raced through the gap and yanked against her grasp, but she managed to hold on and not let the door slam against the strut.
An icy gust blasted her face, jamming the breath back down her throat. Dipping her chin, she pointed her head into the gale and slid out of the plane, slamming the door behind her.
The faux-fur ruff of her hood blocked the majority of snow and wind, but the white out conditions made it impossible to see more than a few feet in front of her. The faster she could get out of the middle of the Richardson Highway the better. Hopefully, nobody was stupid enough to venture along the remote stretch of road. Nobody but her, that was.
Walking along the northbound lane, she assessed the right side of the road. With the wind’s help, this would be the easiest direction to move the plane, but the narrow shoulder wasn’t big enough.
She crossed the road and evaluated the southbound side. Though there was a bit of an incline, the ground was relatively flat. Once she got the plane down the slope there would be room to park. It would be a bitch getting it to that point with the wind and foot of snow, but she had no other choice. Luckily, being a wolf shifter gave her more strength than the average woman. No doubt she’d need it.
The best solution was to lead with the tailwheel and back it in. She moved to the rear of the plane and slid out the handle in front of the stabilizer. With staccato shoves, she inched the plane into the wind. Progress was slow, but she had this. No problem.
As she angled the Cessna into the wind, the gale force beat against her. She shoved, but instead of moving the plane, her body skidded backward, her feet sliding on the ice beneath the snow.
“Shit!” Taking tiny shuffling steps, she inched forward. Again, she shoved against the tail, and again the wind beat her backward. Numbing cold seeped through her gloves, turning her fingers to ice. Her grip on the handle slipped free. “Ahhh!”
She frantically grabbed for the bar but missed. A gust knocked her hood back, and snow pelted her face, feeling like the micro-needling she’d tried once during a facial. She didn’t like it then and she didn’t like it now.
Another gust slammed into her and the aluminum sheet metal, sending her and the plane sliding toward the edge of the road. Despite that being the direction she wanted, the plane was at the wind’s mercy. Another Arctic blast seized the Cessna, lifting the left wing into the air.
“No!” Skye dove for the strut in hopes of keeping the wheel on the ground but missed and landed face down on the road.
Before she could struggle to her feet, the plane skidded across the ice-encased road, passing over the top of her. Time seemed to slow as she rolled to her hands and knees and watched her plane, her baby, slide over the edge, lift, and tilt. The tip of the right wing smashed into the ground. Even over the howling wind, Skye heard the heart wrenching sound of crumpling metal.
A cry ripped from her as the left wing lifted higher. Angled upward, the plane tottered, the tip of the right wing continuing to bend, acting like a pivot point.
Every function in her body froze. Her heartbeat stopped, her breath lodged in her throat, her lids refused to blink as the fate of her plane hung in the air. Then, delivering the final blow, a gale-force gust rammed against the angled wing.
Lifting higher, the plane continued its course, ascending before pitching over and landing on its top. There it lay in the snow like a metal angel, wheels facing Heaven. Skye’s mouth hung open, disbelief rendering her immobile.
“Oh my God.” Ignoring the cold and snow, she crawled to the edge of the road, still unable to comprehend what just happened. “Oh my God.” Continuing forward, she slid down the shallow embankment and stopped next to the bent wing. Her hand reached to touch the twisted tip, but she pulled back, instead covering her mouth. Unable to believe what had just happened, she stared at the destruction. A single word uttered from her. “Whyyyy?”
She wasn’t sure who she was asking. Maybe God. Maybe herself. Maybe the wind. It didn’t matter. Nobody answered. The repairs would cost her thousands of dollars. Money she didn’t have. A tear trickled down her cheek but froze before reaching her mouth. A shiver rippled through her, pulling her from her trance. There was nothing she could do about her plane until the storm let up. She was losing body heat fast, and her most urgent need was to get to the lodge before she froze to death. Shaking off the shock, she struggled to her feet.
The quickest way to do that would be to shift. Her wolf ran hotter, could run faster, and had a nice thick winter coat to keep her warm until she got inside. Stripping off everything but her boots, she released her wolf. Bones and muscles stretched and changed. Dropping to her hands and knees, she let the transformation sweep through her, reveling in the surge of energy and the sharpening of her senses.
The clean smell of snow lashed across her nose as it lengthened to a snout. The bitter chill barely had time to bite into her skin before the thick blond coat of fur emerged and swathed her in warmth. Once the change was complete, she let out a howl. This was freedom.
Just exactly how far the lodge was, she didn’t know, but she’d landed within a mile or two. Even in this storm, that would be no problem for her wolf. Hopefully, someone would be there to let her in. Hopefully, it wouldn’t be North. The last thing she needed was to deal with his crap. So condescending.
She bit back a growl, knowing he’d be totally justified in this situation. Acknowledging that was almost worse than wrecking her plane. Acknowledging it to him? Unthinkable.
At least she was unhurt. That’s what she needed to focus on. Not the fact that it would cost thousands to fix her plane, or that she was stranded in the middle of remote Alaska in the season’s worst snowstorm. Things could definitely be worse.
Stepping out of the boots, she launched into the swirling darkness.