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“If you can walk away from a landing, it’s a good landing. If you use the airplane the next day, it’s an outstanding landing.” — Chuck Yeager
Sam
Thud!
The aircraft jolted, snapping me out of a light doze. “What was that?”
Marlon didn’t answer, and seconds later, the left engine coughed, sputtered, and died. The right engine surged with power long enough for my heart to start beating again. It cut off with a flutter. Silence pounded my eardrums.
I met Stone’s wide-eyed look. “This can’t be good.”
“No,” she said. “What happened?”
“Marlon!” I twisted in my seat but couldn’t see our pilot, though I could hear him muttering and flipping switches. “If this is a joke, it’s not funny.”
“Mayday, Mayday, Mayday,” Marlon said in a clear, calm voice. “Albuquerque Control, November Lincoln Three-Two-Six, Cessna Four-Two-One declaring emergency. Engines out. Repeat, both engines have failed. Please advise closest airfield.” He rattled off a series of numbers that I took to be our position and altitude.
A freezing hand clamped around my heart. With an act of concentrated will, I forced my fingers to release the armrests and tugged the seat belt latch. I knew this damn thing wasn’t safe. I should call Marshall and say I told you so before I die.
That dropping elevator sensation lifted my stomach as the aircraft lost altitude. I pushed out of my seat, sparing Stone a quick glance—she looked as pale as I felt—and stuck my head and shoulders into the cockpit. “Talk to me, Marlon.”
“We lost power to both engines, sir.”
“How—”
He held up a hand for silence and cocked his head, listening to his headset, I assumed. “Roger that, Albuquerque. I won’t make that distance. We’re descending through eighteen and sinking fast. I estimate about five, maybe ten minutes, of glide time left. Please advise SAR of our current location... Yes, sir, I’ll look for a soft spot. Thank you, Albuquerque. November-Lincoln Three-Two-Six out.”
Marlon banked the Cessna into a gentle left turn and spoke without looking at me. “Did you catch that, Ranger? Better get strapped in.”
“No. Tell me we have parachutes.”
“Negative.”
“What the hell happened?”
“Don’t know. There was a bang, and both engines quit.”
“Where are we?”
“Gila National Forest.”
“The what?”
“Western New Mexico.” Marlon leveled the plane after making a one-hundred-eighty-degree turn. “Huge national forest preserve. There’s two or three small airstrips near Glenwood, and I’m pointed at one now, but we’ll never make the distance.”
Wind buffeted the Cessna. Other than the rush of air, it was eerily silent. The view from the windows showed a rugged, green wrinkled terrain with jagged rocks frosted with white.
“Is that snow?”
“Some of these peaks are over ten thousand feet.”
“What’s happening?” Stone called from behind me.
“We’re crashing,” I yelled back over my shoulder. The airplane bucked and shuddered in rough air, and my stomach twisted and whirled with the motion. I should have flown commercial. When was the last time I called my mother?
Marlon spoke into the microphone, reporting to air traffic control, then turned to me. “You better get strapped in, sir, and make sure Ms. Stone is too.”
“You belly landed a plane before?”
“Never.”
“Crashed into mountain?”
“No, sir.”
“If you kill us, you’re going to get a very bad review in your personnel file.”
Marlon nodded. He fiddled with the controls, fighting to glide the unpowered craft in a more-or-less straight line. “I’ll keep that in mind, sir. Please strap in.”
I backed out of the cockpit, using the rear-facing seatbacks to keep upright as the Cessna bumped and warbled over more rough air. Mountain scenery blurred past the porthole, the trees looking close enough to touch. Hell, some of them were close enough to touch.
“What’s happening?” Stone asked again.
“Both engines lost power.” I worked at loosening the cushion from the seat across from Stone. “Marlon’s going to glide us in, soft as a bunny’s ass. He’s done this a thousand times before.”
She snorted and hunched over, her cuffs clinking when she moved. “You’re full of shit, and you know it.”
“Here. Put this over your face.” I handed her the tan leather cushion. “Hopefully, it’ll take some of the impact. Hold out your hands.”
I keyed open the handcuffs, kneeling in front of her to avoid falling over. The Cessna rocked, cavorting and veering all over the sky. Mountain updrafts? Thermals? Buffalo farts? Something was toying with us, making Marlon growl and mutter curses from up front.
Stone rubbed her wrists and looked at me with a puzzled frown.
“You deserve a chance,” I told her.
She nodded and held the cushion up to her chest while I found my own seat and inserted the metal tab into the buckle. Years of commercial flying had prepared me to properly use my seat belt in the event of a crash.
“There’s a small meadow up ahead,” Marlon yelled. “The slope’s in the wrong direction, but I’m going to try for it!”
All I could manage was a dry-croaked, “Okay.”
I gripped the armrests and closed my eyes, trying to swallow past the constriction in my throat. I needed to whizz like crazy.
“Please, God,” I said to myself, “don’t kill us today. I’d rather not go out like this, if it’s all the same to you, but if that’s your will, at least don’t let me pee myself.”
“Hold on,” Marlon shouted. “Hold on, hold on, hold—”
Wham!
~~~
Jade
THE SEAT BELT SLAMMED Jade’s stomach hard enough to knock the wind out of her. Something hit the cushion she held in front of her face, and a moment later, she realized it was her knees. The plane bounced in the air, and everything became weightless for a brief moment before—wham!—it hit the ground with a bone-crushing impact that slapped the cushion back into her face. Jade opened her mouth to scream but couldn’t draw breath. Horrific sounds assaulted her. Cracks. Snaps. Rumbles. Squeals.
She lost the cushion on the next bounce. Images came in flashes through her watering eyes. Blinks of reality, like a broken film reel. The Ranger—Cable—bucking in his seat, hat flying from his head. Glass shards, diamond-bright, spraying the air. A coffee mug arced past her face.
The smell of hot engine and hotter plastic filled her nose. Then, even worse, the bitter, astringent odor of raw fuel seared her sinuses. Something banged, something else squealed, and the plane slewed sideways. Wham! Her world rolled over, as if she were traveling through a spinning barrel at a carnival funhouse. Jade blanked out, her brain refusing to process the signals from her senses.
Whump! With one last hard crunch, the plane smashed to a stop. Her whirling mind refused to accept it, though.
Jade felt like an old sock left behind after the dryer stopped. Things ticked and creaked, and wind fluttered through a gaping hole to her left where a door had been. Her ears rang from the sudden cessation of sound.
The plane lay on its belly, tilted nose down and to the left. The view outside showed gravelly soil mixed with tufted bunches of grass and a scattering of wildflowers. The smell of cedar blew in with the temperate breeze that stirred the dust eddying through the cabin. Along with it came the oily odor of kerosene, strong and biting.
“Oh my God,” Jade breathed. I’m alive.
The Ranger groaned and lifted his head. His dazed, unfocused look wandered through the cabin until his blue eyes found her watching him. Blood stained the temple over his right eye and ran down his cheek. He blinked. “What happened?” he rasped.
“We crashed.” Jade fumbled with the seat belt, her fingers shaking worse than an alcoholic’s. The band around her middle where the seat belt had snagged hurt like fire. Dizziness found nausea and woke it up. She suddenly wanted to throw up. “We have to get out of here. I smell gas.”
“Gas?”
“Yes, gas! Like in fire.” Her belt came loose, and Jade executed a graceless tumble from her seat. Her legs trembled and didn’t want to work. She stumble-crawled to the Ranger and reached for his buckle, but he waved her hands away.
“I got this.” His voice sounded stronger, more clear. His daze appeared to be lifting. “Lift the metal flap...” he muttered.
A trace of smoke drifted through the air, sending Jade’s heart into overdrive. The doorway from the cabin to the cockpit was compressed into a triangle, and Jade had to contort her body and crawl through it to check on the pilot.
The flight deck was a mess. Smoke seeped from the control panel, and a heavy odor of burned plastic hung in the air. No glass remained in the windows, and the nose of the plane had pancaked into a crumpled heap.
The pilot hung from his safety harness, his headphones askew, and the left side of his body buried in a tangle of wreckage. Blood covered his upper lip and splattered the front of his uniform. When Jade reached two fingers to check for a pulse, his head moved, and he moaned.
“He’s still alive,” she shouted over her shoulder. “We have to get him out of here. Something’s burning!”
“Move,” Cable ordered.
Jade slithered out of the way and crouched next to the Ranger. His eyes were clearer, and he surveyed the narrow opening with a frown. “Get out of the plane.”
“But—”
“Get going,” he barked. Then he caught her eyes and said in a softer voice, “Look, you’ll only be in the way here. Get yourself to safety.”
Jade nodded and squeezed past him, staggering along the canted aisle to the new doorway to the open sky. She glanced over her shoulder. The Ranger had his back braced against the seat behind him and planted his boots on the co-pilot’s chair and doorframe. He grunted and heaved. Metal squealed and shifted a half-inch, maybe less. Cable gasped and relaxed. He glanced at her.
“Get moving.” Without waiting, he shouted a wordless cry and stamped both feet against the reluctant frame. A crackle of plastic and metal shuddered through the fuselage, and the opening spread another inch, maybe two.
Smoke fogged from the cockpit more heavily, crawling across the ceiling of the aircraft and trickling through the gaping hole where Jade waited. “Cable! The plane’s going up any second!”
He didn’t spare her a glance this time, just barked. “Move it, sister. Don’t make me come over there and throw you out.”
“But—”
“Marlon’s coming to Thanksgiving at my house, and that’s final. Now move!” He heaved and strained against the bent frame. His body shivered as he held the pressure. With a groan, metal shifted and popped. Another inch gained.
He’ll never make it.
A percussive beat had been teasing her ears for the past few seconds, but the identification of the sound had eluded her, until it popped into her head. “A helicopter!”
Search and Rescue must have noted their crash and sent a rescue chopper. Maybe the forest service or even the local sheriff’s office had homed in on their crash site from some nearby helipad.
Jade ducked through the opening into the field. The Cessna had come to rest with its tail at the edge of a pine forest, its nose facing downslope, in a meadow surrounded by mountain peaks and long ridges. Skid marks and bits of debris lined up behind them, showing where they’d plowed from the lowest end of the field to the highest.
The sun settled over a peak to the west, dazzling her eyes and making them water. She blinked and shaded her face with a forearm, searching for the source of the thumping rotors. Relief and excitement vied for attention. Would they arrive in time to help Cable pull the pilot from the wreckage?
It was almost on her before she spotted it. A sleek black helicopter traversed the meadow at treetop height from her right to left. It had no markings beyond an identification number. No, wait. There was a small seal on one door she couldn’t make out.
Jade waved her arms, and the chopper banked at the far end of the field and came back. She shielded her face from the dust storm it kicked up as it slowed to a hover fifty feet away. Through blinking, watery eyes Jade could make out two men in the front seats.
Why aren’t they landing? She squinted and peered through the blowing dust at the men in the helicopter. It edged closer, and she waved it in. “Come on! What are you waiting for?”
The chopper tilted, and sunlight bathed the interior of the aircraft. The side door gaped open, and the man in the passenger compartment studied her with an intense frown. He had a thin nose and black gelled-up hair. He carried some kind of rifle propped between his knees.
Jade’s arms fell to her sides, and a sense of sick hopelessness washed through her. It was the man from the border, the one who had followed her to the motel in Arizona. Mr. Hawaiian Shirt.
But... how?
It didn’t matter how. Bartlett’s men had followed them, either electronically or by sight... and had probably brought the plane down, come to think of it.
Jade slumped to a seat on the ground. I survive a plane crash, only to be killed by Bartlett’s goons. I should win an award for unluckiest person alive.