Texas fury (63 page)

"I am, sir," replied a quivering voice. "I'm the senior stewardess on board. We're all hurt. Most... most of the passengers are ... are dead. We... what we did... was ... we put them together and took their coats... and... and their clothes. Several of us can move around. The rest need medical attention right away."

"We're going to try to get you out of here," Cole said with more confidence than he felt. "Now, try to get everyone to a seat and buckle their seat belts. I'm going to try to move this plane. I'm going to be honest and tell you now that I don't know if it will work, but it's our only chance. If this doesn't work, we'll get you out through the hole we climbed through." Cole eyed the enormous tree that cut across the main section of the cabin. You couldn't crawl above it and you couldn't crawl under it. If he could get the plane to move backward, free of the trees, they could torch the back end the way they'd torched the front. He wished he could see better. "I'm going to the front now. Hang on and pray. Which one of

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you is Chesney Brighton?" He held his breath, willing there to be an answer he could report back to Rand.

"I'm Chesney Brighton," the senior stewardess shouted.

"Jesus." He'd come a long way to hear that. "Buckle up."

Riley was in the copilot's seat, the bodies of his predecessors lying next to each other in the cramped space behind the cockpit seats.

"Chesney's alive. I talked to her," Cole said, sliding into the pilot's seat.

"Great! That's what we came to hear. What say we get this show on the road."

Cole nodded as he studied the panel in front of him. He'd never flown an L1011. He could feel Riley's eyes on him. "This is a Coleman plane, Riley," Cole said in a hushed voice.

Riley's voice was low, almost a whisper. "Yeah, I know. My father went down in a Coleman plane over Vietnam. Let's hope you guys at Coleman Aviation are making them better these days."

"You check this bird out?" Cole asked nervously.

"Yeah. No more talk. Do it!"

"Easy for you to say." Cole's teeth were clenched so hard, he thought his jaw would crack. "If that monster on our left comes crashing down, we're dead meat; you know that, right?"

"You do that, you shithead, and I'll never know if Ivy Buckalew is the one for me."

Cole winced. "Never let it be said I stood in the way of true love. Give me a go." Riley's eyes flew over the indicator lights. Cole's knuckles glowed whitely on the throttle. The behemoth strained, the jet engines thundered. All about them timber cracked, louder than the sound of the jets.

"Again," Riley shouted. "You're sure about Ivy Buckalew?"

"You son of a bitch!" Cole cursed, his face wet with sweat. "What happened to the fucking tree?"

"It's hanging right over our heads. Come on, move this bastard. You built it, you know what it can do. Do it!"

"I hope Ivy Buckalew tells you to take a hike, you asshole."

"Not a chance. I just pissed my pants."

"One more time, baby. Coleman Aircraft, don't fail us now."

Riley's face turned as white as Cole's knuckles on the

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throttle. His face was as wet as Cole's, his dark hair plastered to his head.

The sound was like a tidal wave crashing and thundering as the plane groaned and moved backward, slowly at first, then picking up speed. Thunder rolled in their ears as tree after tree crashed downward. They felt the rush of cold air when the bottom and the back end of the plane ripped free. The tree straddling the middle of the plane dropped to the ground.

"You did it! You son of a bitch, you did it!" Riley almost exploded in his excitement. He snapped his fingers under Cole's eyes. "Hey, wake up. You're a fucking hero!"

"Just tell Ivy Buckalew I did it for her!" Cole gasped.

Riley stared at his cousin. This still wasn't the time. "Come on, let's do what we came here to do."

They made their way to the middle of the plane, which was sheared in two. Now all they had to do was crawl over the tree, fight their way to the back, and wait for the men with the torches. Rand would have his daughter in his arms in a matter of hours.

On the second day after Christmas, in the early evening darkness, Riley Coleman carried Chesney Brighton, the last to leave the plane, to her father. "There's a man waiting out there for you. He's come a long way to get you. Welcome to the family, Chesney; we're cousins by marriage. The guy who backed this plane out is your other cousin—he's Maggie Nelson's son. Probably a brother or something to you now. In case you haven't figured all of this out, we take care of our own. We're family."

No matter what the disaster, no matter what the outcome, there were always hordes of volunteers and a reporter. This one was from the London Times. Riley blinked in the bright lights. Now they get here. Now, when all the work was done. Christ, he was tired.

He tried not to look at the body bags. His eyes searched for Rand, who was approaching at a dead run over the snow, slipping and sliding. He reached for his daughter, tears streaming down his cheeks.

"Careful, Rand, her shoulder is broken. A couple of ribs, too, I think."

His arms outstretched, Rand gathered his daughter close. He thought he was dreaming when he heard Chesney whisper, "Daddy."

* * *

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Three days before the beginning of the New Year, the Coleman family gathered around the television set for the late-night news. The earlier forecast had promised extensive aerial as well as ground footage of the heroic rescue mission of Flight 214.

The aerial footage was shown first. The Colemans sat transfixed.

"I've never seen such monstrous trees," Billie bleated. "However will they get them off the plane? They almost look as if they'd been planted around it."

"Maybe for protection," Maggie said crazily. "Believe it or not, they could be offering warmth of some kind to the passengers." They all nodded. It was easy to accept Maggie's words since they had none of their own.

Dan Rather's professional voice cut through again. "We were told earlier that three Texans, members of the Coleman family, are on the scene. As yet, we don't know why they're there. We'll have more coverage on that development later in the program. As you can see on this particular film clip, the trees are covering the plane; the tree in the middle appears to have sheared the plane in half. The awkward angle of the aircraft, our experts tell us, points to that as the only possibility. Bear with me a moment; this note was just handed to me. The L1011 is a Coleman plane, so perhaps that explains why Colemans are at the scene of the crash site."

"Good God!" Sawyer exclaimed.

They watched the news, the sports, and then the weather. It was about twenty minutes past the hour when Rather's jubilant voice filled the quiet room. "We now have the film clip of the heroic rescue." They watched, hardly daring to breathe, as fur-clad men carried stretchers away from the wreckage. Tears streamed from Billie's eyes at the lost, frightened look on the passengers' faces. It seemed to take forever, but in actuality, it was only minutes.

"There's only nineteen. I only counted nineteen." Sawyer wept with despair. "And I don't see Chesney."

"There's Cole, but I don't see Rand or Riley," Maggie cried.

"There they are! See, that's Riley, and he's. .. he's carrying someone! See, there's Rand!" Amelia shouted in her frail voice.

"He's crying. Rand is crying," Maggie wailed. "I never saw Rand cry."

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Billie's arms comforted her daughter as they continued to watch the screen. They watched as Riley transferred his burden into. Rand's open arms.

"Is that Chesney? My God, she's dead!" Maggie screamed. "They found her and she's dead!"

"Maggie, look!" Thad cried. The still form in Rand's arms stirred, one arm swinging crazily. They could see the girl struggle to speak. The one word was unmistakable. Daddy.

Maggie fainted.

Adam ran to the kitchen for a wet cloth. Minutes later, Maggie moaned. "Are you all right, darling?" Billie crooned.

"I never fainted in my life." Maggie struggled to get up. "It was real, wasn't it? She's alive and safe with Rand."

"Yes, darling, she's safe. Sit up and we'll get you a cup of tea. According to my wife, that makes everything right side up," Thad said.

"I'll make it," Jeff volunteered.

"Make me one, too, and how about some of those Christmas cookies?" Adam called to the boy's retreating back.

"We have God to thank for this. Always, in our darkest hours, He comes through for us," Billie said quietly. "Always."

Geneva Airport was back to normal. All that remained of the vicious storm was mountains of snow and cold weather. Weary travelers were on their way, thanks to the efficient ground crews, who worked night and day to clear runways so planes could land and takeoff safely. Tired cargo personnel and baggage handlers ticketed tons of baggage and sent it on its way, some late, some on time. The concourse was clear now, and fresh-faced, alert-eyed reservations clerks were going about their business, to the delight of everyone. The nightmare was over.

Steven Neibauer sat in the airport VIP lounge, staring into space. They'd all been kind to him when they told him about his mother and what she'd done on board Flight 214. He hadn't been home, and he wasn't going home now. He was going back to Akron, Ohio, with his mother's body.

He'd called his sister a few hours earlier to tell her about the plane crash. He'd called again to tell her the bad news. He hadn't tried to soften the blow; he'd blurted out the news coldly. He'd never be sure if what he heard in his sister's voice was relief or... grief. He thought he told her to go to hell, but he wasn't sure of that either. All he could do now was take his mother's

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body, and his own guilt, and return to his roots. And try to come to terms with it all. Too much, too little, too late. All that he was, all that he would ever be, he owed to his mother, and he'd never taken the time to tell her. "Mom, I am so sorry," he cried.

Jeff Sanders, unshaven and wild-eyed, stared across at the crying man. He knew who he was; the police had told him. Steven Neibauer. They'd come for him Christmas evening and literally dragged him here, and he'd come, hangover and all, not comprehending what the officers were telling him at first. Then, when realization set in, he'd cried. He'd spoken to his child's mother, who told him in no uncertain terms to "handle it, Jeff; you're Molly's father, and I'm getting married in a few days."

Jesus, he could hardly remember what the kid looked like. The last time he'd seen a picture of her, she was two years old and naked in a bathtub.

He stared at the man sitting across from him; he was still crying. His old mother was the one who saved Molly. He should say something, he supposed, but what?

They talked then, those two men, about everything under the sun.

When the airport manager walked through the double doors with Molly, Jeff Sanders ran to her. She drew back. He reached out a tentative hand to nuzzle the dog's ears. Gus whimpered in delight. Molly smiled and let her father pick her up. He was stunned to see how pretty she was, how warm she felt, how good. "I might not look like much right now, and I might not be worth a whole hell of a lot, but I'm going to give you my best shot. See that guy over there? He said I can call him anytime if I need help."

"Is his name Stevie?" Molly asked. Her father nodded. She wiggled out of his arms and ran to Steven Neibauer. She put her chubby fist into the pocket of her red coat and withdrew the rabbit's foot. She held it out shyly. "Can I keep this?" Molly asked, pointing to the colored macaroni necklace. Steven nodded, unable to speak. Molly put the rabbit's foot into his outstretched hand.

The airport manager spoke. "Mr. Neibauer, if you'll come with me..."

Outside in the frigid air, thirty-two young men waited for the courtesy van that would take them to Saint Clare's Hospital. They were going to offer their support to a fellow athlete, the best of them all.

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"We have the best sports doctors in the world," an American skier said.

"Bah, in Russia we have the best. You Americans, you are too soft.... We know about bones."

"Bullshit," a German youth muttered. "We have the best!"

"You are wrong, gentlemen; France is known for its orthopedic surgeons."

"What the hell," the American groaned. "Between us we'll make sure Mitch has the best. Pile in gang; he's waiting."

They arrived at Sunbridge at ten o'clock on New Year's Eve. Maggie stood rooted to the floor when Sumi ran to Cole, Sawyer to Riley, and Billie to the young woman's side.

"Welcome to Sunbridge, Chesney. I'm Rand's mother-in-law, Billie Kingsley," Billie said warmly.

"She has a broken shoulder and assorted cuts and bruises. We've got her all taped up. Tomorrow she sees our doctor. Right now I think she should be put to bed," Rand said quietly, his eyes glued to his daughter.

"I think you're right," Billie said. She led Chesney up the stairs.

Rand's eyes searched out his wife. He grinned. Maggie grinned back.

"I think I have a daughter, and not just in name only," Rand said happily.

"I think you do, too, Rand. We all prayed," Maggie said, going into her husband's arms.

"Maggie, remember when Sawyer had her operation and you said you could hear the choir? I heard it, too. Not on the ground when we were searching. When we were airborne, right before we landed. I know I heard it. Cole said it was some kind of interference. He won't admit it, but he heard it, too. You should have seen the look on his face. Riley didn't hear anything, or so he says."

"Wasn't it the most beautiful sound you ever heard?"

An hour later the smile was still on Rand's face as he drifted into a sound sleep.

Maggie covered her sleeping husband tenderly. Before she went downstairs, she stopped in her old nursery. How appropriate that Rand's daughter should rest here. She looked down at the sleeping girl, tears filling her eyes. "We have so much to give. All we ask is that you meet us halfway," she whispered. She bent over to brush her lips against the girl's cool