Authors: Randal Lanser
Like fingers reaching up from below, the treetops began pulling the plane down. At first, the plane seemed to be winning the battle. The wispy tops of the pines were no match for the aluminum of the plane’s landing gear. But their sacrifice was not in vain. Each severed tip slowed the plane, pulling it down into the dense pine forest, deeper toward the larger wooden trunks that proved to be equal to the sturdy fuselage.
The three occupants were tossed violently forward against their seat belts as the trees ripped off the landing gear, slowing the plane and forcing it deep into the heavy timber. The plane’s wings and the tree’s trunks tore into each other like fighting dogs. The three occupants could only scream in horror as the forest consumed the nose of the plane, eating into the fuselage. The plane was still traveling at eighty miles per hour when half of the prop hit a tree and sheared off. Lucky’s eyes fixed on it as it spun in front of the plane like a great sword. It penetrated the cockpit windshield, rotated through his neck and shot out the left side window, tossing Lucky’s head into the backseat. Wind tore through the broken windshield and sprayed the blood like wind tunnel smoke.
The plane burst out of the forest twelve feet above the ground. Tino might have survived the crash had it not been for the giant old tree. The plane met the old tree with a deafening crash, supplanting it from the spot it held for so long. The angle of the collision slid the plane slightly to the left as the tree snapped instantly, destroying the right side of the cockpit and crushing Tino.
The speed of the crash gave the girl seconds to raise and cross her arms in front of her face, instinctively protecting herself. The old tree toppled to the ground as the plane’s gutted remnants slammed into a massive outcropping, ejecting the mangled mass of flesh and seat that was once Tino through the windshield. His death was mercifully instantaneous, unlike Lucky’s, whose head remained conscious for a few seconds after it was violently thrown forward against the back of the front seat. Limbs and stubs of metal rained to the ground from the mangled path the plane had plowed through the forest, followed by the silence of falling snow.
Jim Mitchell loved Alaska this time of year. He and his snowmobile were the only traces of mankind for fifty miles in any direction. It really wasn’t that he liked winter as much as he disliked the annual invasion of his private world from spring until fall, when tourists beseeched him for fishing trips or sight-seeing excursions by horseback. But he had to make a living, and he made a damned good one. To live one week the way he did cost the average guest $4000. It was money they earned at a real job in a city somewhere, stationed behind a desk. His guests didn’t know which they hated more; their work or the wife or kids. Jim knew some of the really rich ones enjoyed their lives down in the lower forty-eight, but either way they always said they wished they could stay forever, usually during the flight back to Bear Breath in Jim’s Cessna Caravan.
Jim glanced at the clouds. The storm was coming on faster than it seemed a half-hour ago. It wasn’t the first snow of the year, but it was going to be the first big blizzard. An hour ago he thought he’d get out and go for a little ride before the snow and cold kept him in for several days. He wondered what the hell that single-engine puddle jumper was doing out here with this storm coming. They had to have been crazy to be flying that close to the trees. If this were Florida, I’d have pegged him as a drug runner trying to fly under the radar. If Jim was going to get to the crash site and back home before the storm, he’d have to push the snowmobile well past what would normally be safe. He opened up the throttle and focused on the plume of smoke rising just over the next hill. He didn’t know what he was going to do when he got there anyway. Probably freeze to death with the survivors, if there were any. Either that or leave them there to freeze on their own. He had no survival gear with him and his snowmobile might carry two others at best.
He struggled to control the snowmobile as he sped toward the crash. At the crest of the hill, Jim could see the carcass of the plane through the path of trees mowed down during the crash. The devastation of the forest between where he was and the plane was impossible to navigate with the snowmobile. The plane had come to rest in a small clearing just past the forest. He dodged the downed trees and accelerated down the slight incline to the crash.
No fire
, he thought.
At least there won’t be a forest fire
. The plume of smoke rising from the engine compartment seemed to be diminishing.
Jim switched off the snowmobile and sat in silence, twenty yards away from the twisted remains of the fuselage. Snow was beginning to fall and dusk was fast approaching. Snow blindness would be a real problem before he got home tonight. He got off the snowmobile, doubting there could be any survivors. From ten yards away, he could see the pilot’s headless torso. This was not going to be pleasant. The silence was eerie, and the gruesomeness of the scene built Jim’s mounting tension as he slowly approached the plane.
Jim gasped as he caught site of most of what must have been the occupant of the copilot’s seat piled on a red patch of snow just ahead of the plane. He froze as he absorbed the gory scene.
Well, no one in the two front seats survived. Just one more thing to do before getting the hell out of here and radioing Bill
. Jim took a deep breath and continued to approach the wreckage. The headless pilot covered in blood and strapped into the seat was more than he wanted to see. He walked around the plane to look in from the copilot’s side. At least Jim could avoid looking at him in his little pile in front of the plane. Amazingly, the back seat and back of the cockpit were in relatively good shape. He peered into the opening where the door had been. He could see the backseat directly behind the pilot. All Jim could see was the blood-soaked hair on the back of the pilot’s head lying in a pool of blood on the left half of the back seat. He was grateful he couldn’t see the face.
He leaned a few inches further and the silence was shattered by a woman’s scream.
“Jesus Christ,” Jim yelled as he jumped back from the plane. He jumped completely into the wreckage, reacting instinctively to the hysterical screaming.
Jim squatted on the twisted metal that once was the right front of the cockpit facing the back of the plane. A young lady sat in the backseat, hysterically sobbing and screaming. She looked down, frantically trying to release the seatbelt but too traumatized and hysterical to manage. She clawed and flailed at the belt connection.
“It’s okay, miss,” Jim said. “I’ll help you. Everything’s going to be okay.” He spoke calmly and carefully moved his hands between hers and the seatbelt clasp.
”Get me out of here,” she screamed between sobs and erratic gasps for air.
Jim was grateful when her screaming stopped. The belt clasp released and he picked her up in a bear hug, carrying her out of the plane. She instinctively wrapped her arms around his neck and leg around his waist holding on tight as he jogged away from the plane toward the toppled trees.
He gently set the girl down on a boulder next to the old tree. She wore hunting boots, blue jeans, and a dark green ski parka that flattered her tangled blond hair. Her head hung forward and her hands were up under her mop of hair, covering her face. Jim could tell she was trying to gain some semblance of composure, but this would not happen for days. He wondered if she was related to the deceased, and if she knew of their fates. The snow began to fall harder and the wind was picking up. The temperature would start dropping soon, and he had about thirty minutes of daylight left. He would have to restrict his speed with the girl on the back of his snowmobile, which meant he was probably a good hour from the lodge. He noticed she stopped sobbing, although she still had her face buried in her hands under her hair, hiding from the gruesome scene. She shivered violently and was overtaken by shock. Her clothing was stylish for the backwoods but would not protect her from the elements. She was still in trouble, and Jim knew he could easily get himself in trouble trying to save her. Death was not uncommon in this part of the world, during storms like this. This was true even for experienced backwoodsmen like himself.
“Ah, excuse me, miss.” Jim wished he could let her just sit there for a while but seconds could make the difference for both of them. “We have to get out of here
now
. There’s a storm coming and–”
She nodded slowly, indicating that she understood. She looked up at Jim, sweeping away the mop of hair that hid her face. Jim stood paralyzed by what he saw. Moments passed that seemed like minutes. He wanted to speak but nothing worked but his eyes. Despite her constant shivering, tangled mop of hair, and rivers of mascara streaming down her face, it was clear that she was gorgeous. His entire nervous system was shut down except his eyes, which were locked with hers.
Are they blue or green? Maybe both.
The forest, storm, and plane all evaporated. Everything was gone, except those eyes drawing him in. Pam blinked but never looked away.
“Any luggage, blankets, stuff like that in the plane?” Jim asked.
“Luggage, yes.” she said.
Jim trotted off to the plane. He wanted to turn around and stare but was able to control his boyish urges. He compared his reaction to the first time he saw a Playboy centerfold. He was still in her trance when the sight of the pilot sobered him. He felt guilty. After all, this could have been her husband and father staying behind, waiting for the wolves.
The luggage compartment was just behind the cockpit. Jim opened the door and threw out several expensive pieces. Jim’s business taught him to get to know luggage, even though he mostly made the college kids he hired tote the bags. The first suitcase contained men’s clothing that would be large enough to fit over the girl’s. He selected a red parka, heavy wool slacks, leather mittens, a pair of heavy wool socks, and a wool pullover facemask. He thought finding the facemask extremely fortunate, and was even more please to find another in a second suitcase. He grabbed some gloves and ran back to the snowmobile before returning to the girl. She had stopped crying but still shivered as she stared absently at the plane, her face drained of emotion. An hour trip through a blizzard on a snowmobile was not exactly the best way to treat shock, but there was no choice. She’d die for sure out here. Jim shut off the snowmobile and slowly walked over to her with the clothing he had bundled up in the coat.
“What’s your name?” Jim asked softly, hoping to get her attention without startling her.
Years of training instinctively made Pam think of an alias. “P…Pa…Paula”, she managed to say. She spoke so softly Jim could hardly hear her. But the question seemed to snap her attention. She slowly turned her head and looked up at him.
“I got some clothes for you to put on over what you’re wearing. It’s going to get really cold, especially riding on that snowmobile. Can you stand up?”
She placed her left hand in Jim’s outreached palm. He pulled her to her feet, noting her engagement ring. She stood there in front of Jim shivering. Her eyes darted back to the plane. Jim unzipped her parka and opened it. He quickly scanned from the plaid flannel shirt covering her chest to the tight jeans confirming his first impression. She was something special from head to toe. He took her left hand and placed it on his shoulder and told her, “Lift up your right leg. I’ll slip these pants on you.”
Pam turned to look at Jim. He was bent over and holding a pair of men’s trousers open in front of her. She lifted her leg and slipped it into the trousers. Pam grabbed Jim’s other shoulder to help steady herself while Jim wiggled the pants leg back and forth over her boot.
“Your other leg.” She let him pull the trousers up her left leg. Jim firmly gripped the back of the pants and pulled them up as far as he could, nearly lifting Pam off the ground and pulling her chest hard up against his. Pam’s arms slid straight up his shoulders and she naturally wrapped them around his neck to remain upright. They were cheek to cheek. Jim thought her chest, pressed up against his, felt exquisitely firm. Her hands returned to his shoulders when he set her back down. Jim buttoned and zipped the pants, as his hands worked inches below her breasts.
“Hold these up while I zip your coat.” Pam took her hands off Jim’s shoulders and used both to hold the pants up tightly. Jim zipped the coat up a few inches and tightened the drawstring at the bottom to provide a good seal to hold up the pants.
Pam was looking down at her hands holding up the pants. Jim softly closed his hands around hers and pulled them away, carefully placing them at her side. Pam looked up into his eyes. “Thank you for helping me,” she said. Her eyes and the words pierced directly into Jim’s brain, and guilt once again swept over him.
Jim worked quickly now, zipping the coat to her collar and picking up the gloves and slipping them on. Paula gained her composure faster than Jim expected. She was now tracking every move he made with her eyes, trying to make eye contact at every opportunity. Jim felt he was now the one getting undressed by
her
eyes. Except this was different.
Stare at my butt, that I could understand. I’d even like it.
He tried to concentrate on getting the red parka zipped up without snagging anything. But this was right into his head, like when they first made eye contact after the crash. Her words echoed in his mind as he slipped her facemask over her head.
Thank you for helping me
.