the branch and shoved it out the hole it had created in the windshield. The effort caused her head to swim. Plopping back against her seat, she closed her eyes for a few seconds. Something wet trickled down her face, and she wiped at it with her gloveless hand.
Blood covered two of her fingers. Then she glanced at her chest and noticed the red that spattered her tan coat. She probed her forehead and found a cut about an inch long. After wiping her hand against the front of her parka, she slowly sat up and searched for her cell phone in her front pocket. When she turned it on, the screen gave off some much-needed light. She needed to get to her bag and retrieve her flashlight. No bars, but then she hadn’t expected any service in the middle of nowhere.
She drew in a deep breath of frigid air to calm her racing pulse. She knew fear and panic inspired frantic actions that zapped a person’s strength fast. Conserving her energy for the necessary tasks was important.
Using the light from her cell phone, she leaned toward Jeremiah, praying he was alive and she just hadn’t been able to find his pulse a couple of minutes ago.
“Please, God, let him be alive. Please,” she whispered.
When she had determined he was gone, she sank back in her seat. Before she could even react, she was swamped by pain that no doubt had been masked by the rush of adrenaline from the emergency landing. The throbbing in her head increased, making it difficult to think. She was alone, somewhere between Daring and Anchorage. Why hadn’t she paid more attention to where Jeremiah was flying? She usually was alert while traveling to a new village, but on the ride home, weariness would sometimes overtake her and occasionally she’d fall asleep.
Light from the snow surrounding them shadowed Jeremiah’s body as it lay slumped over the steering wheel. To conserve the battery, Bree switched off her phone. She could still make out the trees in front of them and a sloop to the left of the grove of evergreens. From somewhere in her mind came a bizarre thought: if only she had an app for heat.
Staying in the plane wasn’t an option with the wind ripping through it and the possibility of the ice cracking beneath it and the aircraft sinking into the frigid water. She had to find shelter. Shelter near the plane, because of the aircraft’s emergency transmitter. To do that, she needed the emergency supplies that were stored in the rear of the cockpit.
After rummaging through her duffel bag as well as Jeremiah’s—luckily they weren’t in the inaccessible cargo bay—she gathered what she could use to keep warm as well as her flashlight. She lit the cabin and zeroed in on the survival kit. She would stuff each bag with what she needed to make it through the long night ahead. She knew the growing darkness and stormy weather would make it unsafe for rescuers to search for her.
Jeremiah had always stocked a couple of extra provisions not required in the new regulations. She spied the shotgun with a box of ammunition and immediately felt better. Her father and Jeremiah had often taken her hiking in the backcountry and had taught her how to shoot. She knew the dangers a bear could pose.
Before leaving the aircraft, she grabbed the first aid box and tended to the cut on her forehead, scrubbing at the blood that had frozen on her skin. She placed a large bandage over the wound and pulled her hat back down over her head to keep any body heat from escaping.
She peered at Jeremiah in the pilot seat and felt emotion finally break through. Tears stung her eyes. She couldn’t believe he was gone. He always transported her to and from the villages and had been there to help her through her father’s and mother’s deaths. Never again. A tightness in her chest spread upward to jam her throat. Tears rolled down her cheek and froze, pulling her up short, reminding her of the harsh environment she faced until she was rescued. She touched Jeremiah’s shoulder, saying a brief prayer and a heartfelt goodbye. The safest thing was to stay near the plane because of the emergency transmitter’s signal.
After tossing the duffel bags to the ground, followed by the survival kit, she put on the snowshoes, not sure how deep the snow was by the lake, and exited the plane. In the light of day—she prayed it would be early tomorrow—the bright red wings would help searchers in the sky find her. At least that was what she prayed for, but she did have a signaling device in the emergency kit if needed.
“Bree, stop thinking ahead. See to now,” she muttered and trudged a few yards from the wreckage. She could see the plane sat mostly on land; only the tail rested on the frozen lake. She forced herself to plan ahead. Doing so always gave her a sense of security.
Make it back to Anchorage—then figure out your future.
Behind some evergreens, the shore of the lake sloped upward with a denser stand of trees at the top of the rise a couple of feet back. She peeked through the foliage and made a decision. To the left in the middle of the incline was where she would dig her snow cave. Using a collapsible shovel from Jeremiah’s survival provisions, she began digging, keeping her mind focused on the task at hand. Ninety minutes later, with breaks to rest, eat a protein bar and drink some water, she finished the crude shelter she’d learned to make in her survival training class.
She stacked the duffel bags to block the entrance after she crawled inside, taking her shovel with her. After she lay down on the sleeping bag, which was spread out over a tarp, she turned on her flashlight and examined her snow cave. She’d curved the walls and poked some holes in them to allow fresh air to enter.
The small confines triggered a childhood memory. She’d been exploring a tight cave when her light had gone out, leaving her in the darkness with little wiggle room. At the memory, she began panting, her fear returning. Usually closed spaces didn’t bother her, but suddenly she struggled with the image of the cave in her mind. She had to do something to keep herself calm. She began singing her favorite Christmas songs.
By the time she finished “I’ll Be Home for Christmas,” she couldn’t shake the question: What if she wasn’t? The cracking of ice mingled with the howling of wolves in the distance.
She pulled up her legs and clasped them. I’m not alone. You’re with me, Lord.
A crashing noise overrode all others. Bree braced herself as though the ground would move beneath her.
* * *
His alarm sounded on his watch, and David Stone punched it off and rose from the black leather couch where he’d been trying to sleep. He looked out the window of the hangar that overlooked the small airport near downtown Anchorage, where the Northern Frontier Search and Rescue Organization was based. The wind and snow that had plagued the area since yesterday had finally lessened. He turned away to check on the weather between here and McGrath. The area two hundred miles away where a Mayday call had been sent from a pilot, Jeremiah Elliot.
After hearing from the weather service that there was a break in the storm, David moved quickly toward his Cessna in the hangar. He’d already stocked it during the night. Two people’s lives were at stake, the pilot and his passenger, Dr. Aubrey Mathison. He knew of her because of her work in the remote villages. He hoped Jeremiah hadn’t crashed and had managed to land somewhere safely. However, all attempts to radio the plane had failed. He hated knowing people were out there in trouble and not being able to rescue them immediately because of severe weather.
David finally took off from the airport and flew northwest. Teams on the ground were headed now in the direction of the emergency signal transmitting from Jeremiah’s plane. By the time he reached the area where the plane had gone down, the sun would have risen and visibility should be good, unless the stalled storm behind the one yesterday began moving again. The window to rescue the doctor and Jeremiah could be a narrow one—only hours.
As the sun
