Two snowmobilers had returned to the small tourist town of Crescent Springs, Colorado, earlier this afternoon claiming they’d seen the prop plane go down but they hadn’t been sure where it had crashed.
She’d brought Samson as far as she could before releasing him to find any human scent. Samson had been trained to find humans, whether air scenting for anyone in the wilderness or tracking a specific person. He was smart and used his skills to find whoever he was searching for. The other SAR volunteers searched downwind from Samson. It was important to spread as wide a net as possible. The victims could have escaped and gotten lost in the mountains, or they could be trapped in the plane. Or worse.
She couldn’t think about worse.
Lord, please let us find and save them, whoever they are.
Before the weather turned too harsh or night took over. Sure, Samson could work through the night, but not in this weather. The terrain and elements during the winter months here in the Rockies were currently too harsh for searching at night. Sierra worked as a part-time deputy and K-9 mountain rescue handler for the county. She knew that Sheriff Locke would protect the volunteers, and if it became too dangerous to search, he would call it off.
Samson’s massive two-hundred-pound form plowed up the hill through the deepening snow, giving credence to his aptly picked name. Snow could tire out some breeds of search dogs and limit their time searching, but mastiffs were the stronger working-breed dogs, and Samson hadn’t tired yet.
An old friend—Bryce Elliott—had given Samson to her when he was a puppy, and had even named him. After the attack when she’d been a detective in Boulder, she’d wanted a big dog, and Bryce had surprised her with the English mastiff. A pang of regret that she’d left her friend behind when she’d moved from Boulder stabbed her at the worst possible moment. She missed Bryce. But she needed to focus on this search.
The sheriff radioed he was calling the search, bringing her back to the present.
At the same moment, Samson alerted her.
“Wait, no. Sheriff,” she said into her radio. “Samson…he’s found something. Let me check it out.”
“All right. I’m on my way to you.”
Her leg muscles burned as she tried to keep up with the big dog scaling the incline until they topped it, then to a terraced ridge and a well-over-a-hundred-foot drop.
Sierra stood tall and caught her breath. Her heart lurched.
A red Cessna rested on the ledge—halfway on, halfway off. The banged-up plane looked partially crumpled on one side. She could make out a figure inside the cockpit, and another one outside, beside the plane. Both were utterly still.
Sierra radioed the sheriff. “I found it. I found the plane. I see two—” Bodies, but she didn’t want to say the word. “We need to check and see if they’re alive.”
“Good work, Sierra,” he said. “Wait there while I let everyone know to head your way. And…be careful.”
“Always,” she responded.
If the two people she spotted were still alive, it would be a difficult rescue at best, getting them down this mountain. The most difficult part would be saving the person inside that plane that teetered on the ledge. In the snow and cold, even if they had survived, hypothermia most likely would kill them if the SAR team didn’t get here quickly and get them medical attention.
She signaled for Samson to remain then she hiked closer to the wreckage in the deepening snow. A man rested face down in the snow and would soon be completely buried. Sierra removed her glove and brushed the snow away then pressed a finger against his neck. His body was cold and he had no pulse. Sorrow bled through her.
She released a heavy sigh. SAR missions with Samson always started with the hope of rescue. Of finding a lost hiker or helping someone who’d fallen by bringing them to safety. Always the hope that she would find survivors and the day would end well. But more times than she’d like to admit, the searches ended in tragedy when they found victims of an adventure gone wrong.
The wind whipped around the mountain blasting the snow at an angle and causing a near whiteout. Not good.
She eyed the small plane and from here couldn’t see the other person. Should she get closer and see if she could help?
She hoped the rest of the search team arrived soon. An eerie metallic sound resounded from the plane. Its position was precarious at best. Could the howling wind push it over? She spared a moment to wonder what these people had been thinking, taking the plane out on a day like today. The plane probably shouldn’t have been flying in this weather, and she guessed that the weather had everything to do with the crash. But she wasn’t here to question them; she was here to save them…if she could.
She crunched through the snow to get closer to the plane and look inside the cab.
The pilot remained inside, his body hunched over. It was possible that his position meant he’d remained warm enough, if he was still alive.
“Can you hear me? Are you all right?” She crept even closer to the plane.
The sheriff had said he and the others were coming. What was taking them so long?
The pilot shifted. Her heart jumped. She radioed. “Hurry, sheriff. The pilot is still alive. He’s going to need medical attention…”
Metal scraped.
The plane shifted. Fear skated across her nerves. “The plane is in a precarious position. It could fall from the ledge at any moment. I’m not sure what to do!”
The radioed squawked but a burst of static meant she couldn’t understand the sheriff. Panic built up in her chest. Sierra eyed the plane and the junk scattered around the crash site. She searched for anything she could use as a rope. Samson whined, sensing her growing anxiety.
“It’s going to be all right, Samson. You found the crash site. We’re going to save the man who’s still alive.” What was she saying? She had no idea if she could actually save him, but she could hope. And she could try.
God, please help me!
Was there anything worse than finding someone and then being completely helpless to save them?
The man groaned inside the plane. She had to reassure him so he would hang on to the will to live.
“Hold on! Help is coming.”
She peered at the wreckage. It would be too dangerous to try to get in and get him out with the plane shifting on the ledge. She had to find a rope.
The snow was quickly covering the scattered wreckage—duffel bag, sheets of metal, clothing articles. Then she spotted what she needed—a wire rope used in aviation.
She eyed the airplane then the top of the slope. Something must have held the SAR team up. She couldn’t risk waiting if they weren’t going to make it in time. She found a boulder on which to secure the rope and tied the other end around her waist. Then she edged slowly to the plane.
Sierra ducked under the broken wing. Nothing about this was safe. The plane was completely
