an experienced pilot.’ His hazel-green eyes, flecked with topaz, held her gaze, but his hand tightened around hers.
The smoothness of the engines suddenly sounded rough. Meg’s heart seemed to stop as dread rushed through her like white water through a gorge. You’re just imagining engine trouble. She forced her mind to think of tranquil rainforests. It will be OK.
Will’s hand tensed on hers.
Across his shoulder she saw ice forming on the window.
Ice!
Surely that was just a build-up of hail? She prayed it was. Ice on the wings wasn’t good. Planes didn’t fly well when ice weighed them down.
Engines didn’t like ice either.
She turned and focused on Tom’s back, feeling impotent. She watched his every action as if that would help them through the storm. Could he keep the carburettor warm, keep the ice at bay? Could he see the horizon? Could he see the ground?
She couldn’t see anything out her window. Nothing but grey fog.
Her heart hammered, sounding loud in her ears. The hail pounded the fuselage. All the noise combined, making her want to put her hands over her ears like a child. Her breath stalled, fear paralysing her lungs.
And then silence.
The hail had stopped. Her breath rushed out in one long swoosh. For the briefest moment she relished the peace.
It’s too quiet, the voice screamed in her head, clawing, pounding against her brain. The usually loud, rhythmic piston engines were silent.
She automatically leaned forward, watching Tom, wanting to do something, willing him to do something.
He throttled the engines back and forth, his shoulders rigid.
Meg prayed for a fuel blockage that would be easily fixed by his action.
The silence lingered like a malignant growth.
‘Bloody hail. No fuel’s getting through the carburettor.’ Tom’s voice trembled. ‘I’m sending out a mayday.’
Fear tore at Meg and she turned to Will. ‘But the hail’s stopped. I don’t understand.’
His handsome face paled but strength lingered. ‘The moisture in the air, combined with the drop in temperature, caused the ice. If the engines can’t get fuel, they can’t restart.’
‘Oh, my God.’ She knew under this fog lay the national park and her beloved gum trees. But they wouldn’t love a plane. They stood firm, strong and too close together to gently receive a plane.
‘Mayday, mayday, mayday. Duchess D.A.V. with three POB, ten miles from Laurelton at five thousand feet, heading north. Both engines failed. Do you have me on radar?’
The radio buzzed static.
‘Right.’ Tom’s voice sounded in control again. ‘Emergency drill. Tighten your seat belts. I’m turning off the fuel tap and I’m going to glide her down.’
‘But you can’t see anything!’ Terror forced the words everyone knew out of her mouth.
‘Meg, love, I don’t have any choice.’ The finality in his voice sealed her fear.
Meg wanted to run. To jump out of the plane. Anything but stay there and do nothing.
‘Put your head down on your knees, Meg.’ Will spoke quietly but his voice was laced firmly with control.
Dazed with shock, she followed his instructions, not wanting to let go of his hand, not wanting to let go of his supportive strength, but knowing she needed her hands to cradle and protect her head.
‘Let’s do it on the count of three.’ Will nodded at their clasped hands, understanding the need they both had to stay connected. Knowing they couldn’t.
She bit her lip. ‘One, two, three.’ She let go of his hand and felt the plane dropping through the sky.
‘Mayday, mayday, mayday. Duchess D.A.V. with three POB, ten miles from Laurelton at two thousand feet heading north. Both engines failed, do you have me on radar?’ The desperation and fear in Tom’s voice rang through the plane.
The shudder ripped through her as the plane hit the canopy of trees.
Glass shattered.
Timber splintered.
The crunching noise of ripping, crumpling metal screamed in her ears as her own screams stayed trapped in her throat. She was going to die.
She didn’t want to die.
The plane dived forward nose first, the weight pulling it inextricably downward to unforgiving solid ground.
An almighty boom sounded in her ears.
Everything went black.
BLACK fuzz swirled in Will’s brain, confusing him as he stiffened against the pain burning through his body. He dragged his eyes open against a trail of warm blood. A tree protruded through the plane directly in front of him. Vegetables and green glass, the shattered remains of champagne bottles, surrounded him.
He forced himself to think through the fog that clogged his mind, to really focus. He couldn’t remember the impact, only the icy fear that had preceded it.
An eerie silence encircled him, broken occasionally by the creaking of the trees.
He turned his head slowly, grateful he could move at all. He flexed his fingers, his arms and his legs. All moved. He breathed in deeply. Knife-sharp pain lanced him.
Ribs. His hand cupped his side. Broken or bruised, he couldn’t tell.
He heard a moan.
Meg.
The confused fog lifted instantly.
Meg. Tom. They had to get out of the plane. It could explode, catch fire. His mind started racing. He had to get them out of the plane.
He fumbled for his seat belt and clumsily released the catch. ‘Meg?’ His hand gripped her shoulder and gave it a gentle shake.
She swivelled around, her gaze resting on him, her face blanched white but scarred red by blood. She opened her mouth. No words came out.
‘Can you move?’ He gently released her seat belt.
‘I…I don’t know…I…’
Hell, she was shocked. He needed her brain to kick back in like his had. ‘We have to get out of the plane, Meg. Now.’ He used her name. Shocked people responded to their name. ‘Meg, can you move your legs?’
She
