immediately. Six inches of snow had fallen three days ago and seemed in no hurry to melt, though the ground hadn’t hardened yet. The next snowfall expected for that evening would be the clincher, with the predicted two feet of snow.
If she hadn’t set up a tent around the dig site months ago, she never would have come. As it was, school was out and she’d come with her tiny trailer in tow, with the excuse that she needed to pull down the tent and stow it for the winter. If not for the steep roof, the tent would easily collapse under the twenty-four inches of white powder. Not to mention the relentless winds across the prairie would destroy the tent if it was left standing throughout the wicked North Dakota winter.
Each weekend since fall semester began had proved to be fair and Emma had gone out to dig until this weekend. Some had doubted there’d be snow for Christmas. Not Emma. She’d lived in North Dakota all her life, and never once in her twenty-six years had the snow missed North Dakota at Christmas.
So far, the dig had produced the lower jawbone of a Tyrannosaurus rex. Emma was certain if she kept digging, she’d find the skull of the animal nearby. The team of paleontologists and students who’d been on the dig all summer had unearthed neck bones, and near the end of the summer, the jawbone. The skull had to be close. She just needed a little more time.
There to tear down the tent before it was buried in knee-deep drifts, she’d ducked inside to find the ground smooth and dry and the dirt just as she’d left it the weekend before. She squatted to scratch away at the surface with a tool she’d left behind. Before she knew it, she’d succumbed to the lure of the dig. That had been two days ago.
Knowing she had to leave before the storm hit, she’d given herself half of the last day to dig. Immersed in her work, the sound of a helicopter cut through her intense concentration and she glanced at her watch. With a gasp, she realized just how long she’d been there and that it was nearing sunset of her last day on the site.
She still needed to get the tent down and stowed before dark. With a regretful glance at the ground, she pushed the flap back and ducked through. High clouds blocked out any chance for warmth or glare from the sun.
The thumping sound of blades churning the air drew her attention and she glanced at the sky. About a mile away, a green-and-white helicopter hovered low over the prairie.
From where she stood, she couldn’t see what it was hovering over. The ground had a gentle rise and dip, making the chopper appear to be almost on the ground. Emma recognized the craft as one belonging to the Customs and Border Protection.
There was a unit based out of Grand Forks and she knew one of the pilots, Dante Thunder Horse, from when he’d taken classes at the university. A handsome Native American, he had caught her attention crossing campus, his long strides eating up the distance.
He’d taken one of her anthropology classes and they’d met in the student commons on a couple of occasions and discussed the university hockey team games. When he’d finally asked her out, she’d screwed up enough courage to take him up on it, suggesting a coffee shop where they’d talked and seemed to hit it off.
Then nothing. He hadn’t called or asked her out for another date. He must have finished his coursework at the university because she hadn’t run into him again. Nor did she see him crossing campus. She’d been disappointed when he hadn’t called, but that was at the end of last spring. The summer had kept her so busy on the dig, she wouldn’t have had time for a relationship—not that she was any good at it anyway. Her longest one had lasted two months before her shyness had scared off the poor young man.
Emma wondered if Dante was the pilot flying today. She marveled at how close the helicopter was. In all the vastness of the state, how likely was it that the aircraft would be hovering so near to the dig? Then again, the site was fairly close to the border and the CBP was tasked with protecting the northern border of the United States.
As Emma started to turn back to her tent to begin the job of tearing it down, a loud bang shook the air. Startled, she saw a flash in her peripheral vision from the direction of the helicopter. When she spun to see what had happened, the chopper was turning and turning. As if it was a top being spun faster and faster, it dropped lower and lower until it disappeared below the rise and a loud crunching sound ripped the air.
Her heart stopped for a second and then galloped against her ribs. The helicopter had crashed. As far away from civilization as they were, there wasn’t a backup chopper that could get to the pilot faster than she could.
Abandoning her tent, she ran for the back of the trailer, flung open the utility door in the rear, dropped the ramp and climbed inside. She’d loaded the snowmobile on the off chance she couldn’t get the truck all the way down the road to the dig. Fortunately, she’d been able to drive almost all the way to the site and had parked the truck and trailer on a hardstand of gravel the wind had blown free of snow near the edge of the eight-foot-deep dig site.
Praying the engine would start, she turned the key and pressed the start button. The rumble of the engine echoed off the inside of the trailer but then it died. The second time she hit the start button, the vehicle roared to life. Shifting to Reverse, she backed down the ramp and turned to face the direction the helicopter had crashed.
A tower of flames shot toward the sky, smoke rising in a plume.
Her pulse pounding, Emma raced across the snow, headed for the fire.
As she topped the rise, her heart fell to her knees. The helicopter was a battered heap, lying on its side, flames rising all around.
Gunning the throttle, Emma sped across the prairie, praying she wasn’t too late. Maybe the pilot had been thrown clear of the aircraft. She hoped she was right.
As she neared the wreck, movement caught her attention. Another snowmobile was headed toward the helicopter from the north. Good, she thought. Maybe whoever it was had also seen the chopper crash and could help her free the pilot from the wreckage and get him to safety. She waved her hand, hoping the driver would see her and know she was there to help. He didn’t give any indication he’d spotted her. But the snowmobile slowed. The rider pulled off his helmet, his dark head in sharp contrast to his white jacket. He leveled what appeared to be a rifle across the handlebars, aiming at something near the wall of flames.
Emma squinted, trying to make out what he was doing. The pop of rifle fire made her jump. That’s when she noticed a dark lump on the ground in the snow, outside the ring of fire around the helicopter. The lump moved, rolling over in the snow.
The driver of the other snowmobile climbed onto the vehicle and started toward the man on the ground, moving slowly, his rifle poised to shoot.
Emma gasped.
The man was trying to shoot the guy on the ground.
With a quick twist of the throttle she sent her snowmobile skimming across the snow, headed straight for the attacker. At the angle she was traveling, the attacker wouldn’t see her if he was concentrating on the man on the ground.
Unarmed, she only had her snowmobile and her wits. The man on the ground only had one chance at survival. If she didn’t get to him or the other snowmobile first, he didn’t stand a chance.
Coming in from the west, Emma aimed for the man with the gun. She didn’t have a plan other than to ram him and hope for the best.
He didn’t see her or hear her engine over the roar of his own until she was within twenty feet of him. The man turned the weapon toward her.
Emma
