signs of people.
David gripped the controls as the wind and air currents created a rough ride. He swung his attention between the gauges and the landscape below. Following a snow-covered stream snaking its way through the rugged land, he came to an open area, most likely a frozen lake. Across it he spied a plane partially submerged. The ice had cracked and the tail had sunk into the water.
He flew toward the wreckage to scout the terrain for the best place to land. Through the trees he saw a pack of wolves circling a section of a hill sloping away from the shoreline. Immediately he recognized the dire circumstances the survivors were in—if either of them were still alive.
David flew back around to assess the risk in landing. From the evergreen trees, he could tell the wind blew at least twenty miles an hour. With the threat of crosswinds, he had to choose his approach carefully.
He checked the activity of the wolves. So far they were keeping back from the hole in the hillside where he hoped the survivors had taken refuge, but that could change quickly. David reconnoitered the countryside around the lake for a safe place to land rather than touch down on the snow-covered ice. Generally, the middle of a lake was the strongest, but there could be exceptions, and he wasn’t sure the ice would hold.
He found a narrow patch of land maybe a mile away that he could use. Trees surrounded the area, and there were only two directions he could land—northwest to southeast or the reverse. The limbs swayed in the wind, and if the crosswinds were too much, he wouldn’t be able to.
He hoped this worked because if it didn’t, and he was forced to land in the middle of the lake, he didn’t know how he would be able to get to the people who needed to be rescued. The shoreline wasn’t thick enough to hold Jeremiah’s plane. Would it hold a person?
David lined his Cessna up to go in, panning the sky around him. To the west clouds grew dark, indicating the storm was coming in faster than he hoped. His window of opportunity to rescue Jeremiah and Dr. Mathison was narrowing even more. As he headed down toward the ground, he clutched the controls, fighting the crosswinds threatening to flip him over or drive him into the frozen earth.
About ten yards off the ground, he couldn’t hold his course and pulled the nose of his plane up. The bottom of his wheels barely missed scraping the tops of the trees.
One more pass. If that didn’t work, he’d have to check on the weather movement and decide whether to land on the precarious lake or return to base and hope the teams on the ground would reach the survivors soon.
* * *
Fear held Bree immobile as she listened to the growls outside her snow cave. Her back plastered against the duffel bags in the opening, she gripped the loaded shotgun. She had extra ammunition in her front pocket and a knife in the other one. If the wolves managed to break through her barrier, she would defend herself as best she could.
“Get back,” she yelled, swiveling around to point the weapon out a small hole. “If you don’t, I’ll shoot.”
The wolves continued to yap and growl. A brave one came into the hole leading to her opening, blocking most of the light. Aiming down into the snow to avoid killing the animal if possible, she squeezed the trigger and the blast exploded from her gun. The wolf yelped; then silence followed. She peeked through the gap no bigger than a half-dollar and saw the animal backing out.
Shaking, she eased her grip on the shotgun, her hands aching. Her heartbeat thundered a fast staccato rhythm in her ears, almost drowning out another sound—the welcomed sound of a plane flying overhead. She prayed the pilot could make out the wreckage despite the fresh snow that had fallen overnight. What if the aircraft had sunk totally into the water, taking with it Jeremiah’s body? She’d wanted to check this morning because all night long she’d heard the creaking of the ice. But then the wolves had arrived.
And the pack was getting braver as the minutes ticked away.
Bree listened for more sounds of the plane overhead. Nothing. And the wolves were still outside her snow cave. The sun no longer shone. Although darkness wouldn’t fall for another few hours, the light had dimmed. Was more bad weather moving in? If so, her rescue would be delayed further.
But someone knew where she was—at least she thought so. She clung to that hope even when another wolf returned to the opening, its low growls sending shivers down her spine.
A gunshot cracked the air. She peered through a gap in the bags. The wolf was gone.
The person in the plane? Had he found her after all?
Another blast pierced the cold air, accompanied by a yelp.
Then more silence.
“Help! I’m in here,” Bree shouted. She slowly removed the bags from the entrance and crawled from her haven.
When she emerged from the snow cave, the wind whipped against her and her gaze latched on to white bunny boots. Lifting her head, she trekked upward past black extreme-cold pants and parka to a face covered by a balaclava and a pair of dark goggles. The lone man must be six-three or six-four, with a muscular physique. Her attention fixed upon the revolver in his gloved hand.
Friend or foe? Her heart seemed to stop beating for a couple of seconds, then it raced.
David stared down at Dr. Aubrey Mathison, and she peered up at him with huge brown eyes widened by fear. He’d seen that look many times over his twenty years in the military. Removing his goggles, he smiled. “I’m here to take you and Jeremiah back to Anchorage, Dr. Mathison.”
She blinked, transfixed for a long moment.
“The wolves are gone. They won’t be back.” I hope.
She fit her hand in his outstretched one. When he tugged her up, she scanned the area. Through the dense evergreens, her attention fixed on the aircraft, partially submerged in the water, the front end clinging to the shore as though glued to the ground. “Jeremiah’s dead,” she murmured in a thick voice.
“In the crash?”
“No, I believe he had a heart attack.” She swung her gaze to his; pain reflected in her eyes’ expressive depths.
“I’m sorry. Jeremiah was a good man. He’d assist occasionally with air searches when we needed extra help.”
“We?”
“The Northern Frontier Search and Rescue. I’m part of that organization.” David glanced to the west and frowned. “We’d better get out of here. A storm is moving in. My plane is about a mile from here. I didn’t think it was safe to land on the lake.”
She stared at Jeremiah’s aircraft. “He saved my life. He managed to land even when he was in pain. The ice didn’t crack until last night. I heard it from my snow cave.”
“Good thing you didn’t stay in the plane and you made yourself a shelter.”
“God was looking out for me. Let me get my duffel bags.”
While she crawled back into her snow cave, David traipsed a few feet closer to the plane at an angle to the left and looked through the stand of trees between him and the lake.
