Going Gone. Sharon Sala
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her. She’d been enchanted with him almost from their first meeting, and as the months went by, she’d begun dreaming of a happily ever after with him. Now she didn’t know if she would see tomorrow.
She could hear the wolves still outside the cockpit and more that were surrounding the plane, digging and yipping and whining. She grabbed a piece of metal and began beating it against the inside wall.
“Stop! Get away! Get lost! Leave me alone!” she screamed.
The noise silenced them again, but she knew it wouldn’t last. She was looking around for an answer to her latest dilemma when her gaze fell on Dan’s body.
He was a big man and less than three feet away from the door. He, or at least his body, could hold the door shut. At first she hesitated, uncertain how to go about it and leave him any dignity, then realized that couldn’t matter, not when her life depended on it. Without looking at his face, she grabbed him by the arms and began dragging his body backward toward the door. Pain racked her chest and legs as she strained against his weight, while the wolves continued to circle the plane, howling and growling.
Finally it was done.
Exhausted and so shaky she thought she would faint, she turned around and went for Marcy, dragging her body up beside Dan’s. When she was done, she fell to her knees beside them. Her chest was on fire, and there wasn’t a place on her body that didn’t hurt, but the deed was done. The door was shut and wasn’t about to come open.
“I’m sorry! I’m so sorry!” she sobbed, as she patted Marcy’s arm, then picked up Dan’s hand and laid it across his chest. “Please, forgive me. Just know that your last physical act on this earth will be protecting me, and for that I thank you from the bottom of my heart.”
She scuttled backward like a crab, and as she did, she realized the wind was rising. Just as she stood, a gust buffeted the plane, strong enough to actually rock it.
She grabbed hold of a seat to steady herself while it dawned on her that in fact she had no concept of how precarious her situation really was. If they hadn’t landed in a fairly level area, and if the wind got too strong, it could dislodge the plane, which would slide off the mountain with her trapped inside.
The notion gave her pause, and for the first time, she realized it might be to her advantage to limit her movements. She gave her coworkers one last look and then made her way to the back of the plane to the minuscule bathroom.
When she came out, she cleaned her hands on another wet wipe, ate half an energy bar, washed it down with two small sips of water, crawled back into her nest, pulled up her makeshift covers and cried herself to sleep.
* * *
Moonlight came through the cabin windows, bathing the bare skin of the two lovers caught up in the simple act of love. That the joining of one body to another could cause such an intense, physical reaction was understood, but at the same time, for them it was a new and wonderful thing. When Laura began to climax, the satisfaction on Cameron’s face was nothing short of bliss. She was still riding the high of her own pleasure when she slid her hands between their bodies. Moments later he was spiraling out of control. Her heart was still hammering from the aftershocks when he brushed his mouth across her lips.
“I love you most, Laura Doyle...so, so much.”
* * *
Laura woke up with a gasp, then grabbed her chest and tried to stop the shock wave of pain that ripped through her. It was getting dark inside the cabin. Had she been asleep that long? She glanced toward the windows. They were nearly covered with snow.
Oh, dear Lord, not that, too. “Stop the snow. Please, stop the snow.”
She crawled out of her makeshift bed, but her leg buckled when she tried to stand. Something was very wrong. The more time passed, the stiffer her whole body became, but the pain in her leg was different. She leaned against a seat and slowly pulled up her pant leg, then moaned when she saw the size of the gash.
It was about a half inch deep, running from just below her knee to her ankle, and the only reason she hadn’t found it sooner was that the extreme cold had been as successful as cauterization, and what blood there was had soaked into her black slacks unnoticed, and then into her shoe.
She fumbled around in the first-aid kit for the bottle of disinfectant and poured it into the gash. The burn was intense, but it was better than getting infection and having gangrene set in. Once the burn began to fade, she got a couple more pain pills and chewed them up, then washed them down with another sip of water.
Her belly growled, but putting food in her mouth was more than she could handle. She crawled back into her bed and began to pray. She didn’t want to die, but unless a miracle occurred, it would happen.
When she closed her eyes, she thought of Cameron. He belonged to the FBI. They found bad guys who murdered people, and good people who were kidnapped. Surely they could find this plane.
“Please, find me,” she whispered as she started to shake.
She pulled the covers up over her head.
The wolves were still circling. She could hear their whining and digging, and every so often the sounds of a quarrel as one trespassed on another’s space. The first time she heard one on top of the fuselage, she realized they were getting braver. Would this nightmare never end?
* * *
Once Cameron had given the director a quick explanation of what had happened, he headed home. After packing for cold weather, he caught a ride on a government jet flying a team of forensic specialists to the West Coast after the pilot agreed to drop him in Denver on the way. After takeoff, there was nothing to distract him from the fact that the woman he loved might be dead. The passengers he was traveling with were otherwise occupied, which suited him fine. He wasn’t in the mood for conversation.
It was late afternoon and only hours away from nightfall when they landed. He had a text from the assistant director giving him the location of where search and rescue had set up, and after renting a car, he wasted no time getting there.
The search-and-rescue station was in a small community center in a suburb on the outskirts of Denver. When he pulled up and began looking for a place to park, a local police officer flagged him down.
“I’m sorry, sir. This area is closed to the public.”
Cameron flashed his badge. “Special Agent Winger, FBI. Who’s in charge here?”
The officer immediately relaxed.
“That would be Lieutenant Clark. You can park in that lot just ahead. The lieutenant should be in that long building behind it.”
“Thank you,” Cameron said, and a few moments later he parked and killed the engine.
The sudden silence inside the vehicle made him shudder. Then his phone rang. It was his friend and fellow agent Tate Benton.
“Hello.”
“Cameron...I just heard about Laura. Do you know anything yet? Have they located the plane?”
“I don’t know. I just arrived at the main search-and-rescue site.”
“Is there anything the rest of us can do?” Tate asked.
It was the sympathy in his friend’s voice that did him in. Breath caught in the back of Cameron’s throat as he swallowed a couple of times to keep from crying.
“I’ve got to go,” he said quickly. “If I learn anything, I’ll let you know.”
“Will do,” Tate said.
Cameron pocketed his phone and got out. He had a large duffel bag over one shoulder and a hiker’s backpack on the other as he headed for the building.
Inside, the place was a hive of activity. Maps of the mountainous area around Denver were taped to the walls and marked up with search grids. Radio communication was at the other end of the room, and, from the static and squawks of intermittent