Fugitive Trail. Elizabeth Goddard
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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 unstable, but that was the whole reason she needed to act—and act now. She had to get this guy out, even though, depending on his injuries, that could also be dangerous for him.
The mangled door creaked when she pulled it open and then toppled to the snow-covered ground. Sierra yelped and jumped out of the way. She could enter only on the passenger side because the other side of the plane was hanging near the ledge. She couldn’t reach it.
“Help,” the man called from inside.
Fear tried to seize her but she had to remain calm and focused, especially if she was going to have to do this alone. She leaned into the cockpit and inched onto the passenger seat to get a better look at the man. Blood covered his forehead and temple from a gash. It oozed from his lips. He likely had internal injuries.
“Can you hear me? If you can, give me your hand.”
Maybe she could grab onto him and pull him out through this side of the plane. Medical personnel would go at this much differently, but there wasn’t time to wait.
The man’s eyes popped open. Those eyes. They peered at her and into her and through her. His face was almost unrecognizable under the blood and bruising but she had never forgotten those eyes.
Sierra froze. Damien Novack. Air whooshed from her. She couldn’t breathe.
No. It couldn’t be. “What… What are you doing here?” The question squeaked out of her making her sound feeble.
Afraid.
Somehow, even though he was injured and probably dying, he managed to offer her a sinister, bloody smile. To her horror, he lifted a weapon. Aimed it straight at her.
Screaming, she ducked as gunfire exploded then froze in place. Where was the sheriff? She glanced up hoping she’d see him coming over the ridge. Instead, she spotted footprints, barely visible as the relentless snow continued to bury them. The prints led away from the plane and tracked along the ridge until they disappeared completely.
Someone else had been on the plane.
Then she heard what sounded like the weapon tumbling from Damien’s hand. She could hardly believe he had been able to shoot to begin with, given his obviously severe injuries. His anger and need to see her dead had been enough to drive him.
Heart pounding, Sierra peeked inside the cab again and Damien’s eyes tracked her. “Doesn’t matter that I missed. He’s coming for you,” he said.
“Who… Who is coming?” Dread filled her.
“You know who. He came for you before. This time he won’t fail.”
Raul Novack, Damien’s brother.
Moments ago, she thought there couldn’t be anything worse than losing someone she was trying to save. But now she realized that wasn’t true. There was