The Rescue Pilot. Rachel Lee
Читать онлайн книгу.
but all the resurrected memories of his time in these mountains, hiding from the demons of war that wouldn’t leave him alone.
The only solution for any of them right now was to keep busy, to feel that they were accomplishing something. First rule: Leave no room for despair. Paralysis would accomplish nothing, and despair could be a killer.
“Okay,” he said briskly. “Let’s see about making that firebox. A hot meal would do us all some good.” He noted that Rory went first to check on her sister. Understandable. Unfortunately, the fact that she looked more worried when she emerged concerned him.
“Is she too cold?” he asked.
“I don’t think so. It’s just that she’s sleeping so much. Too much.”
“We need to get some calories into her,” he said. “Can she hold down food?” “Mostly liquids.”
“Then we’ll get her some soup first thing.” With that he picked up a screwdriver and started helping Yuma pull down the galley doors.
“What can I do?” Rory asked.
Chase’s instinctive response was to tell her to keep an eye on her sister. Then he realized that she needed something far less passive to do. Something that made her feel like she was doing more than holding a death watch.
“There are some aluminum doors up front, too. They’re faced with wood veneer, but they’re aluminum. There’s another screwdriver in the service hatch I left open.” He wasn’t sure she’d be able to work the screws—they’d been mechanically tightened—but she might surprise him. He and Yuma weren’t exactly finding it impossible to loosen the screws in the galley doors.
She didn’t say a word as she eased past him, but as his gaze followed her briefly, he could see a sense of purpose in her posture and step. Good.
Then he watched Wendy slip back into the bedroom to check on their patient. Rory, he suspected, hadn’t wanted to let anyone else touch her sister. A born guard dog. He liked that.
Chase and Yuma carried the aluminum doors outside into the blizzard to hammer them into the shape they needed. Neither of them wanted to do it in the confines of the plane because the banging would be deafening.
Ignoring the cold and the snow that stung like small knives, they battered the doors into a box with a top. Removing a couple of the inset latches created for air to circulate.
“Instant stove,” Chase remarked an hour later.
“Hardly instant,” Yuma replied. “I’m soaked with sweat.”
“That’ll teach you to wear warm clothes in the dead of winter.”
Yuma chuckled. “Better than being out here in rags with ratty blankets.”
“Guess so.” Chase paused after shaking the firebox to ensure it was sturdy. “You doing okay?”
“I’m fine. Yeah, I’m remembering, but the memories of being out here aren’t memories of Nam. It’s too damn cold.”
Chase laughed. “I guess I can see that.”
Yuma stood straight and looked toward the almost invisible trees that surrounded the clearing. “Can I be honest, Chase?”
“Hell, yeah.” But Chase felt himself tightening inwardly, ready for criticism he felt he deserved.
“You did an amazing job of bringing us down. I’m not sure how you managed it. We’re alive because of it.”
Chase waited, sure there was more, but it didn’t come immediately. Finally, Yuma sighed, the sound almost snatched away by the wind.
“I’m grateful,” he said. “More grateful than I can tell you because honest to God, Chase, I’m not sure I could survive without Wendy.”
Chase felt his chest tighten in sympathy, but didn’t know what to say.
“Do you know I used to be an alcoholic?”
“I was probably too young to hear that rumor.”
Yuma chuckled and looked at him. “Yeah, probably. But I was. It was a way to hide. Anyway, I got my act cleaned up before Wendy came back to town to take her second swing at my bachelorhood. Thing was, even then I kept a bottle in my desk drawer.”
“I thought you weren’t supposed to do that.”
“I wasn’t.” Yuma’s mouth tightened a bit. “It was my security blanket. I knew it was right there if I ever couldn’t fight off the urge for a drink. For me, anyway, it kept the craving from going over the top.”
“I never would have thought that of you.”
Yuma shrugged. “It wouldn’t work for most folks, I guess, but it worked for me. Never even broke the seal on the bottle. And then Wendy … well, I haven’t needed to keep a bottle around since.”
Chase nodded, getting the message. Or at least he thought he did. “You’ve got a lot to be proud of.”
“Actually, no, I don’t,” Yuma said flatly. “Pride doesn’t figure into it at all. What I have is a lot to be grateful for, like that woman in there.” He paused. “We gotta save Rory’s sister, man.”
“I know.”
“I know you do.” Yuma took a step toward the trees. “That’s why I respect you. Now let’s got get some wood and some pine needles.”
Two hours later they had the firebox assembled and working outside. From the window of the plane, Rory watched as the fire burned within the three-sided box. It had taken some effort to make a chimney so it would draw air up and through, but it was working now.
Dimly in the swirling snow, she could see the men looking for more wood to keep it going. It was getting darker out there now, as night closed in on them.
She ordinarily liked the night, but not this time. The plane had gone dark to save battery power. The only light came from a lone candle sitting on the large work or dining table in the center of four of the seats.
As business jets went, this was a comfortably sized one, capable of carrying twelve or more passengers, with room to move around. She wondered what kind of traffic Chase could carry to pay for a plane like this, then let the thought wander off. What did it matter? There were apparently enough people left in the world who could afford this kind of transportation, and given that it was a plane, being based out of some invisible town in Wyoming was hardly a hindrance to him.
Reluctantly, she tore her gaze from the fire, experiencing a gut-deep understanding of why fire had been so important in times past. Probably since ancient times. It promised life, light, warmth. It held the night at bay.
Nothing inside this plane did that except for a single candle.
It was time to wake Cait and get her to take her medicine. Rory had hoped to feed her soup at the same time, but she couldn’t wait any longer. Wendy had heated enough water to make a couple of cups of tea, but no more because they had to be careful.
“Lots of sugar in it,” she said to Rory now as she passed her a mug. “And there’s another if she wants it.”
“Thanks.”
She accepted the mug, testing the temperature of the tea with her upper lip. Not hot enough to burn. Good.
Then she grabbed the small nylon bag in which she kept Cait’s meds, and headed back, aware that Wendy followed with the candle. A candle in the dark.
Cripes. She needed more than that.
Once in the bedroom, Wendy set the candle on the small bedside table, then slipped away to leave the sisters alone.
“Cait. Cait?” Gently she shook her sister’s shoulder.
“Cait?”
Slowly, Cait’s eyes opened, and she sighed. “Why