Authors: Kimberley Woodhouse
Taking in the treacherous view in front of her, she made a decision for their lives. She had to steer away from Denali. Sultana stood to her left, towering in all her glory. If she could just get close to Kahiltna glacier, she might be able to land there. Tourist planes did it all the time. Right?
But they were too high. The controls were almost useless.
She'd have to find a different place to land and soon. With all her might she worked the yoke to turn west, away from the 20,320-foot Denali, but the mountain face of Sultana rushed toward her at a terrifying pace. The yoke locked and the plane jolted on a pocket of air, engines sputtering with the last drops of fuel.
Not much time left.
No radio.
No controls.
No fuel.
Nowhere to go.
Bracing her feet in the floor, she pulled on the yoke with all her weight—hoping she could lift the nose even an inch or two— but the plane no longer responded. At all.
As they raced toward the steep mountainside, Jenna did the only thing left to her: prayed for snow to be deep enough to cushion their landing.
With one last cry for help, Jenna let go of the useless yoke and flung her arms over her daughter's body, inhaling Andie's scent: Citrus shampoo and a sweetness all her daughter. But she couldn't tear her eyes away from the scene.
Metal crunched. Glass shattered and peppered her arms. The plane creaked and groaned as they slammed into Sultana's unyielding side. Metal screamed, and Jenna understood. The mountain had ripped the wings from the fuselage.
Her breaths seemed hours apart as the plane pummeled the snow-packed earth underneath them.
God—!
But the desperate prayer was blotted out when everything went from the brilliant white of the snow to deep, deep black of unconsciousness.
ANDIE
April 6
Sultana, Denali National Park
7:23 p.m.
Air crossed my face.
What's that?
Was someone breathing beside me?
Something rustled next to my hand.
Wind . . . Is that the wind?
As if a curtain lifted, my thoughts began to clear.
Why would I feel the wind inside an airplane?
Something wasn't right.
Placing a hand on my head, I put slight pressure to it. Why—how—was my head hurting? I lifted my sore eyelids.
Oh! Bright light.
How long had I been unconscious? Where was I?
Again I opened my eyes, this time with caution.
Blurry images floated around me. A spinning sensation flip-flopped my stomach.
Why am I spinning?
Sunlight streamed through small, cracked windows and red polka dots spotted otherwise blank walls.
Where am I?
The spinning stopped.
Weird.
I wiggled within the tight confines of my seatbelt, trying to escape its grip, but conked my head on a lumpy thing hanging in the air above me.
That's gonna leave a bruise.
Why wouldn't these straps budge?
I unlatched them—then fell.
Ouch.
I rubbed my shoulder where I'd landed. Was it bruised too?
Perfect, just what I need right now.
I looked up. I was on the ceiling of the plane? I'd been hanging . . . upside down? As if on cue, I could feel all the blood draining out of my head. Letting out a groan, I rubbed my cheeks and forehead.
Why is my body aching so much?
And where was Mom? She wasn't hurt, was she?
I climbed out on my hands and knees through what must have been the windshield, but moving only made the dizziness worse.
"Ouchy!" My head started to hurt. Really hurt. What was the weird, zinging pain?
Pain?
Emotions swirled through me, like a hurricane of confusion and fear. The last time I felt pain, they told me I needed brain surgery.
Tears slid down my icy cold cheeks.
God, what's happening?
I shook my head and continued crawling out of the broken-down airplane.
Do
not
let it irritate you, Andie.
As I wiped at the tiny droplets, a gritty, dirty feeling coated my fingers. I looked down at my upturned palms. They were smothered in dirt. And blood.
Lots of blood.
Oh, great.
Spots danced in front of me like Mexican jumping beans . . .
Then there was nothing.
———
My eyes popped open. The clear blue sky loomed above and blurry, lazy white clouds floated by.
It took a second to remember where I was . . . what had happened? I glanced around.
How am I all the way outside?
How long was I unconscious? Pain still shot throughout my body, unfamiliar electrical waves.
Okay
. . . Deep breath.
Andrea Tikaani-Gray,
do something. I grunted and pushed myself to a sitting position. Why did it take so much effort just to sit up?
One more deep breath.
Reaching my left hand underneath my long, black hair, I gently touched the scar on the back of my neck. The familiar bumpy groove greeted my fingers—it was intact. The sticky feeling of blood didn't cling to my fingers . . . on that hand. So there was no blood or wounds on my scar, right?
My surroundings came into focus. Snow, more snow, boulders, more snow, glass, more snow, the airplane . . .
Uh-oh. The airplane.
Hadn't I been in the airplane? Or did I dream that?
I glanced around, then wished I hadn't.
Some sort of big, metal, whatchamacallit was smashed against a rock and the tail-rudder-thingamabob had fallen off and lay on the other side of the crash. There was no sign of the wings, and the windshield lay shattered in a million pieces sparkling on the snow as they reflected the sun's light. Lying in the middle was a lump.
Mom?
My body protested as I jumped up and ran over to her. Blood covered her pale body.
Blood
. . . Pulling in air, I jerked away before my stomach decided to rebel again.
"Mom! Wake up!" I shook her shoulder, but it didn't help. I looked around for somebody . . . anybody . . .
Another figure lay on the ground.
I clenched my eyes. This couldn't really be happening.
I trudged through the snow and fell on the ground. Tears spilled down my face turning into ice as a scratchy voice inside my head stated the most awful truth:
They're all dead. You're alone.
CHAPTER TWO
ANDIE
April 6
Sultana, Denali National Park
8:13 p.m.
Alone.
The word slammed into me, like a brick smashing into my noggin. But even as I felt panic starting to crawl through me, another voice whispered . . .
God wouldn't leave me alone.
I closed my eyes. I wasn't alone. God was there.
Think about it, Andie.
If I was going to die, wouldn't He have made me die in the crash?
Okay, maybe not, but still.
Words flowed through my mind. Words I knew and loved.
The LORD is my light and my salvation; whom shall I fear? The LORD is the defense of my life; whom shall I dread? When evildoers came upon me to devour my flesh, my adversaries and my enemies, they stumbled and fell. Though a host encamp against me, my heart will not fear; Though war arise against me, in spite of this I shall be confident.
I released my breath in a long sigh.
Okay, I'm not alone. Maybe I'm jumping to conclusions. Just because they're not moving doesn't mean they're. . . . But even if they are—
I didn't even want to think about that it hurt so bad. But I had to think about it. What would happen if nobody did wake up?
Even if they are—
I straightened my back and clenched my fists—
with God, I don't need to be afraid.
I wiped my tears, sniffed, then nodded.
I will be strong!
I took a deep breath and hiccupped. Searing pain shot through my chest as the cold air rushed in. I remembered where we were.
Crashed on the side of a mountain.
Wonderful.
It was cold outside.
I need to be careful.
All those years of Mom reminding me to wear a coat and warning me about frostbite, yet I still sat there ignoring the fact that I was surrounded, sitting, and covered in snow.
Brave, brave, I have to be brave.
A drop of blood made its way down my hand and onto the pure white, sinking into snowflakes and reminding me that my hand needed to be cleaned up. And fast.
I closed my eyes, then shoved it into the cold snow. Would it wipe the blood off? Peeking with one eye, I pulled my hand out. The blood was gone. But a glance at the snow showed me where it went.
Ugh.
Andie, get over it. It's just a little bit, you'll be fine . . .
I examined my hand. Three long cuts sliced across the top and one on my palm. I winced. The one on my palm looked like it needed stitches.
Deep, red, with blood oozing out.
Rats.
I covered the red patch with clean, white snow, then trudged over to Mom.
My stomach clenched as I fell to the ground beside her, slamming my knee into something hard.
Ow! What was that?
I sucked in air between my clenched teeth, then closed my eyes and counted to ten.
That's gonna leave another nasty bruise.
Swinging my leg out from beneath me, I rotated it, then sighed as the feeling came back.
Okay. You're fine.
Mom needs you now.
I picked off some of the glass pieces and huge, sharp, shards lying on Mom's chest. If one had stabbed her . . .
Thank God they hadn't. But a big gash on her leg proved disturbing, as well as the multiple cuts and bruises. She had to wake up. I couldn't do this . . . God knew that, didn't He?
I touched her face. "Mom, don't leave me. I can't lose you, too."
She didn't move.
God, please!
Wasn't it enough to lose my dad?
How am I supposed to do this alone?
The answer was there. In my mind. In my heart. I didn't have to go on alone. She'd wake up. She had to. I just needed to be brave for her. To think.
What would Mom do in this situation?
Another tear slid down my cheek. I stared at her face as if she would give me an answer. I could hear her voice in my head:
Check to see if anything's wrong with you.
Okay, sure. I could do that, right? I checked myself the way she did when I got hurt. First my arms, then my ankles, then my legs. Nothing was broken—that I could tell—but I did have some pretty mean bruises.
What else does Mom do? What does she check? Think, Andie. If she were here, what would she do?
I smiled. She'd play my favorite song, "End of the Beginning" to calm me. Make me smile. I closed my eyes and let the song start.
Remembering all the times Mom let me sit in front of our CD player listening to David Phelps sing, then pressing rewind over and over and over again made laugh. But . . .
There would be no more sweet sound of Mom's voice, no more comforting touch, no more welcoming embrace. Not if we didn't get off of this mountain.
Soon.
I stood up and trudged through the knee-high snow. Facing the possibility that everyone else might be dead, or die, was not my idea of "good news, new life."
But you've got to keep going for Mom. That way, when she wakes up—if she does—she won't have as much to do. Come on, Andie, night's darkness will be here soon.
It was up to me to get my mom off the mountain. To get her to safety. To do it now.
I stared up at the sky.
God, I am all alone, aren't I?
LEAPER
April 6
8:20 p.m.
Leaper's last conversation with his boss, Viper, and the rest of the group swam through his head. The constant buzzing annoyed him, like a mosquito on a mission, intensifying his headache. If only he could wipe the memories out as easily as he smashed one of the bloodsuckers. For that matter, it'd be nice to get rid of the pounding in his head as well.
"I don't care what you have to do! Just get rid of Gray's family, and get me AMI!"
"But, sir? What if they have the information we need?"
Viper's dark eyes narrowed. "I'm tired of waiting. They had their chance."
Leaper's rookie jumped into the conversation. "We don't know that Mrs. Gray and the kid know anything. The little girl has special needs. Killing them will only raise suspicion—"
Viper's reply was stone cold. "Not if it's an accident. Small planes go down all the time."
Leaper nodded. His orders were clear. "Yes, sir. An accident."
"Good. See to it and report back to me."
"Yes, sir." He stiffened his shoulders and turned to follow the rest of the group as they exited. This job would be the death of him.
"And Leaper?"
Possibly sooner than later. "Sir?"
"Don't ever question me again." The words dropped like a sledge hammer, their meaning clear. The next time would be the last time.
For anything.
He straightened. Met Viper's glacial gaze. "Yes, sir."
Pain ripped through his skull, washing the memory away, returning him to reality. Death would be welcome if not for one simple fact.
He'd sold his soul to the devil.
ANDIE
8:32 p.m.
Maybe if I look for stuff in the cargo bay, I'll find something to do.
I nodded.
Occupy yourself . . .
As I neared the plane I saw how smashed and ugly it was. Scrapes and dents covered it. Poor little thing.
Yes, it was an inanimate object, but still!
Large pieces of metal lay implanted in the squishy snow. Water bottles, big metal thingies, bags of cargo, some of Mom's "necessities" . . .
Another step—and I sank into waist-deep snow. Clenching my eyes I let out an aggravated sigh.
Now
I was freezing.
I climbed out of the hole, shivering. Sad day. Getting too cold was just as bad as getting too hot, since my body couldn't regulate either one.
I need to put on heavier clothes. And a bandage for my hand would be nice.