in her mind came a bizarre thought: if only she had an app for heat.
Staying in the plane wasn’t an option with the wind ripping through it and the possibility of the ice cracking beneath it and the aircraft sinking into the frigid water. She had to find shelter. Shelter near the plane, because of the aircraft’s emergency transmitter. To do that, she needed the emergency supplies that were stored in the rear of the cockpit.
After rummaging through her duffel bag as well as Jeremiah’s—luckily they weren’t in the inaccessible cargo bay—she gathered what she could use to keep warm as well as her flashlight. She lit the cabin and zeroed in on the survival kit. She would stuff each bag with what she needed to make it through the long night ahead. She knew the growing darkness and stormy weather would make it unsafe for rescuers to search for her.
Jeremiah had always stocked a couple of extra provisions not required in the new regulations. She spied the shotgun with a box of ammunition and immediately felt better. Her father and Jeremiah had often taken her hiking in the backcountry and had taught her how to shoot. She knew the dangers a bear could pose.
Before leaving the aircraft, she grabbed the first aid box and tended to the cut on her forehead, scrubbing at the blood that had frozen on her skin. She placed a large bandage over the wound and pulled her hat back down over her head to keep any body heat from escaping.
She peered at Jeremiah in the pilot seat and felt emotion finally break through. Tears stung her eyes. She couldn’t believe he was gone. He always transported her to and from the villages and had been there to help her through her father’s and mother’s deaths. Never again. A tightness in her chest spread upward to jam her throat. Tears rolled down her cheek and froze, pulling her up short, reminding her of the harsh environment she faced until she was rescued. She touched Jeremiah’s shoulder, saying a brief prayer and a heartfelt goodbye. The safest thing was to stay near the plane because of the emergency transmitter’s signal.
After tossing the duffel bags to the ground, followed by the survival kit, she put on the snowshoes, not sure how deep the snow was by the lake, and exited the plane. In the light of day—she prayed it would be early tomorrow—the bright red wings would help searchers in the sky find her. At least that was what she prayed for, but she did have a signaling device in the emergency kit if needed.
“Bree, stop thinking ahead. See to now,” she muttered and trudged a few yards from the wreckage. She could see the plane sat mostly on land; only the tail rested on the frozen lake. She forced herself to plan ahead. Doing so always gave her a sense of security.
Make it back to Anchorage—then figure out your future.
Behind some evergreens, the shore of the lake sloped upward with a denser stand of trees at the top of the rise a couple of feet back. She peeked through the foliage and made a decision. To the left in the middle of the incline was where she would dig her snow cave. Using a collapsible shovel from Jeremiah’s survival provisions, she began digging, keeping her mind focused on the task at hand. Ninety minutes later, with breaks to rest, eat a protein bar and drink some water, she finished the crude shelter she’d learned to make in her survival training class.
She stacked the duffel bags to block the entrance after she crawled inside, taking her shovel with her. After she lay down on the sleeping bag, which was spread out over a tarp, she turned on her flashlight and examined her snow cave. She’d curved the walls and poked some holes in them to allow fresh air to enter.
The small confines triggered a childhood memory. She’d been exploring a tight cave when her light had gone out, leaving her in the darkness with little wiggle room. At the memory, she began panting, her fear returning. Usually closed spaces didn’t bother her, but suddenly she struggled with the image of the cave in her mind. She had to do something to keep herself calm. She began singing her favorite Christmas songs.
By the time she finished “I’ll Be Home for Christmas,” she couldn’t shake the question: What if she wasn’t? The cracking of ice mingled with the howling of wolves in the distance.
She pulled up her legs and clasped them. I’m not alone. You’re with me, Lord.
A crashing noise overrode all others. Bree braced herself as though the ground would move beneath her.
* * *
His alarm sounded on his watch, and David Stone punched it off and rose from the black leather couch where he’d been trying to sleep. He looked out the window of the hangar that overlooked the small airport near downtown Anchorage, where the Northern Frontier Search and Rescue Organization was based. The wind and snow that had plagued the area since yesterday had finally lessened. He turned away to check on the weather between here and McGrath. The area two hundred miles away where a Mayday call had been sent from a pilot, Jeremiah Elliot.
After hearing from the weather service that there was a break in the storm, David moved quickly toward his Cessna in the hangar. He’d already stocked it during the night. Two people’s lives were at stake, the pilot and his passenger, Dr. Aubrey Mathison. He knew of her because of her work in the remote villages. He hoped Jeremiah hadn’t crashed and had managed to land somewhere safely. However, all attempts to radio the plane had failed. He hated knowing people were out there in trouble and not being able to rescue them immediately because of severe weather.
David finally took off from the airport and flew northwest. Teams on the ground were headed now in the direction of the emergency signal transmitting from Jeremiah’s plane. By the time he reached the area where the plane had gone down, the sun would have risen and visibility should be good, unless the stalled storm behind the one yesterday began moving again. The window to rescue the doctor and Jeremiah could be a narrow one—only hours.
As the sun painted the sky with brilliant colors, he started his grid search, flying low enough to scan the terrain for a down plane or any 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