Champagne Romance (Romance Novel) (2 page)

Swan observed the chaos in slow motion as
something dangled in front of her nose and landed softly in her
lap. She stared uncomprehendingly down at the oxygen mask that lay
there. She watched disconnected and disoriented as other panicky
passengers were desperately trying to put on their oxygen masks.
Finally, she tried to follow their example.

The screaming of shrill voices began to
permeate throughout the cabin as passengers comprehended the great
peril that was descending upon them. Swan watched as windows began
to crack and fracture into a million tiny particle puzzle pieces. A
deafening ripping sound suddenly was accompanied by a blast of cold
artic wind as the jumbo jet began to shake and tear apart. That was
followed by a loud booming noise as the tail of the 707 was sliced
off by the powerful Colorado pines and departed from the rest of
the ill-fated Flight 330.

The 707 tail of the jet airliner continued to
travel and plunge downward through the Colorado forest with the
momentum causing it to hurl another quarter of a mile across the
mountaintop until it finally came to an abrupt halt. That disaster
was followed by a sudden burst of lethal flames from far away as
the rest of Airliner 330 plowed into the side of the sub-zero icy
mountainside. A dark mushroom cloud of smoky propane blossomed high
above the tragic towering inferno. Accompanying the jet’s fiery
blast was burning black debris that persisted to float
unrelentingly until early the next morning. Finally--there was
nothing, but an eerily cold silence as Mother Nature seemed to puff
a silent benediction over the final resting place of those that did
not survive.

CHAPTER 4

Slater fought for consciousness. It was
essential that he was aware of his surroundings in order to
survive. He was trained to know that it could mean the difference
between life and death. He woke up with an excruciating pounding
headache and what felt like a bruising black eye. He had his fair
share of those to know that he was probably right. He just hoped
the other guy was in worse shape than he. It better have been one
helluva party to have such a booming head. Squinting through one
good eye his fuddled mind began to clear and focus. What he saw in
the dim light looked like a war zone. It was then that the horrific
nightmare of the crash began to intrude back into his memory.
Blackness began gaining momentum again as he began losing
consciousness for a second time, but not before a mocking smile
pulled at the corner of his lips as he realized that once again he
had cheated the Grim Reaper.

The next morning arrived much too soon. As
Slater began regaining another round of consciousness yet again,
this time his brain jumped to total alertness. His light blues
blinked several times before they began to focus. He scanned his
surrounding and glanced up at the hazy sun. It was probably late
morning. He looked at the date on his watch and was relieved to
know that his blackout had only lasted more than a few hours and
not days.

Cramped cold muscles screamed for stretching.
Devastation was all around him. Slater knew he was surrounded by
death. He could feel it. He could smell it. However, all he saw was
a cavernous yawning hole where the long passenger cabin of the
plane should have been. The tail ceiling of the plane was in
tatters, hanging and flopping in the icy chill of the Rocky
Mountains. Five of the overhead compartment doors had popped
open-three on one side, one and half on the other---, leaving some
clothing and occasional squeaking hinge behind. It was an eerily
silence. No life, no people, only a pile of fox fur in the corner
of the plane opposite of him. His eyes sliced back to the heap of
fluffy red pelts. Nothing appeared to be moving.

With stiff fingers Slater slipped off his
seatbelt. Every muscle screamed to stay put, but he willed his body
to ignore it. He had suffered worse---much worse actually. In spite
of a black eye, cut on his lower chin, some bruised, perhaps
cracked ribs, and a sore ankle, he was able to shut out the pain
and focus on a possible dead redhead under the furry blanket. He
knew the odds of survival were not in her favor.

Slowly, Slater peeled back the fox fur. Red’s
face was as white as parchment paper. Bright red blood trickled
down from a large blue bruise and bump at her right temple giving
her the ghoulish look of a vampire. She wasn’t dead; he knew death,
but her breathing was very shallow indicating severe trauma. He
reached under the warmth of her fur and clinically searched her
body for any broken bones or additional bleeding. Finding none, he
covered her back up and would attend to her comfort later.

Slater evaluated their possibilities for
survival. It was grim, depending on how long before the search
planes found them, IF they found them, IF the pilot had had time to
make contact with the air controller, IF he could find food, IF
they could stay warm enough, and IF another snow storm did not
completely bury them. Those were a lot of “ifs”. He had been in
more difficult grim circumstances in his life time, but not
much.

An assessment of the situation confirmed the
worse. The tail of the plane had been severed from top to bottom
landing slightly on its side. Passenger windows were covered on one
side with ground snow, while the other side of the windows let in
light. All were cracked, one looked fine, but on closer inspection,
Slater realized it had no glass at all.

Slater began filling the empty window with
nearby scattered clothing. He glanced over the rest of the broken
tail. A few empty seats remained, some dangled by twisted metal and
two were still in tack--the last two. Cushions were scattered about
and some luggage managed to remain in the cabin’s tail.

The door to the restroom behind the seats at
the rear was closed with the sign on the latch indicating,
“Occupied”. Slightly amused, Slater shoved the door with his
shoulder. It gave way on the third heave. It was surprisingly
intact. If someone were in there at the point of impact, they had
departed rather unpleasantly.

The faucet in the bathroom had no gushing
water, but an occasional drip gave hopes for drinking water if it
didn’t freeze before it was collected. Plane lavatories were
designed with lots of insulation to keep water from freezing at
high altitudes. If Slater could find a container to catch the
drops, he might be able to salvage a swallow every few hours.

Limping to the gaping hole where the tail had
parted from the plane, Slater realized that it needed to be closed
before the mountain sleet and snow totally invaded their small
space. Visibility was still dense. If other passengers had
survived, he saw no evidence. He looked for something that
resembled his Stetson. He found nothing. Rummaging through Red’s
coat, he found a fur hat and some fur-lined gloves still in his
own. Grateful that he had worn his working boots with warm thick
wool socks, he immediately began to attack the drift outside the
tail with a piece of broken metal that he found next to the
battered tail before the snow was too frozen to penetrate.

Dragging another larger piece of metal debris
from where it was buried, Slater partially closed the opening of
the wrecked tailpiece. A few more pieces of tin with some packed
snow and the wind was curtailed. Surveying his handy work, he was
satisfied with the snug little igloo that he had created. If he
un-stuffed the plane window, perhaps a fire could be built when the
storm had died letting out smoke for ventilation.

A gnawing in the pit of his stomach told
Slater that the next order of survival was sustenance for his
hungry growling stomach. A quick dig through the pantry across from
the restroom produced a basket of snacks under the lopsided
countertop. Oreo Cookies and crumpled Ritz Crackers seemed like a
luxury meal. It appeared to be enough to last a while, the question
was, “What was a while?”

Studying the sky through the plane windows,
Slater realized that the daylight was getting dimmer. He needed to
immediately improvise a makeshift bed for two from available chair
cushions and clothing while he could still see. He managed to twist
the partially broken metal seats until they gave way to more space
and protection from the outside. Putting several seats together, he
laced stuffing and clothing around any available item. With some
ingenuity, he was able to devise a rather cushy mattress.

The sky was now twilight and a blanket of
darkness was quickly descending. He gathered the limp body of the
other sole passenger and carefully placed her on the improvised
bed. Her breathing remained shallow. Slater gently pulled her arms
from her coat and quickly removed his own. Covering her with both
coats he crawled in beside her. Gathering her in his arms, he
snuggled her close for the warmth and the protection of his own
body. As the wind continued to howl and the sun descended from
twilight to deep darkness, Slater was reminded of his last thoughts
before crashing and the old saying, “Be careful what you wish
for-----.”

Sometime during the night, Swan stirred and
snuggled deeper toward the radiating warmth next to her. Slater
immediately woke with her soft breasts and pouting nipples against
his chest. The twin nipples with their distended points immediately
attacked one layer of morino wool, a t-shirt, and one layer of his
naked flesh. They then traveled down his navel, concentrated in his
loins, and flipped his pecker from down to up. It was all he could
do to stifle a deep moan. Sleep came much, much later.

CHAPTER 5

Swan could see bursts of color. There seemed
to be a magical rainbow swirling and twirling down a long, long
tunnel. She dreamily reached out to touch the kaleidoscope, but
every time she tried, it seemed to get farther and farther away as
excruciating pain intruded and she continued to become surrounded
by heavy darkness.

Slater felt Swan struggling to surface and
become part of the world again. He could feel her suffering
restlessly with little whimpers of pain like a small wounded
animal. Fearing that she might be much more injured that she
appeared, Slater tried to comfort her with soothing whispers and
gentle caresses up and down her back. Without really touching her,
he began to become as familiar with her body as he was with his
own. It was a pleasant distraction.

Slater’s arms encompassed Swan as they both
slept again, each leaving this world for another, each trying to
heal their tattered minds and bodies so that they could cope with
the disaster that they had been hurled into only yesterday.-- On
the third day, Swan’s whimpers ceased. Slater knew that that was
the exact moment she began to heal.

Swan awoke disoriented and in total darkness
on the fourth day. Her head ached all over, but she remembered the
sights, sounds, and screams of crashing. It was difficult to
comprehend that something so hellacious like that could possibly
have happened. She wondered if she were alive. Throbbing head pain
seemed to indicate that she definitely was. The warm body pressed
against her also assured her that she was alive and that she was
not alone. She could feel muscle moving up and down with deep
breathing. She could hear the steady thud of each heartbeat. Her
intuition told her it was male.

Slater didn’t move a muscle. He knew by
instinct that he was being watched even with his eyes shut. He
absorbed that thought. Then, he slowly began to open his eyes. Holy
shit! He was not prepared for his stomach to drop to his knees and
turn to mush. Staring back at him were huge aqua orbs that made him
suddenly feel like he was drowning in a pool of sea water. He was
totally captivated in a hypnotic trance as each lovely eyeball
seemed to be intently searching his soul for something he couldn’t
quite grasp. Slater cleared his throat feeling a little
uncomfortable with those blue/green orbs and thick black lashes
scrutinizing and dissecting him piece by piece.

The wind outside had died down to a soft
breeze and the sun was shining brightly. All that could be heard
was the soft breathing of male and female. Realizing the effect
this woman was having upon his body, Slater moved slightly to put
some distance between them. It was then, that she reached up to run
her fingers down his face, over his lips, and down his chin with
three days growth as though she were memorizing each tiny detail.
She licked her lush red lips with the tip of her tiny pink
tongue.

Slater stifled a groan of pure agony before
Red spoke in a quiet whisper, “Are you awake?”

Funny question--she could see that his eyes
were wide open---couldn’t she? Slater stiffened at the magnitude of
those three words. He didn’t move an inch. It was as though time
stood still in yet again another dimension. His stomach clenched in
the dread of what he knew was a strong possibility. Upon closer
scrutiny of the piercing pupils, he realized that he was right.
Both pupils were almost as big and black as the iris---probable
concussion and definitely blindness, which was hopefully temporary.
She was waiting for an answer. He pulled her to his chest.

Not ready to address the situation he only
said, “Go back to sleep.”

Slater lay still like a mummy waiting for
Red’s rhythmic breathing to begin again signaling that this blind
beautiful lady had once again slipped into the arms of the Sandman.
Pondering the helplessness of this fragile woman, he suddenly felt
very protective. It was a new feeling for him. He had never been a
sucker for the helpless. He learned early in life that the weak do
not inherit the earth and only the strong survive.

Women were meant to party and enjoy. He never
thought of them as having any other purpose. It was just part of
the female/male tradition as far as he was concerned. For Slater,
it was his idea of a functional relationship. Besides, he always
gave generously to his female flings with his money and body, just
never his soul. Perhaps that was why his conscience never surfaced
when he ended a romance, moved on, and rarely looked back.