High Impact (26 page)

The ash, swept along by the turbulence they flew in, had almost caught them. Emery’s heart began to jackhammer. “It’s getting very close,” she said.

“I know,” Skeeter replied. “Ladies, I’ll do my best to put down somewhere safely. I’ve landed in the backcountry hundreds of times. I just need a few hundred feet of solid, flat ground. As we get closer, you can all help me find a good prospect.”

The plane dropped again, at least twenty feet this time. Karla awkwardly fumbled for one of the airsick bags, managing to open it just in time. The stench in the plane became almost unbearable, and Emery got out her own bag in readiness.

“Pass a couple more back, will you?” Toni asked. Pasha reached for one, too.

They had just descended below the highest peaks when the propeller began to labor. Skeeter cursed and adjusted his controls, but the sputtering continued for several more seconds before the engine quit completely.

The sudden dead silence filled Emery with terror. No one spoke as the rate of their descent increased.

“Mayday. Mayday. This is E1329D Cessna out of BTT.” Skeeter read their current GPS location off his instruments as he tried to restart the engine. “My engine’s quit because of the volcanic ash. Trying to restart, going in for a forced landing. I have six souls on board.” He listened for a response before repeating the call.

The plane continued to drop. Pasha’s grip on Emery’s hand nearly cut off her circulation. Toni quietly prayed, and Karla stared forward in horror, gripping her overhead strap.

Emery looked over Skeeter’s shoulder. He held the controls firmly with both hands, wrestling to keep the plane centered in the valley, but something was sweeping them left, toward the sheer rock cliff face of an enormous mountain.

“Son of a bitch,” he said under his breath. Groaning from the strain, he took one hand off the controls long enough to try unsuccessfully to restart the engine. Their sideways momentum increased, buffeting the plane.

The ground seemed to rise toward them at alarming speed. Emery could make out more features in the landscape below, and what she saw didn’t comfort her. The area looked like an enormous swamp with a river running through it, a river devoid of the sandbars she and Bryson had landed on. The waterway here was too straight and the current too strong. The banks didn’t look any better.

The haze had reached and overtaken them. Emery found it harder to see; the plume muted the sun and cast a thin veil around the plane that partially obscured some of the surrounding landscape below and behind.

Skeeter tried again to restart the engine, but still failed. He called back, “I don’t have much choice where to set down. I won’t be able to see anything in a couple minutes. Prepare for an emergency landing. Remove any sharp objects on your body, and when I say so, put your head down and lace your fingers behind your neck. Try to relax. I know it’s a tall order.”

They seemed to almost level off for several seconds, as the plane caught a current of air and Skeeter worked to keep them away from the mountain. He tried repeatedly to restart the engine as they covered another mile or two and the landscape changed. In the gaps between the haze, dense forest replaced much of the swampland below on their side of the river. And the lower mountain now to their left had gentler slopes, though at this altitude, a thick layer of snow still cloaked everything.

“I’m going to try there,” Skeeter pointed ahead at a fairly flat expanse of snow on a long ridge well above the tree line. “Best option we got. Hang on, everybody.”

Toni’s recitation of the Lord’s Prayer accelerated, and Ruth joined in.

Emery looked at Pasha as she gripped her hand tighter. Pasha’s eyes were wide in shock, and pure, stark horror emanated from her.

They would all die, Emery thought. Pasha sensed it. Even without that confirmation, she wasn’t entirely surprised. She’d been luckier than anyone could expect in cheating death so far, and during her long recovery, she’d accepted that perhaps she would die prematurely. That realization had helped her overcome her fears and take the risks she had the last few months.

But she was afraid now, and angry. She hadn’t yet done a fraction of what she wanted to, and it seemed so damn unfair to have her life snuffed out just as she’d met the most intriguing, compelling woman of her life. Most of all, she was angry that when fate came to claim her, it so often took the lives of those closest to her.

Dear God,
if it’s my time, so be it. But please don’t take Pasha and the others.

“I’m sorry we never got the chance…” Pasha said in a shaky voice.

She held Pasha’s hand between both of hers. “I know. Me, too.”

“Heads down!” Skeeter commanded. “Brace for impact.” He lowered the flaps and the plane slowed dramatically.

Emery risked a quick glance ahead before she got into the position. They hurtled toward a wall of white and were, at best, mere seconds from crashing.

She put her head between her legs, laced her fingers together behind her neck, and closed her eyes. Her heart pounded so hard it threatened to burst through her chest.
Our Father, who art—

Emery catapulted forward against Skeeter’s seat back when they hit, then the plane somersaulted and she flew head over heels, still strapped to her seat. Time slowed, and her senses sharpened. She tasted blood as cold air rushed in and a sharp stabbing pain as something pierced her side. Screams and curses blended with the sound of tearing metal. Then all went quiet.

“Anything?” Megan stopped pacing long enough to ask.

Dita shook her head and frowned as she set down the satellite phone. “Nothing’s working. I can’t reach anyone. Just static.” She got up and looked out the window. Volcanic ash obliterated the sun, making it like dusk. But it hadn’t fallen heavily onto the village, yet. The wind, strong and in their favor, carried the bulk of the plume high and farther west. Still, with particles visible, everyone was staying indoors with the windows shut. Not that she planned to go anywhere anytime soon. She’d remain near the phone until she heard from everyone. She worried mainly about Skeeter’s flight and Bryson’s. Both pilots had been airborne when the volcano erupted, on long flights in the plume’s path.

No one had communications in the surrounding area, she imagined. She’d received a handful of calls in the early stages, after Grizz phoned about a breaking news report. She’d immediately turned on the office TV and watched raw footage from the scene. The news anchor reported that the initial blast from the Mount Wrangell eruption had calmed somewhat, but the volcano continued to spew ash into a strong, fast air column from the south. A graphic replaced the video, showing the ash plume’s estimated path hour by hour, Bettles located at the danger zone’s edge. She hurriedly called the other Eidson offices, telling them to immediately ground all flights and warn any guides out in the field.

Despite repeated tries, Dita hadn’t been able to reach Bryson on a charter freight run between Fairbanks and Anaktuvuk Pass, or Skeeter, and though she’d contacted Chaz, the connection had failed before she said three words. Since that time, she’d heard only static from the world outside. No Internet or satellite TV, either. She’d never felt more isolated and powerless.

Dita had faith that Chaz and her group of clients would fare all right, as long as the ash didn’t bury them and planes could fly before too long. They had nearly half the ten-day trip supplies, and Chaz had abundant experience outdoors.

No one was better attuned to environmental changes or a better pilot in emergencies than Bryson. No doubt she’d set down somewhere to ride out the weather, well equipped with survival gear and outdoor savvy.

She worried most about the Cessna 208. Possibly Skeeter had stayed ahead of the plume and landed safely at the drop-off spot, but from the projected speed and path of the plume, she thought it unlikely. The Cessna couldn’t fly at top speed with its heavy load, so the forward edge of the plume had probably intersected the plane’s flight about halfway.

Studying the topographical map of the region didn’t reassure her. The area where the ash cloud had likely overtaken Skeeter consisted of high mountains, swamps, a few patches of forest, and not much else for miles in every direction. A few tiny cabins dotted the map, likely old trappers’ huts or seasonal hunting or fishing retreats. Few people occupied places up here year-round.

The region didn’t look ideal for a forced landing, especially since the Cessna’s tundra tires limited the surfaces Skeeter could put down on. Also, Skeeter didn’t know this particular area nearly as well as Bryson. Bryson called the area between Fairbanks and the North Slope “my territory.” Skeeter had a lot fewer years in interior Alaska and tended to stick to commercial charters that took him between the more-developed airstrips at villages. Oh, he’d racked up a lot of flights in the backcountry, too, but never in this particular area. In fact, Chaz had ridden along on the first flight because she’d been there before and excelled at reading a topo map. Skeeter’s GPS would get them fairly close, but the readings up here were never ideal.

She hoped he saw the danger in plenty of time and got down safely in a good area. But she would worry like crazy until she knew for sure. She felt a deep sense of responsibility for the safety of her clients, pilots, and guides. Pasha, in particular, had become like a younger sister.

Megan had hardly stopped pacing in the last half hour, except for brief pauses at the window to look outside. Worried sick about Chaz, she had tried several times to reach that group’s satellite phone. “I can’t stand all this waiting, being so cut off from everything. Not knowing what’s going on, who’s safe and who’s not.”

The news blackout had to be especially difficult for Megan because of her background. During her long years in 24-hour live news, she’d had access to instant updates and extensive detail about every major world event. “All we can do is keep trying,” Dita said.

She reviewed the equipment list for the rafting trip, sorting through what gear had gone with each flight to assess how well-equipped each of the two parties would be if separated. They’d deliberately divided the tents and sleeping bags, and each party had its own personal duffels. Both also had some of the food, but they’d packed the crates according to weight, not by meals, so one group might have more and better options than the other. And Chaz’s gang had the bulk of the kitchen cookware, while Pasha’s had most of the rafting equipment.

The second flight also had Karla along, which comforted her somewhat. Level-headed, Karla could handle many medical emergencies.

Geneva came in, carrying two paper bags of food from the Den. “Anything new?” A thin layer of grayish ash muted the shoulders and front of her jacket, normally a vivid green. She shook it off before hanging it on a peg by the door.

“No,” Dita replied. “Still down. The Den?”

“The same. Everyone’s trying. It’s so damn frustrating.” Geneva set the paper bags on the counter and started to unpack them. “I know you both said you’re not hungry, but you need to eat something. We’re in for a long night and need to keep our strength up.”

Megan reached for a salad. “At least they all have PLBs. Once we can get flights in the air, we should be able to find them even with communications still down.”

“When I talked to the other offices, I alerted our pilots outside the zone to be ready to head this way as soon as the flight ban is lifted,” Dita told them. “And I’ll notify authorities and ASARA as soon as I can.” The Alaska Search and Rescue Association included a number of highly trained volunteer organizations and individuals.

“Resources might be stretched thin,” Megan said. “No telling how many planes had to make forced landings. Or what other problems they may have to deal with because of the eruption.”

Dita shrugged. “I’ll call in favors, if necessary, to find them.”

*

Chaz sorted through the pile of gear, separating what they’d brought into three piles: personal duffels, food and kitchen supplies, and tents and sleeping bags. Her clients had gathered around her in a semicircle. “We should set up camp while we wait to hear what’s happening. They probably won’t make it today.” She grabbed their three two-man tents and handed one to each couple. She’d have to sleep under a tarp. “Find a level spot in this area and pitch your tent, then situate your personal gear. I’ll set up the kitchen downriver a ways.”

Skeeter’s second flight was two hours overdue, and she tried hard not to panic. About the time she’d expected the Cessna to return, the sky had grown hazy, diffusing the sunlight and darkening the landscape, but not until the plume passed directly overhead, raining bits of gray-brown ash, did she realize a volcano had erupted somewhere south of them.

She couldn’t reach Skeeter or Dita by satellite phone, which only increased her concern and frustration. She could only hope the plane never made it off the ground and that everyone was safely in Bettles. Obsessing about the alternative—that Skeeter’d had to ditch somewhere—would make her crazy and less effective.

For now, she could only focus her energy on keeping her clients healthy and happy. The ash itself worried her. It had already covered everything with a thin, dusty layer, which was one reason she wanted to get the tents up and sleeping bags and other gear inside. Fortunately, they had a large canopy for the kitchen area to protect those supplies as well, but if the ash continued to fall at this rate, breathing the stuff might soon present a hazard. She’d have to investigate moving their camp to a better-protected area or farther from the fallout.