High Impact (30 page)

“Emery looks a lot better.”

“Remarkably so, I’d say. But given the blow she took to the head, a subdural hematoma could definitely develop, so we need to keep her quiet until she can get to a hospital for tests.”

“I’ll leave you to watch them both.” Pasha zipped up her heavy coat and put the hood on. Stained with Emery’s blood, it painfully reminded her of the danger she still faced. “Wish me luck.”

“Be careful.”

Pasha set off toward the top of the ridge, carrying a six-foot length of thin metal tubing—a wing strut that had snapped off the plane. It made an effective probe to discern any hidden crevasses or overhangs in the snow. The depth of the snow and her meticulous care in testing the under layer before every step slowed her forward progress. She also had to pause to catch her breath if she exerted herself too much, and the higher she got, the more dangerous the ridge became, with sharp drop-offs on either side.

She tried the satellite phone again. Still no luck, so she pushed forward until her legs began to protest the strain of struggling against the thigh-high drifts. Resting, she stared out over the valley. She could see from here better than from the plane, but still not enough to find any reasonably safe way off the mountain. She pushed on.

*

Bryson emerged from her tent and stared into the cloudless sky, still hazy with ash. She doubted she might get out today but was still disappointed. She tried her satellite phone. Static.

After a breakfast of oatmeal and coffee, she spent nearly an hour clearing the ash off her plane. Still only nine a.m. She’d go crazy just sitting and waiting, so she packed her daypack with water, a couple of PowerBars, matches, the phone, flares, and a signaling mirror, and headed off toward the foothills of a nearby mountain.

The farther she got from the riverbank, the boggier the terrain became. Sodden patches of thawed permafrost that could trap an errant step as easily as quicksand surrounded uneven hummocks of fairly solid earth. She spent most of the morning reaching the base of the mountain. She’d chosen this particular peak because of its potentially scalable façade and its low height. Its steep rise, covered with scree—gravel-like rock debris that would be treacherous to climb—beat the nearby alternatives, all with sheer rock cliffs.

Gaining elevation to improve her chances of successfully making a call was worth the risk. She started climbing.

For every yard she gained, she slipped back a foot or two. Partway up the slope, she lost her footing and slid several feet on her knees. The sharp scree cut into the fabric of her pants like razor blades, shredding the material. “Damn it!” The bloody lacerations covering her knees stung like hell. She used some of her water to wash out the dust and debris, but she’d left her first-aid kit in the plane.

She rested only a couple of minutes before continuing her climb.

Four hours later, she hauled herself onto a narrow ledge about three-quarters of the way up the mountain. She could go no farther. She’d consumed her water, PowerBars, and energy reserves, and she couldn’t cover the remaining distance without climbing gear. Rocky scree gave way to a sheer ice wall.

Bryson pulled out her satellite phone and tried again to reach Dita. More static. She debated the wisdom of remaining here for a while to try again. She didn’t have to worry about darkness falling and obscuring her way back, and she didn’t have much else to do, but as soon as she’d stopped moving, the steady breeze chilled her.

She pulled up the hood on her coat and hunkered down to wait.

*

Bettles

Dita unplugged the coffee pot and threw a blanket over Megan, who’d finally conked out on the couch in the back after staying up all night and most of the day trying to reach Chaz. She hadn’t been able to reach Bryson, Pasha, or the outside world either.

Geneva was putting on her coat when she returned to the outer office. “Time for my shift. Let me know right away if you get through, huh?”

Dita nodded. “You gonna be okay? You look plumb tuckered out.”

“Gee, thanks, Mom.” Geneva smiled tiredly. “I’ll try to catch a nap after work, then head back over to relieve you if we haven’t heard anything. You should try to rest, too.”

“I will.”

As thoroughly exhausted as she was, however, Dita wouldn’t rest until she’d heard from all her people. She tried her satellite phone every few minutes and her computer every half hour. She’d muted the TV so she could see the instant a picture replaced the words
satellite signal lost.

At seven p.m., Megan emerged from the back room with tousled hair and two mugs of coffee. “Bet you can use this.” She handed one to Dita. “I take it you haven’t heard anything or you would’ve waked me.”

“Nothing.” Dita took off her glasses and rubbed her eyes.

The bell above the door sounded and Geneva rushed in, still wearing her waitress apron under her jacket. “Tourist just got a call through on his satellite phone.” She sounded out of breath. “He got cut off, but his wife in Seattle has been watching the news ’cause she’s worried about him. She says they just reported that the eruption has slowed and a front is moving in tonight that’ll cause a shift in the wind pattern. That’s all. He couldn’t get the call back, but I thought you should know. Maybe it’s clearing up.”

“Thanks, Geneva.” Dita started to reach for the satellite phone, but Megan already held it.

“Please? I’ll be fast.” Megan pled with her eyes, and Dita knew how frantically she wanted to find out about Chaz, so she nodded.

“Nothing,” Megan reported after three attempts to connect. She handed the phone to Dita.

She tried Skeeter’s number first, encouraged by a break in the static, but heard no ringing and no response. She nearly jumped out of her skin when the phone rang a millisecond after she disconnected. “Eidson Eco-Tours. Dita.”

She had to hold the phone a couple of inches from her ear because of the static but thought she heard a voice cut in and out, so she forced herself to remain patient. “Hello? Bad connection. Repeat, please.”

More static, then the voice again, clearer this time. Clear enough for her to recognize Bryson and the words
forced landing, but all right
before it faded again to unintelligible noise. “Bryson? Got part of that. Where are you?”

“…valley, hundred miles north, near—” Bryson replied, before static cut off the rest.

“Bryson? Repeat.” The quality of the connection was awful, but Dita didn’t dare hang up to try again.

More static, then, “…Karla there?”

Dita gripped the phone harder and debated whether to tell Bryson that Karla was missing along with the rafting party. Bryson would just worry, but she couldn’t lie to such a good friend. “Karla isn’t here. She hitched a ride with Skeeter and Pasha to a medical run. We haven’t been able to reach them. They’re missing.”

Amidst still more static, she made out the word
repeat,
so she recited the message two more times
.

When she listened again, she thought she might have lost the connection, but finally heard the words
area?
What time did—
before Bryson’s voice cut out again.

Dita wasn’t certain, but it sounded like she was trying to determine where the plane ditched based on the flight’s departure time. And Bryson could best calculate that. She knew the route, she knew the Cessna, and she’d been in roughly the same area when the plume forced all aircraft from the sky. “They left at ten thirty,” she replied. No response, only more static. “Did you hear me, Bryson? They left here at ten thirty yesterday morning.”

She had no idea whether Bryson heard her. The line went dead. She tried to get it back several times, but came up empty. She had the same result trying to reach Chaz, Skeeter, or any of the other Eidson Eco-Tours offices.

“At least we know Bryson’s safe,” Megan said. “The ash probably isn’t too bad up there, then, right?”

“Apparently bad enough to keep Bryson grounded,” Dita replied. “But maybe Skeeter set down okay, too.” She walked over to the window and stared at the sky. The haze seemed to have cleared somewhat, but she couldn’t tell with the sun so low in the sky. Could be wishful thinking. “At least Bryson knows what’s going on and is closer to them than we are. If the ash keeps us from getting a fix on their location through their PLB or the plane’s emergency transmitter, she’s our best option for getting to them.”

“What time is it now?” Emery’s watch had broken in the crash, and she hated to have to keep asking the others for updates. According to Karla, Pasha had expected to be gone three or four hours, but lunch, such as it was, had come and gone. Still no sign of her.

“Half past three,” Toni said. “She left more than six hours ago. Shouldn’t one of us go after her? I’m willing.”

“No,” Karla replied. “Not yet. She knows what she’s doing, and she’d kill me if I let you put yourself in danger. If she’s not back by five, we’ll talk about it.”

“I’m the only one who can go, Karla,” Toni said. “And you know it. You can’t, with your broken arm and having to see to Skeeter and Emery, and Ruth wouldn’t get very far with her swollen knee. Besides, it’s a lot easier for me to plow through this stuff than you shorties.”

Karla smiled. “If we ever organize a debating team, I’ll make you captain, Toni. You make a compelling argument. But the answer is still no. For now.” She had hunched over Skeeter, and her smile faded as she unwrapped the dressing on his leg to look at his wound. “You can help me over here, however. Will you bring the first-aid kit?”

“Look bad?” Skeeter asked.

“I’m not crazy about how you’re healing.” When Toni handed Karla the kit, she fished through it for a thermometer and put it beneath Skeeter’s tongue. “Could be early signs of infection, which isn’t unexpected. I want to see if you have a fever.”

“And if I do?”

“I’ll start you on antibiotics, though I’d rather not give you anything with your head wounds. Are you allergic to anything?”

“No.”

“Listen! Hear that?” Ruth asked.

Everyone became very still. Then Emery heard it, too. A very distant
Hey! Anybody home?
Pasha. Her relief almost made her dizzy.

Toni swept back the makeshift door flap and peered out. “I see her,” she told the others. “She looks okay.” Then, louder, she called, “Hey, Pasha! You had us worried sick.”

A couple of minutes later, Pasha came in, shaking loose snow from her coat. “So you all missed me, did you?”

Though she tried to appear cheerful, Emery could see by the way she moved that Pasha was near collapse and more worried than she let on. “Sit.” Emery patted Pasha’s sleeping bag. “You’ve got to be exhausted.”

“Just for a minute and then I’ll start dinner. You all must be starving. I’m sorry I was gone so long.” Pasha sat beside Emery and shed her hat, gloves, and boots, then replaced her wet wool socks with dry ones.

“We had granola bars and dried fruit,” Emery told her. “We managed fine.”

“I can cook dinner,” Ruth said, “if you tell me what you planned to fix and show me how to use the stove.”

“Not necessary, Ruth, but thanks.” Pasha looked around at them. “I wish I had better news, but I couldn’t get a signal. And I didn’t see any sign of civilization from up there, or a good way to get off this mountain.”

No one said anything for a few seconds.

“I don’t want you to be discouraged,” Pasha said, staring out at the somber faces. “I’ll go the other way along this ridge tomorrow and try again. Besides, if you know anything about the weather up here, you know it changes all the time. When the wind shifts direction they can send someone for us. I intend to work on making us more visible from the air tomorrow as well.”

“You’re the resident encyclopedia, Toni,” Ruth said. “What do you know about Alaskan volcanoes?”

“Hmm. Well, let’s see. Alaska has more than ten percent of all the world’s volcanoes. And the largest eruption of the twentieth century happened here, at Novarupta, in 1912. Way, way bigger than that eruption in Iceland a couple years ago that shut down air traffic all over.”

“I had a ticket to London the day that happened,” Emery said. “It took ten days before I could fly.”

“Anybody know how long eruptions usually last?” Ruth asked.

“Anywhere from a few hours to years. Kilauea in Hawaii has been active for twenty-five years, at least,” Toni said. “The average, unfortunately, lasts about seven weeks. But like Pasha said, the weather and wind direction change up here all the time. I bet we’re out of here pretty quick.”

“Did you say seven
weeks
?” Karla asked. Emery saw her glance first at Skeeter, then at her, worry in her eyes.

Emery had felt much better than expected this morning, but a couple of hours ago, her headache had begun to creep back. And she’d glimpsed Skeeter’s leg when Karla checked it. The angry red wound didn’t look good.

Toni turned to Pasha. “How long will our food last?”

“We can stretch it to three weeks, maybe four,” Pasha said. “I’m more concerned about fuel. We need to melt snow for water, and we have only two small canisters of butane and a little more wood. That’s one reason I’m scouting. If I can find a way down to the tree line, at least I can bring back more fuel if we’re stranded here very long.”