The Flyer (37 page)

The storm shrouded them in darkness. The light from the fire vanished, then reappeared in a blurry haze of dust.

A shock of white-hot pain racked the upper half of Paul’s body. His head impacted the side of the aircraft with a sickening crunch that echoed from one side of his brain to the other.

Helen screamed. The sound of her voice, severing the crackle of flames, thunder, and wind speared his chest.

A second before the world went black, one thought surfaced above all others.

Nobody knew where they were.

Heat sliced the chill of the coming storm. A whirlwind of dust surrounded the wreckage of Paul’s plane, spinning with a ferocious, biting wind that combined with grains of sand to cut viciously at the exposed flesh of her face and hands. To her left, or was it her right, the flames danced with sporadic, spitting movements. Up was down. Down was up.

Helen hung from the straps of her harness, her head mere inches from the ground. There was no time to panic.

“Paul!” she shouted. There was no reply.

Immediately taking a mental stock of her various aches and pains, she decided nothing was broken. She went to work on her harness, pulling at the straps and buckle until it finally released her. She fell at an awkward angle, but managed to slide herself to an upright position and scramble from the overturned plane on her belly. The flames raced over the wing, stretching higher into a hideous gray sky.

Falling to her knees, she crawled beneath the pilot’s cockpit. Paul was suspended beneath the plane, his harness still latched as hers had been. Blood dripped from a gash on the side of his head. His left arm was broken, hanging limp. Already his fingers were a distasteful bluish color.

He wasn’t conscious, but thank God, he was breathing.

She unhooked his harness and used all of her flagging strength to guide him out of his seat. Struggling, she pulled him free of the cockpit. Her feet slipped from beneath her in the sandy soil twice as she fought against his body weight, far larger than her own.

Somewhere, however, the strength came. She had to get him away from the plane, away from the fire. Inch by slow, painful inch, she dragged him as far as she could. Finally, her strength gave out, and she fell in a heap at his head. Stroking his hair, she gave voice to the sobs that had burned her throat for what seemed like hours.

Ever since a normal flight had turned into a waking nightmare.

Paul’s face, blackened with soot and grime, contorted in agony. He woke suddenly. His eyes flew wide, staring up at her without seeing. Fogged and hazy. They cleared almost at once, and he pushed himself to his good arm with a stifled groan. “We have to get out of here.”

Stumbling to his feet, he helped her stand. The comfort of his arm around her shoulder renewed her strength, and they ran. Step for step, they bolted for a huge boulder at the base of a small cliff.

Paul shoved her behind the rock, covering her with his bleeding, broken body when the earth shook beneath her feet.

The world erupted. A moment later, Paul let her rise and they moved away from their scant shelter. She raised one hand against a blinding, burning light. The plane, fully engulfed in flames, shuddered on its overturned wings, then collapsed like so much kindling.

“Your plane…” she whispered. “It’s gone.”

He shrugged, then winced. “It’s just a bunch of wood and paint, really. We’ve survived, haven’t we?”

“You’re hurt.” She glanced around the rocky earth for anything she might use as a splint for his arm. “It would have been easier to set while you were still unconscious, but I’ll still need to do it if you want to keep use of that arm.”

“It’s not so bad as all that.”

“Yes, it is.” She paused and looked at his head. “That gash needs stitching, as well, but of course, I haven’t anything to sew it with.” She bit her lip. She should never have let him take her without her medical bag. She took the bag everywhere!

“Stay here. I’m going to climb this ledge and see if there are any sticks I might be able to use as a splint.”

“Don’t bother. There aren’t any.” Paul swayed gently, like a great tree caught in a brisk wind. “We need shelter, before the storm gets worse.”

“Where will we find shelter here?” She eyed the coming storm.

“A cave should do it for one night. We’ll find something better tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow? They’ll come for us tomorrow, Paul. Won’t they?”

“Too right. Of course, they will.” He shook his head, the blood pooled in his hair dripping onto the severe planes of his cheek. An instant later, he fell in a tangled heap.

“Paul?” With shaking fingers, she felt his pulse. The head injury worried her. He’d hit his head on the side, directly above his right temple. Another inch lower, and the impact might have killed him. The thought took root in her belly like a sour apple. She would not let him die!

With practiced force, she set his arm. He screamed despite his state of unconsciousness, but hopefully, when he woke, he would have no memory of it.

Giving up on finding any wood for a splint in the barren landscape, she used her teeth to tear her dress. She ripped as much of the fabric from the bottom of the skirt as she could and wrapped Paul’s arm at a forty-five-degree angle. Using the last of her energy, she fastened his arm to his chest, lifting him awkwardly as she went. His chest would be his splint.

Then the sky opened, sending torrents of rain, sharp and stinging, onto the desert floor.

She wished she had time to cry, but she stifled her tears behind the will to survive.

Hooking Paul beneath the shoulders, she pulled him to the rocks. Scanning the lowest portions of the sloping canyon wall, she found an outcropping roughly fifty feet away. Fifty feet! Could she drag him that far?

Concentrate!

She had no choice. She would drag him to the moon if she had to. One step at a time.

By the time she reached the small cavelike formation, she and Paul were soaked to the skin. In a few hours, night would fall. She could only hope they wouldn’t freeze to death before Paul awakened and told her what to do.

She cradled his head in her lap, pressing a corner of her remaining skirt to the gash on his head. Blood stained the soaking fabric, as well as her fingers. Gently, she stroked his cheek. “Paul? Paul, can you hear me?”

He stirred, but still made no attempt to open his eyes.

“Paul!” she shouted, sounding as frightened as she felt. “Wake up, please. Please, wake up!” The mantra came as her flesh began to chill. She was going into shock. Even in her state of panic, she recognized the signs. Hypothermia, shock. Both were deadly.

She didn’t want to leave Paul, but she had no choice. She needed fire. Both for her and for Paul. The plane still burned some distance away, the fuel feeding the flames despite the heavy rain.

She bolted for the only source of fire she had. When she reached the wreckage, she pulled a burning board free of the framework. The blackened wood sloughed soot and wasted pieces beneath her fingers, but held together. The acrid scent of burned fabric, paint, and fuel assailed her. Holding the fuel-soaked board in both hands, she raced back to their shelter. She spent the next twenty minutes gathering anything that would burn. Scrub brush, dripping and wet, sizzled when she tried to light it. She twisted the loose branches into coils of six or seven pieces each, creating miniature logs that she hoped would burn more slowly. Eventually, when she was on the verge of giving up, the fire caught. She loaded more brush onto the birth of flames, praying her desire was enough to keep it burning.

Night fell as the rain stopped. Frightened and, for all intents and purposes, alone, Helen huddled against the wall. Paul’s head had stopped bleeding. A knot formed on the side of his head. A good sign. It meant he wasn’t swelling into his brain.

The sky around their shelter cleared, the stars mocking her with their peaceful twinkling. The desert floor disappeared beneath a sliver of a moon, black encroaching on everything like a cancer.

No one would find them tonight. The plane had burned out hours ago. There was very little moon, just enough to send eerie shadows across the rocks until her imagination created any number of creatures.

The desert had swallowed them whole.

Helen woke with a start. Her first thought was of Paul. She lifted her head from his chest. He was still sleeping, but his pulse was strong and his chest rose and fell in an easy, deep rhythm.

How long had she been asleep? Minutes? Hours? She couldn’t tell. Studying the fire, she estimated perhaps thirty minutes or an hour had passed. Long enough for the fire to burn down to a few low flames and glowing embers. She struggled to her knees and twisted more of the branches she’d collected, then set them strategically across the remains of the fire.

She should try to stay awake. If the fire went out…

She wouldn’t think about that now. She focused her energy on the fire until the flames built back up into a small inferno. On the outside of their tiny little cave, two bright red circles shone in the night. Something growled.

She rubbed her arms free of a sudden chill. Another set of eyes appeared next to the first, and suddenly a collection of glowing orbs surrounded their camp. She tossed more brush onto the fire, not bothering to twist the limbs. Huge flames shot upward, almost touching the top of the outcropping. The light spread in a large half circle.

Wild dogs.

Some of them crouched low on their front legs, their teeth like razors behind curled black lips. Others paced from one side of the opening to the other, sniffing the air like it was some kind of rare treat. She glanced at Paul. They smelled his blood.

One dog in particular caught her attention, its eyes suddenly reflecting green in the increased light. It studied her, salivating and taking measure of the risks.

Would the fire be enough to keep them away? What if she ran out of kindling? What if the fire went out? Terror sat beside her fear, rooting into her chest with the same intensity of those small, greenish eyes.

The first dog leapt almost at once. Helen screamed, stealing the original torch she’d used to start the fire from the back of the cave where she’d hidden it. The board collided with the animal’s head. It yelped and drew back.

She dipped the fuel-soaked board into the fire. The tip caught.

It would come back. She had no doubts about that. She lit the end of the board and swung the board in a wide arc. Let them come. She would burn each of them straight to hell.

Another dog attacked then, this time leaping for Paul. It nearly reached his exposed leg, but Helen shoved the fire into its face. The scent of burned hair teased her nose. She ignored it, refusing even to rub it away for fear she might take her eyes off the wild animals for one life-stealing second.

For the next quarter hour, at least, she fended off a series of attacks. One of the beasts managed to bite her arm, but the wound was superficial at best.

How much longer until sunrise? How many hours would she be forced to endure?

“Go away!” she screeched, shoving the dying torch at the closest dog. “You filthy, mangy dog. Leave us alone!”

“They’re dingos. Not dogs.” The soft voice came from behind her.

Tears she’d been storing broke free, spilling over her cheeks in streams made even more blazing by the cool night air. “Paul,” she whispered. “I don’t know what to do.”

“You’re doing fine, love,” he rasped, the final words falling away as he shifted himself to sit up against the back wall of the cave. “Keep holding them off.”

“Lie back down. You mustn’t strain yourself.”

“My head aches like the devil, but other than that, and this worthless arm, I’m in fair shape, I think.” He stretched one leg and withdrew a long, curved knife from a pocket that ran the length of his thigh. Biting the sheath, he pulled the blade free. Silver glinted in the firelight, reflecting on the rusty walls. “Build up the fire and come sit by me. They won’t pass the flames.”

She did as he instructed, using the last of her brush to feed the struggling fire. “Are you sure?”

“Aye. They are the world’s finest opportunists. If they have to work too hard for a meal, they give up and find something else.” He groaned, the pain obviously more than he was willing to let on.