Page 46 of Protecting the Flame

Chapter 5

“Drink a little more,”she coaxed. Before Will left, they’d maneuvered Rachel’s grandfather as close to the fire as they could without the poor man actually catching fire and then used a seat from the wreck to prop him up. This, Will said, would help him breathe a little easier. She held a cup of broth to his lips. “A few more sips, and I promise I’ll leave you alone.”

“As if.” The old man heaved a noisy, beleaguered sigh that turned into a wheeze. “Isn’t that what all you young people say?” He sucked in a breath and then pushed out the next sentence. “As if?”

“I’m not that young, but yeah.”

“Give me…that,” he grumped. “It’s my legs…” He struggled to pull in air. “That won’t work…” Breath. “Not my arms.”

“Maybe you shouldn’t try to talk so much,” she said

“Don’t tell me…what to do.” He sucked. “I can still feed myself. But…I’m cold. Can’t get warm. Damnedest thing. That doctor said…it was on account…”

“That you broke your back, yeah,” she said. Spinal shock was what Will had said. Depending on the level of the break, it was normal after a spinal injury for the body to have trouble regulating blood pressure, pulse, temperature, and for every breath to be a struggle. Given the huge bruise over his spine midway up his ribs, Will though Grampa’s break was high thoracic. This was all so much Greek to her, but the gist was that the nerves controlling the muscles between Grampa’s ribs were out for the count, which meant it was hard for him to cough, clear secretions, and otherwise avoid pneumonia. She knew without Will having to say a word that, even kept warm and hydrated, the old man probably wouldn’t survive another twenty-four hours. That he’d made it this long, three days post-crash, was a miracle. Maybe snuggling up to Scott had been a two-way street.

“All right then.” She made sure he had a good grip before relinquishing hers. “Drink up.” She watched the old man carefully guide the mug to his mouth. His hands shook with cold, and she almost warned him to be careful because the broth was hot but bit that back. She was a stranger; he was helpless. No need to humiliate the man.

After several loud, moist slurps, he held the cup out for her to take back. “That’s enough for now…and don’t even think…about it, young lady,” he warned as he caught her expression. “I know I gotta…drink. But you’re forgetting.” He managed a wink. “Everything that goes in…”

“Has to come out. Right.” She managed a smile, even though it really wasn’t funny. She couldn’t imagine what it might be like for this old man to be both paralyzed from the waist down and stuck with a stranger to clean up after him. “You know, I don’t even know your name, sir.”

“Earl.” He held out a quaking hand. “Hollister. You call me Earl.”

“Pleased to meet you, Earl.” His hand was work-hardened and rough with callous. She had a sense Earl had lived through a thing or two himself. Releasing his hand, she said, “Better put your gloves back on.” Dumping the broth into a small thermos (and to hell with cooties), she rose. “I’ll be back. I have to check on Hunter.”

“Make him drink that,” Earl called after. “Him…you need.”

What we need is a damn rescue. As soon as she left the fire, the drop in temperature made her wince. Crouching, she scuttled through a short tunnel in the snow she and Will had heaped around the cockpit along with slabs of the plane in an attempt at constructing a snow-shelter. They hadn’t had a lot of time, and the effort was half-assed but better than nothing, and the air inside was warm enough that when she skimmed a gloved finger over a side window, the fabric came away damp with condensation.

“It’s me, Hunter,” she said as she pushed inside. “I brought you something hot to drink.”

“Okay.” His voice was tight with pain. “Don’t suppose you got something better than aspirin?” There came a crinkle of paper as he shifted. “Right about now, I’d take a good whack in the head.”

“This is all I got.” Slipping into his father’s empty seat, she uncapped the thermos. “You need to drink this. Then, maybe you’d like to wash your face and brush your teeth? Will left an extra toothbrush.”

“Yeah, yeah, Mr. Be Prepared. You know what’s driving me crazy? This damn beard.” He dug with a gloved hand. “Itches.”

“Would washing it help? We could do that.”

“Cut the damn thing off for all I care. But, yeah, maybe.” With his hood cinched down tight around his face and that beard, it looked as if he were peering with deep-set, glittery eyes out of some deep cave. Will had brought The Minot Daily News to use for a fire, though the majority he’d wadded then stuffed into Hunter’s coat for added insulation. Already chunky, Hunter was bulky enough now to give the Michelin tire guy a run for his money. Whenever he moved, he crinkled. He held out his hands. “Give that mug here.”

She watched as he drained the broth in nothing flat. Tipping out the rest of the thermos for him, she asked, “Are you hungry?”

“Yes, but I’m not eating a fucking thing until we cut me the fuck out of here.” He gave the fiddleheads of steam rising from the mug a morose stare. “If that even happens.” His face suddenly crumpled, and he turned away, but not before she caught the shine of tears. “Having to fucking sit here in my own shit. Worse than a fucking baby. At least a kid gets his ass wiped.”

“I’m sorry we couldn’t get you out today.” They’d debated before Will emptied out his water bottle. She’d been against it because the odds were against Hunter, but Will argued that keeping up Hunter’s morale was as important to the man’s survival as warmth and water and food. Bad enough he has to stew in his own crap. No point in making him constantly pee his pants. “Will’s going to bring tools from your dad’s cargo locker in the morning. Like you said, everything in the console is pretty much a drop-in, right?”

“Yeah.” He gave his side of the console a baleful look. “I told my dad not to buy this fucking thing. Took all his savings and then a loan and then he goes and does an upgrade, and now we’re more in hock. I told him to be satisfied with what we had, but no, he had to keep going bigger and better. I always knew this business would come back to bite us if we stayed in too long.”

It was a curious thing to say, and she didn’t know how to respond. That the plane had bitten down on Hunter wasn’t too far from the truth either. While the pilot’s half of the console was still relatively intact, Hunter’s had crumpled to trap his legs at mid-shin. For the first thirty-six hours, he could wiggle his toes, but now had no feeling in his feet at all. Will thought that meant frostbite and another set of problems. But, as he’d said, one crisis at a time. First they had to free Hunter’s legs, then they could worry about whatever they found.

“Sorry.” Hunter blew out a shaky laugh. “I’m lucky you guys found the cockpit at all. That fucking Scott, man, he was no help. Like he didn’t even try. Took one look and left. And my dad…Jesus…hell did he go? I told him it was crazy, middle of a fucking storm, told him he shouldn’t go.”

They hadn’t talked much before now. She’d been too busy, and this was new information. “Do you know when he left? Where he thought he was going?”

“Naw, he was out of it. Stove in his head here.” Hunter touched his own forehead. “Bleeding like crazy.”

Well, that explained the blood on the console. “He was probably confused.” Which meant Burke had likely died fast and was out there, somewhere, entombed under new snow. Maybe that was a mercy.

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