Page 19 of High Intensity

With snowshoes strapped to our boots and handfuls of orange marker flags in our packs, we spread out and start moving into the crash site.

“Hello! James Vallard! Captain Alpern!”

My voice is swallowed by the snow and greeted with ominous silence. In my gut I know there is no one left alive. Still, I continue moving, bracing myself for the inevitable as I search.

When I spot a complete seat, upside down, long brown hair from underneath trailing in the snow, I close my eyes and silently pray this isn’t the little girl.

“Bo! I’ve got one,” I call out.

In a previous life, Bo was a nurse, before he joined the armed forces as a field medic. His medical training is definitely an asset to the team and comes in handy out here. He lumbers over and pulls off a glove, reaching under the chair.

“Cold,” he states simply. “Give me a hand.”

Between the two of us we manage to flip the chair upright, the body frozen in place, still strapped in her seat. I wince at the sight of her head, which sits at an unnatural angle to her body, her neck clearly broken. This definitely isn’t a child, but an adult woman. From her apparent age, I’m guessing we’ve found the girl’s mother, Theresa Vallard, but it’s not on me to make that determination.

“I’ll radio it in.”

I’ve just reported the first confirmed mature female casualty to Sully when I hear JD call out.

“Bo!”

While Bo heads his way, I shove an orange flag in the snow next to the body before continuing on my search. I don’t encounter anything else until I come upon the portion of the tail we spotted on the drone’s feed. I already know there’s a body under here, and I can tell from the hand it’s another female, but I need confirmation there is an entire body underneath and not just part.

“I could use a hand over here,” I call out.

There’s no way I can lift this section by myself.

While I wait for Bo, I scan the landscape around me, wondering where the rest of the tail could’ve gone. In the denser trees to my left, I notice a reflection of metal about twenty feet in. I’m going to check that out next.

“JD found a man,” Bo shares when he joins me. “Deceased. What do you have?”

“This is the arm we saw on the screen back at base camp. Looks female.”

Bo crouches down and lightly touches the hand. “Young,” he mumbles, and my heart sinks.

It must’ve shown on my face because he immediately clarifies, “Not quite that young.”

So, that leaves the twenty-six-year-old flight attendant, her name was Sylvia Hansen.

We each carefully grab at opposite ends of the torn metal and lift it aside. I briefly glance at the body it covered, only long enough to confirm it is not the kid. I’m starting to realize this is not going to get any easier until we’ve found all the victims.

Sticking another orange flag in the snow next to the young woman, I point at the trees.

“I think there’s a bigger piece over there,” I tell Bo.

“I’ll tag along,” he offers, and I hear the soft thud of his snowshoes behind me when I head for the trees.

What we find is a substantial portion of the rear of the fuselage. When I looked at drawings of the various layouts for this model Cessna earlier, I noted in all of them the bathroom is at the rear of the plane. When we round the side, we find a big gaping hole where this section was attached to the rest of the plane. The ceiling is caved in, but a single, empty chair still appears to be bolted to the floor, it’s back against what I believe is the wall of the bathroom. The door is open.

“I’m going in,” I announce, brushing aside a cluster of dangling wires.

“Be careful,” Bo rumbles.

Ducking down, I find my way past the chair, taking a deep breath before I stick my head around the bathroom door.

Empty.

“It’s clear.”

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