Mack moaned, a rumble deep inside. “I can ... I’ll get us...”
Ah, blood dribbled from his mouth as he glanced at Wilder.
They were going to die. Oh, no—no, no—
God,please,if you get me out of this—aw, she was too far gone for foxhole prayers.
Still.Please.
Mack aimed for the frozen riverbank, the plane wobbling as he gripped the steering wheel with both hands. His entire body shook.
“Give me control!” Wilder, shouting into the headset.
“Shut up and land!” Thornwood said.
And right then, Mack glanced back at her, his face twisted, and mouthed something.
What—wait—Hold on?
The ground rushed up at them, coming fast—too fast, right?She gripped the arms of her seat tighter, braced her legs. Sucked in a breath—
They touched down. Bounced hard, and the plane tipped.
She couldn’t stop screaming.
Metal ripped, the sound of the wings shearing off tore through her ears as they hit earth again, jerking hard, then rolling—
Her backpack hit the ceiling, slammed into her body, taking out her wind—
Shouts, more crashing, the world upending. Her screams shredded her lungs as the plane ripped apart around her and plunged her into darkness.
“We need to get goingso we can beat the storm.”
At Moose’s statement, Dawson looked up from where he poured coffee into his thermos. Moose came out of his office carrying a duffel bag, set it on the table in the middle of the room. A massive map of Alaska spanned the far wall, and The Weather Channel played on the flat-screen, muted, with captions across the bottom.
“I saw it. Coming down from the north. Looks like a doozy.” Dawson capped his thermos. “Think we’ll make it back tonight?”
“If not, my folks will put us up. You packed extra gear, right?”
He gestured to his own duffel bag on the floor by the door, along with another one for Caspian. The dog seemed to know that he’d put food and treats into the bag because he lay near it, occasionally sniffing at it.
“When is your mom getting in?” Moose asked.
“I’m not sure.”
Moose wore a red-checkered plaid shirt and a baseball cap over his dark hair, and it seemed he hadn’t shaved for a couple days.
“Late-night rescue?” Dawson asked. Not that Moose looked any different than Dawson, with his own unshaven mug. But Dawson had no excuse.
Just hadn’t ... wanted to. Even now, the idea of traveling north to see his parents ... aw, too many questions.
Too much disappointment.
But he was all they had now, so...
“We got back about ten,” Moose said. “But I got the paperwork from the callout done before I went home. Tillie was already asleep. And this morning, she let me sleep in while she took Hazel to school.” He ran his hand along his chin. “Overslept.”
“How’s her pregnancy?”
