J. Robb - Bump in The Night

At first Grace was so deep in thought, she wasn’t aware of the drone of the plane’s engines overhead. When the sound finally penetrated her consciousness, she looked up absently, wondering if the supply plane had doubled back on its route.

The drone of the engines grew louder, and she lifted a hand to her forehead to shield the sun from her eyes. What she saw had her leaping to her feet. It wasn’t the supply plane that had brought her here. It was another plane, smaller and flying much too low. If the pilot wasn’t careful, his craft was going to clip the tops of those trees. Even as the thought formed, the plane began spinning end over end. Just as it disappeared from view there was a tremendous explosion, followed by a fireball of smoke and flame that billowed up from the forest.

Heart pounding, Grace started running toward the site. It would be impossible for anyone to survive such a crash.

The acrid smell of smoke assaulted Grace as she picked her way through the woods. She could feel the waves of heat even before she pushed through the brush and into the very heart of the crash site. Small trees had been leveled, deep grooves cut into the earth where the plane had skidded before coming to rest against a solid wall of forest. All that was left of the airplane was twisted metal and charred rubble. If there were any bodies inside, they were beyond rescuing now.

With a sigh she backed away from the intense heat of the fire. As she turned she saw a blur of color against the drab landscape. Stepping closer she caught sight of a man’s body.

Was he dead?

Grace knelt and touched a hand to his throat, searching for a pulse. There it was. Faint. Thready.

Alive. Relief poured through her. But there was blood. So much of it. Grace reached into her pockets. Where was a clean tissue when she needed one? Whipping off her hooded sweatshirt, she unbuttoned her cotton shirt underneath and used it to mop at the blood that spilled from a cut on his arm, and another on his leg that had soaked through his pants.

She tore away his shirtsleeve and pants leg and examined the wounds. Despite the amount of blood, the cuts appeared to be fairly superficial. With a sigh of resignation, she tore her shirt from top to bottom, tying the torn fabric firmly around each cut to stem any further flow.

The fact that the stranger remained unconscious led her to probe the back of his head, but she could find no evidence of swelling or trauma. While she examined him, she thought he stirred. But when she looked down, his eyes were closed.

She debated the wisdom of moving him. If there were internal injuries, any movement could make matters worse.

Coming to a decision she wrapped her hooded sweatshirt around him for warmth. „You may be in shock. If so, you’ll need blankets and…“ She knew she was babbling to someone who couldn’t possibly hear her, but she felt the need to say something comforting. „Don’t worry. You’re not alone now. I’ll be back soon with some supplies. Just… hang in there.“

She patted his arm before turning away and racing back to the cabin.

Josh felt gentle hands probing, and the warmth of breath against his temple. Angels, he concluded. After what he’d gone through, there was no other logical explanation.

He’d always known, of course, that the risks he took in the lifestyle he’d chosen carried the strong possibility of an early death.

Like his father.

He took in a long, deep breath, expecting it to be his last. Now, finally, he would see the face of the man who, though he had died far too young, had left an indelible imprint on his son’s life.

Ignoring the occasional twinges of pain, he gave himself up to whatever fate awaited him in the afterlife.

Grace struggled to wheel the heavy cart over roots and rocks and mounds of earth. The forest was not only dense, but unforgiving. A backpack would have been more efficient, but since she had no idea how long she might have to survive without shelter, she’d brought all she could pack into the cart, and had replaced her bloody shirt wim a warm sweater, and over that a heavy parka.

At the crash site she worked as efficiently as possible unzipping a down sleeping bag and struggling to get the unconscious man into it.

Draping his arm around her shoulder she gently eased him into a sitting position. „Come on now, work with me.“

Though she coaxed and cajoled, the unresponsive man was a dead weight. Finally, through sheer effort, she managed to roll him into the sleeping bag and zip it closed.

Then she set about collecting wood for a bonfire. Getting the fire started was simple, since the remains of the plane were still smoldering. Holding a stick to the rubble until it flamed, she crossed to the logs and waited for the kindling to catch fire.

Draping a blanket around her shoulders, Grace sat cross-legged beside the unconscious man and touched a hand to his forehead. There seemed to be no fever. He made not a sound, so she couldn’t determine whether or not he was suffering.

As the sun slowly made its arc across the sky, she drew the blanket more closely around her and studied the man in the sleeping bag. His chest rose and fell in a steady, silent rhythm. He looked warm and peaceful. If she hadn’t witnessed his plane crash, she could easily believe he was just asleep.

Praying that he was in no immediate danger, she stretched out beside him and, for the first time in weeks, slept soundly.

Josh lay very still, eyes closed, and listened to the soothing sounds around him. Water lapping somewhere nearby. A breeze whispering through the branches of a tree. A chorus of birdsong.

He seemed imprisoned in a cocoon of warmth that rendered him unable to move. That fact, and the absence of pain, had him convinced that he was indeed dead. His last conscious memory had been the moment of impact, when his plane had hit the ground and skidded several hundred yards before slamming into an impenetrable wall of forest.

He’d watched the windshield of his plane shatter inward. Had heard the terrible screeching sounds of metal twisting. Had felt the plane shudder beneath him. And then a feeling of weightlessness, as though he’d been lifted in the arms of angels and carried ever-so-gently to earth.

Another memory returned. A woman, wearing nothing but a lacy bra and snug denims, holding him close. Tying something around his arm.

An angel? In bra and denims?

The thought had him grinning as he opened his eyes and saw her asleep beside him. He couldn’t see her face, but her hair was a glorious tangle of red-gold curls.

His mysterious passenger.

She’d shed her blanket and parka, and what he could see of her slender figure in the faded jeans and sweater was model-perfect. Too bad she’d pulled on that sweater. Still, the sight of her snug backside had his smile deepening.

He looked up at rays of golden light filtering through the leaves of the forest. Like a benediction from heaven.

The woman stirred and brushed hair from her eyes before sitting up and turning. He realized in that instant that she wasn’t his passenger. This stranger’s hair was more red than gold, and her eyes were a startling shade of green, with little gold flecks. The kind a man could happily drown in.

When she realized that he was looking at her she scrambled to her feet.

„You’re awake.“

He’d heard that same voice before. Soft. Breathy. Calming. It had penetrated deep into his subconscious and had given him the most amazing sense of peace. He’d been given the assurance that he wasn’t alone. That someone was nearby, looking out for him.

„Yeah. I’m awake. Or whatever they call it here.“

„Here?“

„Heaven. That’s where I am, right?“