Carol Ross - Summer At The Shore

Her mom must have sensed her fear, though, because she turned her head at that moment. Reaching for Mia’s hand, she said, “I love you, honey.” She couldn’t really hear the words over the rumble and desperate sputtering of the plane’s engine, but as she’d heard them from her mother nearly every day of her life, she knew the words when she saw them crossing her lips. They were finally together and living in the same town with no plans to ever move again. She’d thought that would mean years and years of being happy and settled. Mia felt a fresh wave of panic; they needed more time.

“I love you, too, Mom,” she called out, managing a shaky smile as she proceeded to watch the final seconds of her paltry existence on this planet pass by the tiny airplane window.

She braced herself as the plane hit the surface of the ocean with a thunderous crash. Her body lurched forward, then back and sideways, her head smacking against the side window with a loud crack. Cool air rushed in around her. Not at all like the smooth-as-glass lakes she’d landed on in her previous floatplane experiences.

Of course, this wasn’t a floatplane or a lake. A fact she was immediately reminded of as the ocean proceeded to assault the little plane. Wave after wave rolled into them, some battering the cabin and leaving the windows covered with drips of seawater and bits of foam. The fuselage groaned in response. Water was seeping in through the cracked window beside her. Droplets ran down her forehead, which struck her as odd because there didn’t seem to be that much water getting inside. She reached up and swiped it away. Blood. A quick probing told her the wound was barely more than a scratch. No other injuries that she could feel or see.

And she was alive. Alive! As in not dead. Hope roared to life inside her.

“Mom!” she cried. “We’re alive.” She turned to find her mom slumped over in her seat. “Oh, please no...”

She shouted this time, “Mom?” No response. Terror flamed inside her again as she unbuckled her seat belt with shaking hands. Crouching between the seats, she felt her mom’s wrist for a pulse—weak, but there. She couldn’t see any visible signs of trauma, but as a doctor herself, she knew that often the worst injuries were the ones you couldn’t immediately recognize.

She realized then that she’d been expecting the pilot to turn and say something, give them some kind of instructions, until she realized there was no movement from the cockpit, either. Did you call it a cockpit in a plane this small? As the plane pitched and rolled violently in the waves, she stumbled her way to the pilot’s seat, praying he’d survived the impact. She reached over and searched for a pulse on his neck. Strong. Good. There was a lot of blood, though. She spotted a laceration on his forehead. Head wounds bleed a lot, so that could explain it. A soft moan escaped his lips when she touched the area to examine it. Even better.

Dropping to her hands and knees, she crawled toward the side of the plane to the emergency compartment. Even though he’d only carried two passengers this morning, Captain Shear hadn’t neglected to give them a preflight safety chat. Hard to believe it had only been a few short hours since they’d taken off from Pacific Cove that morning. They’d flown up the coast to tiny Windsor Island in Washington’s Puget Sound, where Mia had helped a pregnant mare in distress deliver a healthy foal. They’d only been a few miles from home when the plane’s engine stalled and then continued to falter. Within seconds, Captain Shear had placed the Mayday call that they were going down.

Along with the first-aid kit and life jackets, she was relieved to find an inflatable raft. Slipping a life jacket on, she set two others aside. As she gathered what supplies she needed, she tried to figure out how she was going to load two unconscious people into a life raft. Because surely the plane would begin sinking soon? It was already tilting to one side. There was no way she was going to be able to stabilize any spines; she’d have to take her chances. Using a gauze pad, she wiped at her head and slapped a large bandage on it. She wasn’t concerned about the wound, but she needed to keep the blood from dripping into her eyes so she could see and then somehow get them all out of here. No way was she going to survive a plane crash only to drown in this freezing cold ocean. Fate had given her this chance and she wasn’t going to waste it.

On her way back to the captain, she stopped to check her mom’s pulse again. No change. By the time she got back to Captain Shear he was coming around, mumbling incoherently.

“Captain Shear? Russell? Can you hear me?”

Holding a sterile pad to his head to slow the bleeding, she continued talking to him.

“We’re alive.” His voice was a hoarse whisper, but Mia was relieved by the sound.

“Yes! We are, thanks to your excellent piloting skills.”

“How’s Nora?”

“She’s alive but unconscious.” She had already liked what she knew of this man, but his questioning the condition of his passengers while in his current state solidified those feelings and then some.

“How are you?”

“I’m fine. Tiny cut on my head.” She managed a small smile as she wrapped his head wound and secured it with some tape.

“How am I?” He winced as he asked, and she could tell he was in serious pain.

“My earlier cursory exam suggested you have a broken clavicle and arm, and possibly a fractured leg.”

“That’s why I can’t move it. I was afraid I was paralyzed.”

“That’s right,” she said, although she had no idea if it was the truth. She didn’t know if he was talking about his arm or leg, and she didn’t ask. The fact was, he could be paralyzed, but she certainly wasn’t going to tell him that.

He tipped his chin up, eyes focused on the ceiling. “I hear them. Do you hear that?”

Oh no, she thought, was she losing him? “What do you hear, Captain?”

“It’s all good.” His lips curved up into a smile as his head lolled to one side. “We’ll be fine now. We’ll all be fine...” His lashes drooped to cover his eyes, but the remnants of his smile lingered.

Mia went still, holding her breath and concentrating on the sounds around her. She couldn’t hear anything but the incessant pounding of the ocean’s waves against the plane, the groaning and grinding sound of twisted metal. Terror made her heart race. Maybe he’d hit his head harder than she knew... She reached out to check his pulse again.

His eyelids popped open. “I’m not losing my marbles, Dr. Frasier.” He added a chuckle. “Coast Guard helicopter. Go check on your mom. We’ll be out of here before you know it.”

* * *

PETTY OFFICER JAY JOHNSTON of Coast Guard Air Station Astoria was elbow-deep in a pile of chopped onions when the emergency call came in. Making chili wasn’t part of a flight mechanic’s normal duties, but it had sort of become one of his. His upbringing had ensured that he knew how to cook for a crowd and on a budget, which is how he often ended up here in the kitchen. An earlier transmission from an airplane en route to Pacific Cove had reported engine trouble. The second and last communication had just confirmed that the plane was going down.

Abandoning the chili pot, he hurried into his flight suit, grabbed his gear and ran to the Jayhawk helicopter. He was the first one there, but his teammate and friend Aubrey Wynn, the rescue swimmer on duty, was close behind him. Seconds later they were joined by Lieutenant Commander Holmes, the pilot, and Lieutenant Reeves, the copilot.

Within minutes the team was taking off, heading toward the last known coordinates for the plane. They discussed the possible locations of the fuselage.