Melinda Curtis - Back to Eden

Cole nodded. He knew what the copilot was saying. If Rachel or her copilot had neck or spine injuries, it would be next to impossible to get them out without increasing their injuries or killing them.

Cole glanced down at the crumpled metal shell that had flown through the sky less than an hour ago. No matter what, he was getting Rachel out of there.

“Ready?” the copilot asked.

Cole gave a tight nod and went to rescue Rachel.

When Cole neared the plane, he found purchase on the roof as he sought to steady his descent. Mistake. The branches beneath the fuselage cracked in protest, the sound nearly stopping Cole’s heart. The plane swayed in the trees, and Cole looked to the forest floor with a start.

It was a long way down. No one would survive that kind of fall.

Cole worked up enough saliva to swallow. He would not send the plane plummeting to the forest floor. He would not be the cause of Rachel’s death.

“Don’t put your weight on it until you absolutely have to,” the copilot chastised him through the radio.

Sweating, Cole tucked his legs in and continued down. With the help of the helicopter, Cole pulled himself forward until he was straddling the nose of the plane, hating to look inside, knowing that he had to look inside. Bearing Cole’s weight, the plane swayed as if it were a playground swing.

Not dead. Not dead. He couldn’t lose both Rachel and Missy.

Cole stared past the debris and shattered remains of the windshield and saw Rachel’s face, looking fragile and white as a sheet. Her sunglasses hung awkwardly off one ear. Blood oozed from her temple, and little cuts crisscrossed the rest of her face, probably from the windshield breaking.

“Rachel, wake up.”

Her eyelids fluttered and she gasped as if in pain.

“She’s alive.” Cole extended one arm through the windshield, but he couldn’t reach her. Too many branches were in the way, one of which—a thick, splintered shaft about eight inches in diameter—seemed to have pinned Rachel to her seat.

“There are supposed to be two,” the helicopter copilot reminded him.

“Can’t see anyone else. The cockpit is covered with branches.” Maybe the other pilot had been thrown out the window. Damn. Not the most pleasant way to go.

“We’re sending down a second harness.”

Cole inched to the edge of the cockpit, but his lifeline prevented him from reaching Rachel. He couldn’t unbuckle her safety restraints from outside the plane.

“Come on, honey. Help me out here. Can you release your harness and scoot forward?”

Rachel didn’t move a muscle. In fact, she seemed to have stopped breathing. Hell! If she needed CPR, he needed to be in there. Now!

Cole unsnapped his lifeline and slid into the cockpit headfirst. The plane groaned as Cole struggled to get his feet beneath him through a thick mess of branches.

“What the hell are you doing? That plane could drop at any moment. Is he crazy?” The helicopter copilot was as shocked as Cole was.

Cole wouldn’t be surprised if Doc did puke this time.

The plane continued to sway and something snapped beneath him. Crap, bad idea. His feet finally found something solid to stand on. He stood between the two seats, knee-high in branches.

“Rachel.” Cole put his gloved hands on her cheeks. “Don’t give up now. We’ve got to get out.”

Her eyes opened a crack. Her lips moved. All Cole caught was, “Danny?”

“Your copilot? I don’t see him.” Cole glanced around again. The other side of the cockpit was covered in limbs. No one could be under there, could they? He recalled the slight, stooped old man he’d seen Rachel with in the chow line last night. A guy that size could be buried beneath all that nature. Cole swore and tried shifting the debris, which only made bad sounds happen as both trees and metal protested his movements.

And yet there was someone under there. Cole touched an arm, fought revulsion at its lifelessness, followed the arm to a wrist and searched for a pulse.

Nothing.

“He’s dead, Rachel. I’m sorry.”

Rachel moaned. “Did he get us back to the landing strip?”

“No. Do you feel the plane moving? We’re sitting in a couple of trees.” Something clattered on the plane. Another harness.

Her eyelids drifted closed again.

“No, no, no. I’ve got to move you.” If only he could be sure she hadn’t injured her spine. “Can you move your neck or your toes?”

“I hurt everywhere.”

Not good. He began yanking off the branches that pinned her to her seat.

“Are you checking in for the night or coming out?” The helicopter copilot snapped.

Pulling away as many branches from Rachel as he could, Cole confirmed, “We’re coming out.” Finally there was just the big branch wedging her in. No wonder she seemed to struggle for each breath.

With one hand on Rachel’s shoulder and one on the branch, Cole pulled the shattered limb away from her ribs.

Whimpering, Rachel slumped forward and then shot back in her seat, her face white.

Shit. He’d practically killed her. And there was blood in her hair. Lots of blood. He released the catch on his harness and yanked it off. “Are you all right?”

“I can wiggle my toes,” Rachel answered with her eyes closed as he unbuckled her seat restraints.

“Good.” As gently as possible, Cole slipped Rachel’s feet into his harness and tugged it up her body. She was in no shape to climb through the windshield. Cole hauled her to her feet, pulling the remaining straps over her arms and clicking the four-point clasp home. She was no help at all.

The plane dropped a foot, sending them sprawling onto the branches covering the copilot. Branches poked Cole everywhere, as he scrambled to get them both standing again.

With rolling eyes Rachel awakened. Then her gaze steadied, caught by something on the control panel.

“You’ll need that,” she gestured toward the debris-covered gauges where a bit of yellow peeked out…a picture.

Without looking at the photo, Cole plucked it from the panel and pocketed it. Anything to get Rachel to move faster.

The plane tilted sideways.

“Get the hell out of there!” the copilot shouted.

JENNA WOULD HAVE GOT to the phone before Pop if she hadn’t been washing dishes.

Aunt Rachel called at the end of every day, and the sun was now setting. Aunt Rachel didn’t fly after dark when she fought fires unless the fire was really bad. It had to be her.

“Hello.” Pop winked at Jenna. He knew it was Aunt Rachel, too. Then his voice got real serious. “This is Mr. Quinlan.”

Not Aunt Rachel. Jenna bit her lip in disappointment and handed Matt a plate to dry. Pop ran the house when Aunt Rachel was gone, which was all the time. Aunt Rachel was never home anymore.

Jenna frowned.

She wanted Aunt Rachel to give up flying her airplane and stay at home. She worried about her aunt. Every October, Aunt Rachel brought back scary pictures and told wild stories about flying that made Jenna want to hug her aunt so tight she’d never go up there again.

Still on the phone, Pop turned his back to Jenna and sank down in a chair really quickly.

Bad news.

Even though she was only ten, Jenna had seen enough bad news to recognize it when it was delivered.

“Where?” Pop stood on his shaky, toothpick legs and scribbled something on a piece of scrap paper on the counter. He couldn’t see very well and wrote letters and numbers bigger than Matt did. Jenna sounded out the big word from where she stood.

Hospital.

Pop looked in the direction of the sink and then away. A big knot tied up Jenna’s stomach.

Not Aunt Rachel.

Jenna’s hands drifted down in the soapy water as she stared out the kitchen window at the blue-and-pink sky. Aunt Rachel meant everything to Jenna.