Page 31 of No Hope of Rescue

“Codie’s my friend—your sister, but my friend too. You don’t get to make this decision unilaterally.” There’s a slight pause before the obvious punchline. “I’m going.”

As she disappears down the hall back out into the main room, I have this awful feeling in my gut.

΅

Ross Colton is now part of our rescue team. The part I have to shelve—and forget—is the fact I had nothing to do with recruiting him.

The Bell is temporarily housed down in the back of McKibben’s Sawmill—a spot halfway between my house and the cabin. It takes the three of us forty minutes before we’re actually lifting off. Jace, Ryan, and Carter are on separate snowmobiles now that the one we left behind was retrieved. We have good radio contact with all three, and the storm is just about over.

They will be on the ground. Riley, Ross, and I will be airborne.

Throwing switches and adjusting his headphones, Ross is perfectly at home in the pilot’s seat. Compared to what he probably flew in the military, this is a piece of cake. He gives a thumbs-up, and I nod as if this is routine.

It’s anything but.

Though I’ve kept my license, I haven’t piloted a helicopter in almost five years. The grip on the side handle of the seat is sticky.

There’s one piece of info Ross may not have, though, and it has to do with elevation and thin air in the Rockies.

“We top out at ten thousand feet,” I say. Ross raises an eyebrow. “We can hover at a little over ten thousand feet and that’s it.”

“Cruising?”

“Twenty-five thousand,” chimes in Riley from the back passenger seat. She’s grabbed headgear too, so we don’t have to shout. The earpads on the headphones look ridiculously large against her small head.

The aircraft jolts as it lifts straight up and then tilts forward at a slight angle. The snow has completely stopped, and thick, cumulus clouds bleached white stand against others that roil with shades of gray. Off to the west are patches of cerulean blue sky, and sunlight is beginning to light the tops of evergreens, leaving the rocky valleys dark in shadow.

I swallow and think of Codie out there somewhere. Riley reaches forward and takes my hand. Hers is gloved. It’s a sweet gesture, and I return the squeeze before I realize there’s a lump in my throat.

My other hand continues to grip the seat handle.

Just then, there’s a wind shear, and the chopper takes a nosedive. It takes a moment for Ross to straighten her out.

It’s a few seconds before Riley leans forward to whisper, “Can you let go now?” This is said with a quick rub on my shoulder.

I glance down to her mangled glove and quickly drop her hand. I must have had her in a vise.

Jesus.

Ross stares straight ahead, which tells me a lot. His voice is loud over the chopper. “You okay?”

Grabbing the binoculars, I nod and look out the window. The sky widens and the ground, trees, and buildings fall away. This used to be my favorite part of flying: the sudden release from gravity.

I start to sit back, silently timing my breath, easing into some sort of comfort zone, when there’s a crack as the throttle backfires.

The flashback is swift, strong, brutally visceral, and real. In my mind, the chopper tilts forward, pitching. We’re twenty feet off the burnt desert ground. A windstorm wraps sand around the length of the chopper, pulling to the left. But it’s the ground-to-air artillery that’s knocked out the rear rotors and we’re going down.

My co-pilot, Dan, the eight men and two women who lie on gurneys in the belly of the chopper, and the three medics attending to them, remain lodged in my mind and are the sole reason I try to straighten her out, grab air, and get out of that hell hole.

We don’t.

The ground rises up like a wave. I try to brace. There are sounds of tearing metal, blades ripping from rotors.

She tips on her side, and then there’s another explosion as she rolls over.

Dan is dead, strapped in his seat, his chest torn open. I’m unable to turn around. I’m unable to see now what I saw then. Half the chopper shredded, and bodies strewn inside, outside, and forever in memory.

I was the one who wanted to get the last two casualties on board. Who told the others we had to wait. I held seniority. I gave the orders.