Page 32 of No Hope of Rescue

I’m the only one who lived.

Sweat rolls down my back.

The scene fades, and though not closed, it’s like my vision clears and I glance at Ross.

“You sure?” asks Ross, shooting me a targeted look that lingers too long.

I release the handgrip and nod. “Riley. Map?”

For a second time, a small hand pats my shoulder.

“You got the coordinates?” I ask. The words feel like sand in my mouth.

Pressing the radio button on her headset, she reads them to Ross as I watch the altimeter.

“This won’t be a stealth operation,” Ross says as we swing out to the expanse of wild mountains and granite. Helicopters make a hell of a noise—there will be no sneaking up on them.

I nod. “Nothing can be done about that.”

“We need to find her and then extract her fast. This . . .” I point to the rotors. “It’s going to tip our hand.”

Ross lifts his jacket for a moment and reveals a shoulder holster and what looks like a Ruger P handgun.

I’m not sure Riley could see it from her vantage point in the back, and it disappears under his jacket in a second. She hates guns. She told me once her own mother threatened her with one when she was just a kid. It’s the final reason she left home.

“Just in case,” he says.

She can still hear, though, and leans forward. “Just in case, what?”

“Can you check base with Jace and Ryan? Carter and Luke already radioed in.”

Once we’ve determined a cabin worth investigating, both land parties will snowmobile in. If there’s enough space to land, we will.

Thus, the gun.

That’s the plan. Admittedly, not that well thought out. But these guys who have her don’t have a plan either. Everything’s up in the air.

Riley’s voice is drowned by the chopper blades, but in minutes or so, she taps me on the shoulder. “They’re all on their way.”

We hold at a little over 9,000 feet, and then Ross drives us into the shadows of the mountains into the series of folds and ravines that make up this part of the range. The gorge races silvery and dark below us, and within seconds, the crashed plane is visible. From this distance, it looks like a crumpled toy. There’s a wing to the eastern side torn off about a hundred yards away. The second wing is still attached.

A definite trail leads from the fuselage into the woods, where we lose it. There are just too many trees. I point to the west and raise two fingers.

Ross nods. Two miles up is our first target.

The cabin is an A-frame, with all glass on the south side and piles of snow probably hiding a shit-show of crap. A cross between a hunter’s cabin and a family spot to take the kids, this has no visible electrical feed, which means no electricity. There are many of these up here, built mostly by hand with no plumbing and electricity. There’s no smoke trailing from the chimney and no prints I can see through the binoculars.

I shake my head, and Ross pushes northwest.

Clouds continue to break, and sunlight sifts through but barely. These cabins are heated with wood. The hope is we’ll see traces of smoke from a chimney. I also grabbed an infrared scanner we’ve used for night search and rescues. If we can get close enough to the structures, I can determine how many people are inside.

The helicopter tips harder north. Again, I grab the handgrip on the side. But this time, images don’t flood my mind, sending me back to Afghanistan. I remain here. I force my fingers to uncurl one by one from the handgrip.

The second cabin is pitched on the crest of a ridge, and smoke trails from the central chimney. I grab the binoculars, but even from here, it’s clear this isn’t the cabin we’re looking for. A six-wheel truck sits in the driveway, full of gear, while snowboards rest against the south side. Bicycles with giant snow tires stand stacked along a freshly shoveled entrance path. I drop the binoculars. This is a family or college kids. A legitimate group.

I close my eyes.

All I can think of is how scared Codie must be. She thinks I’m dead. She doesn’t have her medication. This kind of stress can trigger seizures. With medication, they’re more controlled. Without her daily dose, a large seizure could lead to brain damage. I’ve got her small metal screw-cap pill container in my jacket. It’s been forty-eight hours since her last dose.