Dane's Storm(42)

“Dane,” I called weakly, my voice sounding tiny and smothered, a croaky whisper. I pushed at whatever was on top of me. It was part of the ceiling—dark gray plastic. Once I was able to put a small amount of strength behind my push, the debris moved, thankfully lighter than I’d thought. Moving it to the side, I realized it wasn’t even the entire ceiling, just several panels that had been above me. I could see sky and clouds and whirling snow. There was a hole in the roof of the plane and I was on my back on the floor, the seat still beneath me. It’d been torn free from the floor, and when I reached up tentatively to feel the place on my chest that still burned, I realized it must have been caused by my seatbelt as it cut into my skin.

The seatbelt was still wrapped around my chest and though I wasn’t sure if it was actually holding me to the seat or not, I reached down and pulled the metal clasp under my right hand and it fell open. The pain eased and I took a moment to bring my hand to my chest again, pressing gently. It ached and the skin underneath my sweater burned. I hoped it was only a surface wound and that nothing internal was damaged. I didn’t seem to be having trouble drawing in a breath, despite my accelerated heart rate.

I called Dane’s name again but was greeted only with silence. My heartbeat whooshed loudly in my ears. Oh God, please don’t let him be dead. Oh God, no. No, not that.

The fear brought a surge of adrenalin and I grasped a large piece of debris next to me and leveraged myself up and out of my seat. Okay, okay, you’re okay. I did a quick assessment of my body as I pulled myself into a crouch next to the seat that had once been bolted to the floor. The ceiling of the plane seemed to be caved in in spots and torn away in others, so I wasn’t able to stand. I walked, hunched over, a few steps, pushing the larger pieces of debris out of my way.

Looking behind me, I gaped when I saw that the entire back section of the plane was gone. Outside, a few snowflakes swirled in a sea of white. Looking forward again, I moved the larger portion of the ceiling panel to the side and that’s when I saw his hand hanging limply in the doorway of the cockpit. With his body and head leaned in the opposite direction, I couldn’t see him from where I was. I choked out his name, afraid to step forward. Afraid to know the extent of his injuries. But I had to. I had to. There was no one to call for help. Just me.

Okay, okay, okay, you’re okay.

I halted suddenly when I felt the plane shift. It slid forward slightly and I realized I had no idea where we were positioned. The cockpit was a crumpled mess of twisted metal and exposed wires, but I eased forward slowly, terror gripping me with each step. The plane made a yawning screech as if it’d suddenly come alive and slid forward again, tipping downward. “Dane,” I choked out a whisper, afraid to speak too loudly for fear that any noise would cause the plane to shift again. No response.

Inching forward once more, I finally made it to the doorway of the cockpit. I startled when an exposed wire suddenly sparked, hissing loudly. And oh, there was blood. So much blood. Dane was bleeding from somewhere and it was pooling on the floor of the cockpit. I swallowed heavily, horror making me weak in the knees.

But I stepped forward anyway, touching his hair and whispering his name again. There was no reaction and I froze with another burst of dread when I looked out the small piece of front windshield that still offered a view of what was in front of us. We were positioned on a downward slope at the edge of a cliff that dropped off sharply, too far down for me to see. What had once been the nose of the plane seemed to be snagged between two trees, but even as I stood there, one of the trees made a loud snapping sound and the plane shifted again, coming to a shuddery rest. Oh, dear God. Oh, dear God. I swallowed, my heart beating out of my chest, my breath trapped in my lungs as I stood frozen with my hand on Dane’s hair, his blood dripping onto the floor in small plinks of sound. For several moments, it was the only sound on earth, the only sound in the entire universe. I forced myself to swallow my fear, to move, even though in some respects, I wanted to stay frozen forever. Just to give up and die right there. Or to be a coward and dive out of the opening at the back of the plane so I didn’t have to experience another moment of dropping into the unknown. I couldn’t do it twice.

No. I wouldn’t leave Dane here alone. If he died, I would too. If either of us were getting out of here, it was up to me.

I placed my trembling fingers on his neck and though he was as cold as I was, I felt the low thrum of life under his skin. I let out another small sob of relief, just as a different wire sparked on what had been the dashboard. The spark, combined with the knowledge that Dane was alive, gave me the courage to take the final step to him so I could crouch down and lean around him. He was out cold, but his face looked peaceful as if he were only taking a brief nap. “Not a good time, Dane. I sorta need you to help me out here,” I said. Talking to him—the sound of my own voice—helped me focus on what needed to be done. I wouldn’t look out the window. I would focus on getting Dane out of here.

I’d let myself break down later.

“Please, little trees,” I murmured, “hold us steady, okay?”

Then I sucked in my fear as best as I could. Put it away, Audra. Put it all away. I leaned around Dane just a bit more and grimaced when I saw where the blood was coming from. There was a jagged-looking piece of metal sticking in the side of his left thigh, blood soaking his blue jeans, so they looked black. “We’re going to have to deal with that later, all right? The first order of business is getting us off this plane.” I was able to pull the seatbelt buckle and it clicked open, releasing the strap around him easily. Thank God.