Dane's Storm(44)

I surveyed the plane again quickly and thought I spotted the handle of my suitcase under the other passenger seat.

Moving as carefully as possible, I stepped over Dane then crawled closer, looking under the seat where my suitcase was wedged against the wall. I reached in and wrenched it free, dragging it toward me, thankful for a small moment of victory. I opened it, my fingers fumbling as I brought out the small travel bag on top of my clothes. It was new. I’d bought it just a few days before when I realized I’d need something to put my shampoo and bathroom accessories in. It had come stocked with a few empty, trial-sized bottles, a toothbrush that folded into its own case, a package of tissues, and a sewing kit. I’d considered tossing the sewing kit—I absolutely did not sew and couldn’t see having a need for it—and I couldn’t remember now if I had or not. I dug around, letting out a small, relieved breath when I found the kit still there. I opened the latch and held the small pair of scissors. They looked even flimsier than I’d remembered. They wouldn’t work on the thick carpet.

“Goddammit!” I looked around wildly again. Maybe I could use the winter coat over the metal? But I didn’t think the material would be strong enough and I’d need that jacket once we got outside. God, I needed it now. Though the fire had temporarily warmed what was left of the interior of the plane, as it smoldered, the frigid air was again noticeable.

I glanced at Dane. He was wearing jeans that were wet with his blood and a long-sleeved T-shirt. Since we were headed to Colorado where it was very cold this time of year, I assumed he had a winter jacket in his own bag, but that would have to wait. Getting us out of this unstable plane was the first priority. Getting Dane’s bleeding under control was the second. Then I’d focus on not freezing to death before a rescue team got here.

I needed something sharp. I looked around quickly, spotting the bar next to the cockpit where Dane had retrieved the Bailey’s he’d put in my coffee that morning. I crawled over to it, aware of every sound around me, and unhooked the latch. There were several mini bottles of hard liquor, a couple of sodas, three water bottles, and a basket of what looked to be peanuts and pretzels. Everything was lying haphazardly, but nothing was broken. I picked up one of the mini bottles of liquor and found that it was plastic, not glass. Damn! The small top cabinet had a glass front though, and I hesitated only a moment before bringing my sweater over my hand and smashing it. It shattered immediately, the glass raining onto the floor at my feet. I bent, picking up the piece that most closely resembled a knife. It wasn’t thick glass which had aided me in easily smashing it, so I wasn’t sure if it would work for cutting something thick like carpet.

My teeth had started to chatter again as I crawled carefully back to Dane, and put my hand on his cheek. He was cold and still very much unconscious, but his pulse continued to thump steadily. I moved my hand upward slightly and felt the large lump under his hair, letting my fingers roam gently over it, my heart stuttering. Oh no, he had a head injury. God, no wonder he was unconscious. I lifted his head very carefully and felt the back of his skull, but didn’t feel any wetness or any other lumps. Just the large one on the side of his head. What if he never regained consciousness? What if there was brain swelling or . . . No, no, don’t think that.

“Just a minute longer. I have to get us out of here, but I can’t injure you any more than you already are. I’ll get you as warm as I can in a few minutes, okay?” Even though my voice sounded breathy and weak, filled with the tears I was barely holding back, the caretaker in me found calm in reassuring him, in speaking through my actions, even though I was well aware he couldn’t hear a word I said. I remembered that when my father had been distressed or in pain from one of his migraines, he’d calmed simply from my soothing voice, and I used that same tone now.

Crawling to the front of the aisle, I pulled a shirt out of my suitcase and wrapped it around the end of my cutting tool and then moved the debris aside, giving me access to the floor. I began slicing at the carpet. It didn’t cut through easily, but it worked to cut it loose as I made swipe after swipe. “Thank you, thank you,” I muttered. Hopefully, dragging it over the sharp metal with Dane on top of it would be enough to protect him. Although with the addition of his weight . . . I’d just have to drag him over it as quickly as possible and pray for the best. This was the best option I could come up with to get us off this plane.

When I’d finally gone from one side of the aisle to the other, I tested the rug and could—thankfully—peel the end off the floor. Good, good. Okay.

Making the short crawl to Dane, I pulled at the carpet under his body and found that it slid toward me, making it easier to move him than dragging his dead weight. This would serve two purposes.

“Okay, this is going to protect your back, but there’s a bit of a drop that I can’t do much about,” I muttered, looking behind me at the drop from the plane to the ground that I estimated to be about three feet. “I’m going to climb down and then pull you over the edge. I’ll try to cushion your fall as much as I can with my own body, all right?”

I knelt on the side of the short drop, careful not to snag myself on the row of mini knives at the edge, and stretched one leg behind me, pausing to determine whether the plane was making any movement. It didn’t seem to be, so I stretched my leg farther, touching ground with my boot. I balanced one leg on the ground and brought my other leg over, both feet sinking into the snow. I took a second to breathe, shivering with the intense cold, before I mustered all my strength, gripped the edge of the carpet, and pulled. Half of Dane’s body came out the gaping mouth of the plane, his legs still inside. I didn’t allow myself to catch my breath, afraid that a pause would give the metal time to pierce the rug. Instead, I took one quick gulp of breath and pulled again, going down under him, protecting his head with my hands, as the entirety of his body dropped to the ground on top of me. A whoosh of breath released from my lungs at the impact, but the snow had protected us both. After a second, I removed my hands from above me where they were wedged under his head and scooted . . . rolled out from under him.