The Last Flight Read online

  Donovan sighed. The area was extremely dangerous. High mountains and creviced glaciers were unsuitable for most aircraft. If the distress signal was accurate, the medevac crew had a challenging mission ahead. As footsteps echoed down the hallway, he anticipated a long day.

  CHAPTER TEN

  Susan feared the worst. She sensed the aircraft pitch up and slow, the bile rising in her stomach. The angle was too steep as the plane shuddered from a lack of airspeed. She felt a turn, then a sudden drop almost straight down. Grasping Lisa’s hand tightly, she closed her eyes, afraid to watch as the distance above the ground disappeared in an instant.

  The aircraft hit tail first, aligned at a thirty-degree angle to the ridge. The rear fuselage buckled from the force of impact, causing a crack to open behind the wings. Screams of terror mixed with the sound of twisting metal as cold air rushed in.

  The aircraft careened forward, slamming the nose into the hard earth and crushing the thin aluminum skin. Wing spars bowed and snapped, twisting upward as the propellers curled and locked from the sudden stoppage. Cowlings were torn loose and the engines ripped from their mounts, rupturing fuel, oil, and hydraulic lines. The underbelly grabbed at the rough ground, screeching and bending across the rocks.

  The walls inside the fuselage sagged but held around the open fracture, protecting the cabin from collapsing completely. Overhead compartments were jarred open, flinging contents onto the passengers and aisle. Seats were torn loose from their metal rails, the sheared tubing dangerous as sharpened daggers. Other seats collapsed backward or onto the floor, violently jarring anything in the way.

  Although the initial collision was violent, enough energy was transferred to the sloping ground for the plane to slide forward and minimize the damage. Or so it seemed at first. The inertia was too great, carrying the aircraft on a course toward the side of the narrow ridge.

  Thirty feet into the skid, the right wing collided with a mound of granite, shearing the wing at the fuselage and causing the plane to pivot away from the sharp edge. The momentum slowed, stopping the aircraft with the left wing tip only a few feet from the abyss.

  Fuel began leaking from a ruptured line. The ignitable liquid dripped only inches from the hot engine, pooling onto the coarse ground. Ragged wiring hung nearby, luckily void of electrical current because the battery cables were sheared during the crash.

  The aircraft’s nose was smashed heavily on the right side, pushed inward against the first officer’s legs. The curved windshield was webbed and broken in one corner. Sounds of the crash faded against the mountain slopes. A brief silence ensued, broken by a hiss of cooling metal and anguished moans from the surviving passengers.

  Inside the cockpit, blood was soaking Illiamin’s uniform, and his breathing was labored after hitting hard against the steering column. He was bent forward at an uncomfortable angle against the side window, unmoving.

  Sanders blinked his eyes slowly open as he regained consciousness. His lip was split and his hair matted with blood from a deep cut after hitting the instrument panel. He slowly sat upright with his head against the seat rest. One arm rested between his legs and the other hung beside the seat with the sleeve torn open. He emitted a soft groan and tried to focus, only seeing blurred images.

  Sounds of pain and shock could be heard in the cabin. The interior was strewn with loose carpeting, torn cushions, and items from the overhead bins. The bodies of several passengers were positioned unnaturally in their seats or on the floor. Those who were able began moving carefully amid the wreckage, holding injured limbs or bleeding wounds. Cries for help and the repeated names of loved ones soon filled the cabin. Some, too traumatized to answer, stared blankly into space.

  A few passengers began helping the injured while others, fearing a fire or explosion, exited through the forward cabin. The rear exit was blocked by debris. No one tried using the wing exits after noticing the jagged metal on one side and the position of the other wing close to the edge. Cold air surging in through the open door added a chilling atmosphere to the already gruesome scene.

  Two mangled seats still had their occupants belted in, the bodies twisted at odd angles. The frames had been torn from their mounts during the crash and were blocking the aisle. Three rows of seats behind the wings had partially collapsed, throwing the occupants against the walls or other passengers, causing further injury. Except for those who had already exited, no one seemed in a hurry to leave.

  Susan felt someone shaking her gently by the shoulder, asking if she was all right. The question seemed like part of a dream, except for a sore shoulder and chilled air blowing across her face.

  “Miss, are you all right? Can you hear me?”

  She opened her eyes suddenly with a gasp of air. A man was standing beside her with his hand on her arm, looking at her inquisitively. He was well tanned with a day’s growth of whiskers and a tired look on his face. She thought he was the passenger who had been sitting behind her.

  “Are you all right, any injuries? We hit pretty hard and I guess you were knocked out.” He stared at her, waiting for an answer.

  Susan blinked a few times, focusing her eyes before the realization of what happened hit her. “Um … yes. I’m … I’m all right, I think.”

  “Good. I was worried. You look a little groggy, but I don’t see any obvious injuries. Do you think you can stand?”

  “What? Yes … I think so.” Susan placed her weight carefully on each foot while the man held her arm. “I’m okay. Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome. I’m Dave Kwapich. Might be better if you move outside with the others. There’s a chance of fire, and we need to get the rest of the passengers out.”

  Susan looked around the cabin, shocked at what she saw. Injured passengers were sitting in their seats or lying along the aisle behind her, some in great pain with obvious injuries. Several more appeared dead or unconscious. Three of the passengers were trying to help, including the man who had been seated behind her. She noticed all the seats in front were vacant.

  “The young girls up front, where are they?” Susan was worried about Lisa, who had been holding her hand.

  “They’re okay. A little scared, but they’re safe with some of the other passengers. One of the girls got them and their coach out right after the crash.”

  “Thank God. What about the pilots, where are they?”

  “I’m going to check on them now,” Kwapich replied. “It’s only been a few minutes since we hit, and there hasn’t been any movement from the cockpit.”

  “This is all so terrible. So many people are hurt and some are …” Susan’s voice wavered as she grasped the man’s elbow.

  “Yes, some are dead. But we have to help the others.” Kwapich adjusted the worn cap on his head. “I don’t suppose you have any medical training, do you? We could use some help if you’re up to it. Some of the passengers are in pretty bad shape.”

  Susan froze at the pained expressions on some of the faces before regaining her composure. “Of course. I had some first aid training over the years as a schoolteacher before retiring. But it’s been a while. I’ll do what I can.”

  “That would be great, miss …?”

  “Douglas. Susan Douglas. Please call me Susan. Now you go and check the cockpit while I try to find a medical kit.”

  She couldn’t help but notice the cool air blowing through the cabin and looked out through the windows at the high mountains surrounding them, wondering if a rescue was being organized and if they could survive long without one. Off to the side of the plane she saw passengers huddling behind a pile of shoulder high rocks protected from the wind. They were without jackets and looked cold.

  Susan touched Kwapich’s arm. “With this wind I think we should collect all the bags and any loose clothing as soon as possible. We might need them if we’re going to be stuck here for any length of time.”

  Kwapich looked back at Susan with an appreciative expression. He nodded his head before speaking. “Of course. I’ll
get one of the other passengers to help as soon as I can. Good idea.”

  Voices from the back of the aircraft prompted Sanders to try to move out of the captain seat. His face felt sticky, and he tried raising his left hand to wipe his eyes. A sharp jolt of pain immediately shot through his arm, making him grimace in agony.

  “Son-of-a-bitch,” he cursed, lifting his right hand instead. His fingers wiped away the partially dried fluid until he could focus again. He looked at his hand and wasn’t surprised by the sight of blood.

  Sanders checked the rest of his face, carefully feeling his cut lip. He moved his tongue around his mouth, tasting blood, but was pleased none of his teeth felt broken. The salty taste made him feel nauseous. He took a deep breath and moved his hand to the wound on his scalp. Blood was still oozing down his brow, causing him to wipe his eyes again.

  He looked around his seat until he found his worn pilot’s jacket and pulled a linen handkerchief out of the inside pocket. He placed the cloth over the cut, applying pressure while he searched the cockpit with his eyes.

  Illiamin sat unmoving and Sanders feared the worst. He checked the warning lights and engine settings, noticing the electrical power was off, but the battery and generator switches were still on. He reached with his good hand and flipped them to the off position, confirming the throttle and fuel handles were also off. Luckily, the fuel had been cut off from the engines just before the crash.

  Sanders looked outside, gaining a good perspective of the ridge and surrounding landscape. The view from the ground was as intimidating as the view from the air. Their position appeared inaccessible, somewhere on a narrow finger of rock in a high valley, miles from civilization. Even if they were found, the chance of a quick rescue was doubtful.

  The rough terrain and size of the ridge prevented another plane landing anywhere nearby. A mountain rescue team might reach them from the glacier, but the effort would take days. And getting everyone off the ridge without further injury would be impossible. He knew their only realistic hope was by helicopter, but the approaching weather system placed that option in jeopardy. Had anyone even heard their distress call? He prayed a helicopter could reach them in time.

  Sanders slowly moved out of his seat and checked Illiamin. His injured arm throbbed with a dull pain, and he was careful not to bump against anything. He could hear shallow, labored breathing. He pulled the first officer’s torso carefully against the seat so his head was supported. He was unconscious and appeared to be in bad shape. His face was a mask of half-dried blood covering several deep cuts.

  Sanders tried recalling basic first aid from the company’s annual training class. He went through the steps, checking the airway, breathing, and circulation. The process allowed him to forget his own pain and concentrate on Illiamin. There was limited room in the cockpit, but he managed to clear his first officer’s mouth and throat of accumulated blood and mucus, improving his breathing.

  The next step was critical. Moving him could cause further injury. Left alone, he could choke to death or a fire might preclude getting him out of the cockpit. The sound of his labored breathing suggested broken ribs or, even worse, a punctured lung. As long as he remained stable, there was no need to aggravate the injury. Illiamin’s unresponsiveness might also indicate a severe head injury. For now he would leave him where he was.

  Sanders decided to check the passengers. From the sounds coming from the cabin, there was no doubt in his mind others were in need of attention.

  The cockpit door was stuck. He pushed several times before realizing the lock was set. Releasing the latch, he slumped against the doorway as a feeling of light-headedness overcame him.

  “Easy now,” a deep male voice said from only a few feet away. A firm hand reached out to support Sanders’ shoulder. “Let me help.”

  Sanders nodded and then gasped in pain as the passenger clutched his injured left arm above the elbow. The man let go immediately and apologized. “I’m sorry. Where are you hurt?”

  “Not your fault,” Sanders said through clenched teeth. “I think my arm is broken. There’s some swelling, and it hurts like hell.”

  The man looked his arm over. “No bulges or bones poking through. Can you manage?”

  “I can manage fine as long as no one else grabs my arm.” Sanders glared at him, then immediately apologized. “Sorry, that came out worse than I intended. Let me clear my head for a few seconds. How many of the passengers are injured?”

  The man sighed. “Most of us, I’m afraid. Several are in bad shape. Some of the seats collapsed and … well, we’re trying to help them now. There isn’t much room to work and some of the wreckage is blocking the aisle. Three are dead. Is there a chance of fire?”

  Sanders wiped his eyes with his good hand, regaining his composure while looking over the man’s shoulder. “I think we’re okay now. Electrical and fuel are shut off. We were lucky.” He glanced back at Kwapich. “I need you to help me, okay?”

  “Sure, tell me what you need.”

  “You’ve been a big help already, mister …?”

  “My name is Kwapich, Dave Kwapich.” He looked at Sanders nametag, then behind him through the cockpit door. “You the captain?”

  “Yeah. The first officer is unconscious.” Sanders nodded toward the cockpit as he adjusted the handkerchief on his head. “I don’t want to try to move him for now. Let’s get the less injured passengers outside so we have room to help the others. I’ll get the medical kit.”

  “You look in bad shape,” Kwapich said sternly. “Your face took a good wallop. Let’s get the head wound bandaged before doing anything else.”

  “I’ll get the cut taken care of as soon as I can. Passengers first, okay?”

  “With all due respect, Captain, you’ve already lost a lot of blood.” Kwapich spoke in a firm voice. “Passing out isn’t going to help the situation and the rag on your head won’t do much, other than put your arm to sleep holding it in place.”

  Sanders looked hard at Kwapich, who returned the strong gaze without blinking. He knew the passenger was right and relented. “All right. As soon as I get the medical kit, someone can bandage me up.”

  “One of the passengers is already looking,” Kwapich said. He turned and pointed at the attractive, middle-aged woman searching through an overhead compartment near the center of the cabin.

  Kwapich was about to call out to her when Sanders stepped sideways and reached toward a waist high storage compartment near the cockpit door. The makeshift bandage fell over his eyes as he removed his hand from the wound. He immediately pushed the cloth back in place and turned to Kwapich, pointing at the compartment door. “In there, in the back. There should be a red canvas medical case. Can you get it?”

  “Yeah, of course.”

  Kwapich twisted and bent forward, dropping to one knee as a dull pain shot through his side. The force of his body being thrown against the seat during the crash had bruised his side. The injury wasn’t serious, and he pushed aside the pain. Other passengers had worse injuries to deal with.

  “You okay?” Sanders asked.

  “I’ll be fine. I tweaked my side a little. Nothing serious.”

  Sanders suspected more than a tweak, but he wasn’t going to press the issue. “The case should be in the back, on the upper shelf.”

  “I see it,” Kwapich said. He moved some items around and started pulling everything onto the floor. “This other stuff might come in handy.”

  A box of thin, navy colored airline blankets, still in cellophane wrappers, was set aside along with a small plastic box containing an emergency flare gun and extra cartridges. The briefcase size medical kit was placed on the floor beside the other items. A yellow flotation device and airline style oxygen mask, used for passenger briefings when a flight attendant was aboard, was left in the cabinet.

  “That’s everything we can use,” said Kwapich.

  “Good, you found one.” Susan Douglas eyed the medical case as she approached.

  When both
men turned toward her, she noticed the pilot uniform and the captain’s battered face. “Oh my, you’re hurt. You better let me take a look at your head wound.”

  Sanders remembered her from the airport terminal. She had been joking with the ticket agent when he strode by, and her friendly personality brightened the normally boring procedure. Her demeanor was more serious now.

  “I’ll tell you what, miss …?”

  “Douglas, Susan Douglas,” she replied. “Call me Susan.”

  “All right, Susan. I’ll agree to a bandage from the medical case if you allow Mister Kwapich here to take the remaining contents to the passengers. They need them more than I do.” His voice was assertive. “As the captain, I want to make sure they are being taken care of.”

  “Yes, of course,” Susan replied. “I’ll have you fixed up in a jiffy. And just so you know, Captain, you appear far worse than you think. I’ve seen people mauled by bears in better condition.”

  Sanders would have smiled if not for his split lip. Instead, he relaxed his temperament, returning her gaze and speaking in a softer tone. “I suppose I do. I appreciate your concern. Sorry about snapping at both of you.”

  “It’s okay. We’re all on edge right now.” She shifted her gaze, unzipping the heavy canvas case so both halves lay open on the floor.

  “My name is Scott Sanders. I appreciate you helping out, both of you. I wish we could have met under better circumstances.”

  Susan glanced back at Sanders for a brief moment. “Of course, we all do. We’ll get through this.” She retrieved a thick bandage and roll of gauze from the open case, zipping the halves shut.

  “If there’s a splint in there, he’ll need one of those, too,” Kwapich interjected. Susan stopped what she was doing, looking at each of the men inquisitively, waiting for an explanation.