Chapter 8
Alexia
The helicopter lurches on takeoff, stealing my breath. My lucky pen digs into my fingers as my other hand grips the seat until my knuckles turn ghost-white. From up here, Manhattan resembles a snow globe that some vengeful giant has shaken with brutal force. Its iconic streets and avenues have vanished beneath a pristine white blanket.
“Everything okay back there, Dr. Winters?” Selene's voice cuts through my headset, steady despite the wind battering us. “You're looking pretty cozy with that seat. Don't trust my flying, or is it the heights?” She laughs, the sound rich and warm in my ears.
“I'm fine,” I snap, my voice clipped.
“Right,” she drawls with that half-smile that sets my nerves on fire. “That's why you're clutching that pen like it's the last lifeboat on the Titanic.”
A violent gust rocks the helicopter, and I mutter a curse. The Empire State Building plays peek-a-boo through the blizzard like an urban specter.
“When you said you'd flown in worse conditions,” I growl through clenched teeth, “I didn't think you meant recreating disaster movies.”
“This is nothing. Try flying while getting shot at… Shit, fuck!” she cuts off, cursing as we drop several feet in an air pocket. “Though maybe this is getting interesting.”
“Interesting? Is that what we're calling imminent death now?”
“Hey, you're the one who insisted on waiting for that damn clearance. The one we never got, by the way. Shit!” Selene yanks the controls, and we swerve sharply to avoid a particularly dense wall of snow. “Listen, I need you to watch the instruments on your side of the panel. Ice is building up faster than I'd like. Can you handle that?”
“What do I need to do?”
“See that gauge on your right? If it hits the red zone, we've got trouble,” she explains.
“Which one? Because several are flirting with red right now,” I yell through the headset.
“Third from the left.”
“It's about to hit red. Is that bad? Jesus, Selene, I can barely see the skyscrapers. How are you keeping this thing airborne?”
“Same way you can do open-heart surgery — years of practice,” she replies, unfazed. “Now, I need your help with something else. Hit the second switch from the top, the one labeled anti-ice. Use your right hand — let's not tempt fate,” she teases.
“You noticed that?”
“That you only grip that pen with your right hand? Hard to miss,” she says.
I don't tell her it's not just any pen, but one that's been my lucky charm since childhood. I'm not even sure it still writes. Another violent shake interrupts any response I might have had.
“Okay, the indicator just went full red,” I announce.
“Shit! We'll have to gain altitude to get above this snow. Listen up - it'll be colder, and I don't have supplemental oxygen. If you start feeling dizzy, tell me immediately,” she instructs, and the oxygen part sends a chill down my spine.
The rest of her words get lost in the howling wind as we climb through the storm. My stomach lurches with the ascent, and I squeeze my eyes shut, clutching the pen like a talisman. When I open them again, we're beneath brilliant sunshine, with a sea of gray clouds below obscuring everything.
“Better?” Selene asks, and I realize I've been holding my breath.
“Define 'better' because I'm not sure. How can you navigate now? How long can we stay up here?”
“Not long enough,” she says, checking something on her flight instruments. “We'll have to descend when you start getting dizzy or if ice forms on the rotor blades. But hey,” she catches my gaze, and those blue eyes shine with an intensity that steals my breath, “at least up here we can pretend we're not flying without clearance.”
“Small victories,” I sigh. “Think this euphoria I'm feeling is from oxygen deprivation or the adrenaline rush from flying so high?”
“If you get dizzy or your head starts pounding, let me know,” is all she says, and I just hope she's not experiencing the same euphoria that might lead to reckless decisions.
“That indicator's still red,” I warn ten minutes later.
“Did you hit the anti-ice switch?”
“Yes.”
“Damn it! We need to descend,” she says, and the helicopter tips forward like we're on a roller coaster.
Through the windshield, the world vanishes behind a white curtain, fierce winds buffet us from all directions, and treetops whip by way too close for comfort.
“Burlington, this is Life Flight Seven,” Selene's voice crackles over the radio, steady despite the chaos. “We need to make an emergency landing. Can the heart wait?”
My nails dig into my palm at her words.
“Life Flight Seven, donor remains stable on life support. We can delay procurement up to four hours maximum. After that, we'll have to reallocate the heart.”
“Copy that,” Selene interrupts. “Dr. Winters, I need your medical assessment.”
“If they maintain life support, we should be fine, but tell them not to procurement until we arrive,” I request, running survival statistics and tissue degradation rates through my head.
“See that clearing? We're landing, like it or not. Can't keep flying in these conditions — we've got ice in the carburetor and on the rotor blades,” she announces, pointing to a break in the mountainside.
Before I can protest, the helicopter plunges downward, and I catch myself quietly reciting surgical procedures to block out the rapidly approaching ground.
“Hold on!” she shouts, and soon we're skidding across ice with a terrifying screech until we finally stop.
“Holy shit!” I exhale.
“Still alive. You can release that poor pen now,” she quips, unbuckling her four-point harness before stepping onto solid ground.
“I spotted a cabin through those trees when I managed to keep my eyes open during descent,” I say, climbing down and pulling my collar higher.
An old ranger station emerges like a dark shadow against the snow as we approach. The door creaks open to reveal air heavy with dust and abandonment.
“There's a fireplace and some dry wood,” she announces, pointing. “Get that wet coat off before you freeze!”
“The donor...”
“Will still be there in three hours,” Selene cuts in, starting a fire. “But we won't do Holly any good if we die of hypothermia or crash into the mountain.”
The flames catch quickly, sending a wave of blessed heat through my body. Selene sits directly across, having stripped off her coat and pants, rubbing her hands for warmth.
“Come here,” she whispers, wrapping an old blanket around our shoulders as I settle beside her. “Body heat works better than fire. That's pure science, Dr. Winters,” she adds with a wink when my bare leg brushes against hers.
And oddly enough, curled up next to her, both of us pantless under an ancient blanket in an even more ancient cabin, I feel strangely at peace.
“You're staring,” she teases.
“I'm observing. It's what doctors do,” I defend.
“And what do your observations tell you, doctor?” Now she meets my gaze, and the intensity in those blue eyes steals my breath.
“That you're reckless. And possibly insane.”
“Says the woman who just flew into a snowstorm with me, no clearance or anything. You know what I observe? Maybe the Ice Queen isn't as cold as everyone thinks.”
Before I can respond, she turns to cradle my face with her right hand, her thumb caressing my cheek, and my lucky pen slips from my fingers.
“Selene…”
“Tell me to stop,” she whispers, but instead, I lean into her touch.
The kiss is gentle, unhurried, perfect. Her lips brush mine with infinite sensuality, and when her tongue meets mine, my entire body trembles.
“Why did you become a helicopter pilot?” I blurt out, breaking the spell.
“Started in the military, but now, every time I deliver an organ, every patient who gets a second chance at life…” she pauses, swallowing hard. “It's like I see my sister in them,” she adds with a sigh.
I snuggle back against her body. A log cracks in the fireplace, sending sparks dancing upward. Outside, the storm rages on, wind howling through the swaying treetops surrounding us. But here, wrapped in a blanket by the fire, held in Selene's arms, something inside me begins to thaw.