Chapter One
Spencer
Where am I?
A blurry white light borders the edges of my vision.
My head pounds, and my ears ring. Breathe and think.
A flash of the nose through the windshield of the plane plummeting down into white-capped mountains strikes me.
Followed by the smile of a beautiful woman with honey-colored hair standing next to a small suitcase.
I still can’t see. Can I move? Just breathe.
That white light softens as I focus, and the edges of my vision become clear.
I’m staring at the ceiling about three feet above me.
I attempt to bend and straighten my arms. My left one moves freely, but my right is pinned. My hand, please, God, not my hand.
I scan my body. There is a pulse aching throughout, but my arms and legs aren’t tingling, and there’s no numbness.
That’s a good sign that there is no spinal damage.
I’ll assess for weakness when I sit up. Here we go.
Slowly, I roll up, one vertebra at a time.
“Ahhh.” I wince as pain sears through my side.
With each inch I climb, my head is filled further with pressure as warmth runs down my face.
The fingers of my free hand tremble as they trace and wander up to my scalp.
That is where the blood is coming from. The windshield of the tiny propeller plane is webbed, with the pilot flattened over the steering wheel.
My arm is pinned from the mid-forearm down by a suitcase and debris.
My patient. That’s why I’m on this plane.
Bits and pieces are coming back to me. I’m performing a complex craniotomy on a new mother.
There’s another image of the enchanting woman in the airport.
“I have an idea. What if we find a pilot willing to fly a charter plane out of here before this storm hits? I’m Amanda, by the way. ”
There’s someone else here. Judging by the crumpled, lifeless body of the pilot, my guess is he passed, but I have to make sure he’s not just unconscious.
Another flash, “Bill, is the pain in your chest?” I say with a hand on his shoulder from the copilot’s seat as he folds forward and clutches the front of his jacket.
His face is scrunched as he gasps for air.
His wide, terrified eyes are fixed forward as he nods his head yes.
“What’s wrong with him?” shrieks the woman.
“He’s having a heart attack.”
Amanda. She’s the other passenger.
I reach over and gently begin to push the debris off my pinned arm, but I’m debilitated by the pain in my side.
“Ah, shit.” I stop and lift my shirt to reveal a large laceration.
I inspect the torn skin. It looks like a slice rather than a puncture, so there shouldn’t be any internal damage.
The wound will inevitably tear further to free my hand.
If I can locate my emergency kit, I can sterilize it and stitch myself up. “Amanda!” I yell.
There’s no response.
I push up on the pile on my arm as I wince.
Just a little further and I can wriggle it free.
As I lift the wreckage, the burning in my side is overpowering the pounding in my skull and any pain in my arm.
I wrench out my hand and clutch it in desperation, turning it over and examining it and my wrist. There are minor scrapes and bruising, but the damage appears to be minimal. Thank God.
“Amanda. Are you all right?” I yell, still not seeing her as I stabilize myself with the seat skewed sideways in front of me and rock myself forward.
There were three rows of seats behind the pilot’s, and Amanda was sitting behind me.
Only Bill is in the cockpit. I scan to my left over the wreckage, then to the right.
There is no rhyme or reason to the seats or aisles anymore, just heaps of chaos.
A moan breaks the silence from behind me.
I turn and clamber over the remnants of the plane towards her voice as chunks of metal and supplies slide and fall around me.
She’s lying underneath two warped seats that are pinning her down, and her face freezes in terror as it finds mine.
I kick into doctor mode, cool, calm, and collected, ready to assess the damage and quickly implement a plan.
My pain is being diluted by the adrenaline kicking in at saving this life before me.
“Amanda, we’ve been in a plane crash. I’m Spencer. Do you remember me?”
“Yes,” she squeaks.
“I’m a doctor, and I’m going to evaluate your injuries before I move you.
” Her upper body is propped up slightly with one leg extended out and the other knee bent, with her foot dangling over the floor.
It appears as if the two seats in the back flew up when the rear end of the plane was ripped off and lodged themselves between the ceiling and Amanda.
“I need to remove this debris from you.” She groans through frantic eyes.
“It’s going to be all right. Try not to move or sit up until I have examined you.
” My hands wrap around the bottom edge of one of the seats covering her, and I slowly lift as I hunch forward under the low roof.
It’s completely wedged against the ceiling, pinning her down.
I don’t want her to wriggle out until I’ve assessed her, so I’m going to have to push this off her completely.
I’m in no shape to do this as I turn my cheek against the cold leather.
The large hole punched in the back of the plane gusts frigid air at us as I squint, brace myself, and drive forward, gritting my teeth as my side tears further.
The remnants fall behind us, landing with a thud as I fall with it to my hands and knees, narrowly missing Amanda.
Electric needles of pain fill my side, and my surroundings spin through the throbbing in my head as I fight back the black edges of my vision.
I’m on the verge of passing out. Amanda needs me. Fight it.
I slowly crawl up to her, as if climbing these few feet is like climbing the mountains that surround us.
Blood continues to drip down my face from the cut on my scalp, but it now feels like a trickle and not a constant current.
Her eyes are wide and terrified as they meet mine.
I delicately touch the top of her head and enclose my other hand over hers on her abdomen.
I scan her body and notice her left leg is still pinned under the other warped seat.
“I’m going to do a few tests on you before I free your leg. Okay?”
She nods her head frequently as her lip quivers. “It’s a good sign that your natural impulse was to nod like that,” I say softly as I squeeze her hand reassuringly. “I want you to remain still and only move what I ask from this point on. Do you think you can do that for me?”
She nods again. “Yes.” Her voice is hoarse.
“Okay, good. That includes your nodding.” I give her my best charming-but-I’m-in-control smile.
“Okay.” She squints her eyes, and tears roll out the corners.
“Follow my finger.” I move my pointer left and right, and her eyes track it. I reach into my pocket and pull out my cell phone, surprised to find it still intact. I switch on the flashlight and shine it in both of her eyes. Her pupils don’t dilate all the way. “What is your full name?”
“Amanda Baynes.”
“How old are you?”
“Thirty-one.”
“Does any of this hurt?” I ask as I press different areas on her abdomen.
“No.”
“Do you have any pain or numbness in your arms or legs?”
“The one that is pinned hurts,” she whispers as the corners of her mouth turn down, and the trembling continues not only on her chin but over her body.
“Shhh.” I stroke the hair on top of her head.
“That’s better than not feeling it at all,” I say in a clear tone.
The next question would be to ask if she knows her whereabouts, but I don’t want to trigger a traumatic response, and I already noted the crash, so I skip that question.
“What did you have for breakfast this morning?”
“What kind of question is that?”
“I’m checking your short-term memory function.”
“I had a piece of chocolate cake.”
“That’s not very healthy, now, is it?” I chuckle.
“Well, that could be my last meal, so it wasn’t a bad choice.”
She’s witty. That’s a good sign. “How does your head feel?”
“It’s killing me.”
“You have a concussion.” As do I. “Can you grip my two fingers with both hands?” Her shaky arms lift as she wraps her fingers around mine.
“Squeeze them as hard as you can.” Her grip is strong.
“That’s good. I’ll assess more of your neurologic functions when I have you sitting up.
I smooth over her arms and her free leg, probing for further damage.
“Let’s get the rest of this off of you.”
“Okay.” She nods frantically.
“Stop nodding.”
“Okay.”
I spread my palm over the cold material and push. Nothing. I try again, leaning my full weight into it. Shit. I survey the rest of the plane to see if there is a pole or rod of some kind that I could use as a lever to lift the rubble. There is not.
“Can you prop yourself up on your elbows? I’m sure you have a splitting headache, and there are other pain points in your body, but I can’t push off this debris.
So, I’m going to lift it, flatten the cushion further, and see if I can create enough space for you to wriggle yourself backward and free your leg. Okay?”
“All right.”
“On three.” I’m counting just as much for me as I am for her.
“One, two,” I inhale deeply and exhale a steadying breath, “and three.” I lift with all my strength.
Pain shoots through my side and head, and the black edges are back in my vision.
It moves only a few millimeters and takes everything I have, but I feel it shift against the ceiling.
I drop even lower into a squat and use my legs as I drive upward again and grunt. “Pull it out!” I growl.
She cries in pain and slides backward, freeing her leg. The moment it releases, the blackness closes in like a spider on its prey, and my knees give out before I’m free-falling through my dreams.