2. Ryder
Chapter Two
RYDER
I run my hand over the helicopter's control panel, checking every switch and gauge. The familiar routine centers me, pushes away the image of Frankie's blue eyes.
She’s up there alone.
The storage compartment clicks shut as I secure the emergency kit. Everyone else is at Mom's for Sunday dinner. I was there myself. Henry from the diner called me, worried she hadn’t come back.
It was like my body moved on autopilot. There’s only one mission: to make sure Frankie’s safe. I ran down to the landing pad like my heels were on fire, desperate to get the chopper up and find her.
The helicopter's weather radar is showing a mass of angry red and purple, moving faster than the forecast predicted. This could be like the storm in '98. I remember it even though I was just a kid. Three people died on the mountain that night.
I turn back to the instruments. Frankie would have driven up that narrow mountain road, alone.
I'm lifting off, the helicopter vibrating around me as I guide it up into the darkening sky. Rain pelts against the windshield, and the storm front rolls in over the mountains like a huge, angry beast.
The radio crackles beside me. “Base to Ryder, come in.”
I grab the handset. “Ryder here. Go ahead, base.”
“It's Nina. Axel's here too.” Her voice is clear despite the static. “Updated weather models just came in. This is developing into a supercell, Ryder. County's issuing an advanced warning.”
In the background, my brother's deep voice is saying something I can't quite make out.
“Logan's going to kill us for letting you go alone. Him and Hunter are checking the trail, in case Frankie comes down on foot.” Axel's voice comes through clearly now, having apparently grabbed the mic from Nina.
“You're not letting me do anything. I’m the senior pilot, remember? This is literally my job.”
“Your job doesn't include suicide missions,” my brother growls. “Wait for backup. I'll gear up and?—”
“Your shoulder's not cleared yet,” I cut him off. “And you know as well as I do that every minute counts in weather like this.”
A moment of silence, then: “Fine. But you maintain constant radio contact. First sign of severe turbulence, you turn back. You hear me, Ryder?”
“Copy that, mom,” I say, unable to resist needling him.
“I mean it, Ryder. This isn't a fucking combat zone. Don't be a hero.”
The memory flashes unbidden. Blinding smoke, rotor blades straining, and the staccato rat-tat-tat of gunfire below.
“I’m going to do my job.” But it’s more than just a rescue job. Frankie's been more than I can admit for two years now, even if I've never had the guts to tell her.
Below me, the familiar landscape of Ember Heart grows smaller. The clusters of small buildings give way to densely packed forest and winding roads. I bank east, heading toward Blackbird Ridge and the small cabin tucked into its side.
Toward Frankie.
A soft whine from behind makes me jump. I twist in my seat and nearly drop the controls. Risky, our family’s latest rescue dog, is curled up on the floor behind my seat.
“What the… how did you get in here?” The scruffy shepherd-mix just stares at me with those soulful eyes, his tail thumping against the metal floor. “Great. Now I'm not just risking my own neck. Mom would never forgive me if something happened to you.”
The dog pants happily, apparently unconcerned about our dangerous mission. In fact, he seems to be enjoying himself. Living up to his name, apparently.
The helicopter fights me, buffeted by increasingly violent wind gusts. I compensate automatically. I’ve performed flights in worse conditions. But a thread of worry winds through me. This storm is intensifying rapidly, becoming the monster the forecast predicted.
“Base to Air One,” Nina's voice crackles through my headset. “Confirmed supercell developing over the eastern ridge. You need to expedite or abort.”
“Copy that,” I respond, pushing the helicopter faster despite the rattling protests of the frame. “Continuing to target. And uh, slight situation update. Risky's on board. Must have followed me in from the house without me noticing.”
“You've got to be kidding me,” Axel's voice cuts in, exasperation clear even through the static. “Mom is going to be so mad.”
Lightning flashes in the distance, illuminating the churning wall of clouds ahead. My hands tighten on the controls as the helicopter bucks against another gust. Behind me, Risky whines softly.
“Air One to Base, approaching Blackbird Ridge. Visibility deteriorating. Making visual sweep for subject's vehicle.”
I scan the winding road below, squinting through sheets of rain. Nothing. If she made it to the cabin, her car would be parked outside or in the small shed alongside.
Then there’s a flash of red through the trees. Her Subaru, parked haphazardly outside the cabin, halfway up the ridge. Relief floods through me, immediately followed by a new spike of concern. The way the car is positioned, it looks like she stopped suddenly. Not properly parked at all.
“Base, I have visual on subject's vehicle at the cabin. Preparing to set down for extraction.”
“Negative, Air One,” Axel's voice cuts in. “Weather cell is tracking directly toward your position. Make visual contact only and advise if subject appears to need immediate assistance. Ground team will follow when conditions permit.”
I'm about to argue when a movement catches my eye. A figure emerges from the cabin, looking up at the helicopter. Frankie, her blonde hair whipping in the wind, waving both arms overhead.
“I have visual on subject.”
Another flash of lightning, much closer this time. The helicopter shudders violently as thunder crashes around us.
“Air One, return to base immediately. Repeat, return to base. Conditions are becoming non-navigable.” My brother’s voice is strained.
Frankie’s still visible below. She's pointing urgently at something. Is it the cabin? The car? I can't tell through the rain. The responsible choice would be to return to base. To wait for the worst of the storm to pass, then send a ground team. The smart, safe choice.
Then a section of the ridge above the cabin gives way, mud and rocks sliding down perilously close to where she stands. The storm is tearing the mountain apart, and she's directly in its path.
“Negative, Base. Subject is in immediate danger. I'm setting down for emergency extraction.”
I cut off my brother’s protests by switching channels, focusing every ounce of my attention on finding a landing zone. The small clearing beside the cabin is my only option, though it's dangerously close to the trees and the eroding hillside.
The helicopter fights me every inch of the descent, wind and rain battering us from all sides. My heart pounds in my ears, but my hands are steady on the controls. This is what I was trained for. What I was born to do.
Ten feet above the ground, a powerful downdraft catches the tail, spinning us toward the trees. I compensate instantly, muscle memory taking over as I wrestle the machine back into position. The skids touch ground with a jolt that rattles my teeth.
Keeping the rotors at speed, I unbuckle and grab my rescue kit. The moment I crack the door, wind and rain assault me, nearly knocking me back. Ducking low beneath the still-spinning rotor blades, I run toward Frankie.
She's standing in the doorway of the cabin, a backpack on but her clothes soaked through, eyes wide with a mixture of fear and relief. When she recognizes me, something in her expression shifts.
“Ryder Blake?” she shouts over the wind. “What are you doing here?”
“This whole ridge is becoming unstable. We need to go. Now .”
A deafening crack of thunder drowns out her response. The ground beneath us shudders, and I instinctively grab her arm, pulling her away from the cabin just as part of the roof collapses inward.
“My grandmother's cabin!” she cries, trying to turn back.
“No time,” I shout, keeping my grip firm. “The helicopter can't stay in these conditions.”
As if to emphasize my point, a massive gust rocks the helicopter, its skids briefly leaving the ground before settling again. The machine groans against the strain.
Frankie hesitates only a second before nodding, her face pale but determined. I wrap my arm around her shoulders, shielding her as best I can as we run toward the helicopter.
We're halfway there when a sound like a freight train drowns out the thunder. I look up as a wall of debris appears from high on the mountainside, heading straight for us.
“Run!” I push her ahead of me, toward the helicopter, my heart threatening to beat out of my chest.
We reach the helicopter seconds before the debris flow hits, slamming against the skids with enough force to shift the entire aircraft. I all but throw Frankie inside, leaping in after her and slamming the door shut.
My hands fly over the controls, increasing power as the helicopter strains to lift. For one heart-stopping moment, we remain stubbornly earthbound, mud and water swirling around the skids, threatening to trap us.
Then we're rising, the helicopter breaking free with a lurch that throws Frankie against me. I correct our angle, fighting against wind shears that threaten to slam us back into the mountainside.
"Hold on," I grit out, though I'm not sure if she can hear me over the roar of the storm and engines.
Her hand finds my arm, gripping tight. I risk a glance at her. She’s soaked through, hair plastered to her face, eyes wide with adrenaline and fear. But alive. Safe.
The relief is so overwhelming it makes my throat tight.
I guide the helicopter higher, searching for a break in the storm, a path back to Ember Heart. Through the rain-lashed windshield, there’s nothing but clouds and lightning, the entire world reduced to violent motion and noise.
The radio crackles, my brother’s voice breaking through in fragments. “Air One... position... storm cell... direct path…”
I adjust the frequency, but the signal is lost in another crash of thunder. A red warning light blinks on the console. The engine temperature is rising beyond safe parameters.
“We can't go back,” I tell Frankie, raising my voice to be heard. “Not in this. We need to find somewhere to set down and wait it out.”
Understanding dawns in her eyes, followed by a flash of something that might be fear. Or maybe trust. She nods.
I bank the helicopter away from the worst of the storm, searching for any safe landing zone. Through a brief break in the clouds, there’s a small clearing on the eastern slope, sheltered by a rocky overhang. The old ranger cabin should still be there, abandoned but intact.
“I know a place. But it's going to be a rough landing.”
She meets my eyes, and there’s that same electric jolt I felt the first time I saw her two years ago.
“I trust you,” she says.
I guide the helicopter down through swirling winds and sheets of rain, focusing on the cleared space ahead, blocking out everything else. The moment the skids touch down, I cut the engines, the sudden silence almost as deafening as the storm still raging outside.
For a moment, neither of us moves. Then Frankie lets out a shaky breath.
“That was... scary.”
I run a hand through my wet hair. “Not exactly a routine pickup.”
She laughs. “Is this when I thank you for saving my life, or yell at you for nearly getting yourself killed trying to save me?”
“Your choice.” I try for a smile that doesn't quite work.
The lie sits between us, obvious and heavy. This wasn't just a job. I took a risk I shouldn't have, flew into conditions any sane pilot would avoid, because it was her out there. Because the thought of Frankie in danger made every other consideration irrelevant.
A sudden mechanical groan from the helicopter breaks the moment. I swear under my breath, already reaching for my toolkit.
“Shit,” I mutter under my breath.
“What is it?” Frankie asks, concern replacing the relief in her eyes. She’s petting Risky, who’s basking in all the attention.
I start my checks, but the problem becomes clear all too soon. Fluid is leaking from a cracked line, likely damaged during our hasty departure from the ridge.
“The hydraulic system is compromised,” I tell her, keeping my voice deliberately calm.
“Which means?”
I meet her eyes. There’s no point in sugarcoating it. “Which means we're not flying out of here anytime soon. We're grounded until I can make repairs or the weather clears enough for a rescue team to reach us.”
Outside, lightning flashes, illuminating the torrential rain still falling. The storm shows no signs of weakening.
“So we're stuck here,” Frankie says, looking out at the small cabin barely visible through the downpour. “Together.”
“Looks that way.” I grab the emergency pack from behind my seat.
Her eyes meet mine, and for a brief moment, there’s something there that makes my heart stutter. Then she looks away.
I push open the helicopter door, letting in the howl of the storm. I help Frankie down, my arm around her waist to steady her against the wind. Maybe being stranded isn't the worst thing that could happen today.
The worst would have been not reaching her in time.