Chapter 70 Ethan
Ethan
Tilda is humming to herself on the other side of the plane.
I helped her down, then she said she would reorganize the items in her tiny backpack so she could fit the sunglasses and the water bottle in it.
I told her I have a large backpack that can fit everything. But she insisted on helping.
I’ll take the bag from her later.
There’s a compartment in the rear of the plane that has my backpack, a few items of clothing, a handgun, a flare gun, and most importantly, a satellite phone.
I don’t know what the fuck happened to my plane, but her radio is of no use anymore.
There’s no cell service here, so my phone is also worthless, but before I power it down to save the battery, I pull up a contact I’ve never used before and type the number into the sat phone.
It rings twice.
“Who the hell is this?”
“Ethan Grant. Is this Stoleman?”
“I’m not great with names.”
I roll my eyes. “We met at Peaks Airport, west of Colorado Springs. You told me to call if I needed anything.”
The man on the other end of the line makes a humming sound. “Okay, ringing a bell. You the ranger?”
“Yeah.”
“And what is it that you need?”
“An extraction.”
“From a hot zone?”
He asks the question casually, and I lift a brow.
“From the Rockies. Had to put my plane down when the engine quit.”
“Well, shit. Damage?”
I sigh, looking at my poor wing. “Clipped a tree with my wing. Even if I had power and a runway, she’s not flying.”
“Bummer.” It’s kind of a dick thing to say, but Stoleman sounds sincere. “What’re you transporting?”
Transporting. Hot zones. I thought this guy seemed a little shady. And I was right.
“I’m not transporting anything.”
“Okay.” He says it like he absolutely doesn’t believe me.
Tilda’s humming changes to singing, just loud enough for me to hear.
“My wife is with me.” The words taste good as I say them.
Tilda’s off-key note falters.
An unexpected urge to smile tugs at the corner of my mouth.
I can’t believe I had to put my plane down.
Can’t believe my wing got fucked up.
Can’t believe that the first time Tilda put her safety in my hands, I failed spectacularly.
And yet… If I’m going to be stranded in the woods, headed to a secluded cabin in the middle of nowhere, there’s no one I’d rather be with.
And not just that there’s no one else I’d prefer. I’m glad she’s with me. Being with Tilda is better than being alone.
I swallow. The urge to smile fades.
I like her.
I like the way I feel when I’m around her.
Tilda starts humming again.
It’s still off-key. And it’s perfect.
I like her a fucking lot.
“So…” Stoleman sounds legitimately confused. “You’re not being shot at. And you got nothing but your lady with you. You just need, what, a ride home?”
“Pretty much.”
He huffs out a laugh. “This is gonna be an expensive ride.”
I shrug. “Figured as much.”
“There a reason you’re willing to pay top dollar for a private ride out rather than calling the proper authorities?”
It’s a fair question. So I answer him. “I believe I’m on national land. And the place I’m heading to definitely is.”
“Oh?” Stoleman’s interest is piqued. “And where are you heading?”
“To my cabin.” I tip my head to the side. “One of them.”
“And this cabin you own, it’s in a national forest?”
“Yep.”
“You are a park ranger, right?”
“Yep.”
“So you know that’s like super illegal, yeah?”
I roll my eyes again. “I got the impression that wouldn’t bother you.”
The man chuckles. “Why, Ranger Grant, whatever gave you that impression?”
Stoleman and I met one night last fall.
It was late. Past dark. And I’d never seen him there before.
He was in the hangar next to mine, and we closed our doors at the same time. Done for the night.
He was dressed in all black, carrying a large duffel, and I introduced myself.
When we shook hands, I noted the smoke smell.
Bonfire. Not cigarette.
I asked if he took the lease out on the hangar beside mine. He told me it belonged to a buddy of his, but he was in town for the weekend and keeping an eye on things.
We exchanged numbers. And went our own ways.
I haven’t seen him since.
Not sure his friend even still has a plane there.
“There won’t be a strip for landing,” I tell him. “It’ll have to be a chopper. Not your friend’s plane.”
Stoleman grunts. “That’s back up north. But I know a guy with a helicopter.”
“Good.”
“Hmm, what time is it?” Something creaks, like Stoleman’s shifting in a chair. “Dude’s kinda old. And he never does anything the next day. But if you can hold tight until Sunday, I can tell him to pick you up at noon.”
“That’ll work. Ready for the coordinates?”
Furniture creaks again. “Ready.”
I tell Stoleman the memorized coordinates.
“You got food? Or do you need the pilot to bring calories?”
“We’ll be fine.”
“If you say so.” I hear a door open and close. “This a sat phone number?”
“Yeah.”
“I’ll call tomorrow at noon if there’s a change of plans. If you don’t hear from me, he’ll be there Sunday. Give him the code word Bunny.”
I shake my head. “Sure. What’s the cost?”
“I’ll pay the pilot. Then I’ll decide.”
“Decide what?”
“If I’d rather have money or a favor from a ranger.”
I open my mouth to tell him cash is the only payment he’ll get, but the line goes dead.
After powering off the phone, I secure it in the front pouch of the backpack.
I checked everything before we left this morning, but I do another once-over to make sure it’s all here.
First aid. Bag of protein bars. Two empty water bottles with attached filters. The flare kit. An emergency blanket.
I attach the holster to my belt and secure my handgun.
Then I lock the doors of the plane.
Tilda is already looking my way when I round the tail. “Everything okay?”
I nod. “Come here. We’re going to fill the water bottles.”
She glances at the river just yards away. “Handy there’s water here.”
“It’s pretty fresh, but the filters will still be good.” I pull the extra bottles out of my backpack as we walk toward the river’s edge.
“You’ve been here?” She shakes her head before she’s even done asking. “Never mind. You already said we’re going to a cabin nearby.”
I crouch on a large flat rock and place the bottle into the stream.
“I usually come in from a different direction. And by land. But I’ve utilized this river before.
” I hand her the bottle and the cap, and she twists the top on as I fill up the second bottle.
“There’s a well at the cabin, so we’ll be fine.
But first rule of being in the wilderness, fill up on water whenever it’s available. ”
Tilda gives me a soft smile. “First rule? Will there be a test at the end of the stranding?”
“Yeah but don’t worry, I grade on a curve.” I pull the extra flannel out of my backpack. “Put this on.”
Vegas was hot. Here, it’s not.
Tilda shrugs her backpack off and takes the flannel.
And while she’s putting the shirt on, I grab her tiny bag and shove it into my larger one.
“Ethan,” she sighs.
“Button up,” I tell her, while I pull the zipper closed on my backpack.
Along with providing warmth, the sleeves will help protect her from the sun and tree branches.
Tilda pulls in a sharp inhale, and I jerk my gaze up to her, wondering if she somehow hurt herself.
But she’s not looking at herself.
Or at me.
She’s looking across the river.
“Ethan.”
I’ve seen enough people reacting to wildlife, so I keep my movements slow as I turn, still crouched low.
I expect a bear.
There are lots of black bears out here.
But it’s not a bear.
“Cat,” Tilda whispers, just as I see it.
The mountain lion.