Chapter 7 #4
“The Mob took a cut of the workers’ pay and skimmed profits off the mine’s revenues.
Probably cooked the books, too, and had some of their people in management.
Things weren’t as safe as they could have been, and I got the impression Great-grandpa and his friends thought it was because the mine cut corners to keep more of the profits,” Bill added.
“I’m surprised they let it close down,” Scott said.
Bill shrugged. “I guess the Mob wasn’t as much in charge as they thought they were. Or else the margins got too slim to be worth it.”
The conversation shifted to other topics, covering movies, good fishing spots, and favorite places to eat. Scott remained pleased and surprised that the weather was unseasonably clear, glad they had managed to beat the incoming storms.
Most of the time, they flew cross-country, but when roads stretched beneath them, Scott couldn’t help looking for out-of-place cars like the ones Justin and Liam said they saw. The angle wasn’t right for him to be sure, but he thought he spotted a couple.
We’re up here. They’re down there. We can be in and out before anyone notices.
Once they reached the target area, Bill flew in wide circles so Mike could snap shots of the area around the ski resorts. Scott told them what he needed for the articles, and Bill did his best to give Mike a variety of angles for the shots.
The cold, crisp day had a clear sky and bright sun, perfect for photos, but dark clouds on the horizon warned of a change in the weather. Scott figured Mike had taken hundreds of photos. He couldn’t wait to see them when they got back to Albany.
On the first circle around the Platt Mine, Scott spotted dark sedans parked near the mine opening as well as a few trucks. It looked like more new equipment had been delivered, and Scott spotted buildings that hadn’t been present in older photos.
“Looks like whoever bought the mine is actually going to do something with it,” Bill said.
Scott felt an overwhelming sense of danger. “Let’s do the mine photos another day. We don’t want to freak out the visitors.”
“Yeah.” Bill sounded like he had gotten the same bad vibes. “I agree.”
Bill started to turn back. Suddenly, a loud bang erupted from the front of the plane, the engine sputtered, and smoke poured from the casing.
“Shit. We’ve been hit,” Bill said as he fought with the controls.
“Did we just get shot at?” Mike asked, eyes wide, pale with sudden fear.
“Don’t know for sure, but we’re going down,” Bill said between gritted teeth. “Hold on and pray.”
Scott reached for his phone and pulled up Justin’s number.
Scott: We’re going to crash—near the mines. Look for us. I love you.
He hoped the message went through.
“There’s a clearing, I’m going for it,” Bill said, as Scott and Mike braced for impact. Scott didn’t ask why they weren’t heading for the old airstrips, guessing that Bill shared his suspicion that the people in the black sedans near the mine might have been behind their “engine trouble.”
“The emergency beacon is transmitting,” Bill added as he gripped the controls white-knuckled. “Here goes nothing.”
The plane plummeted toward the ground, fast enough to push Scott back against his seat. At this speed, he couldn’t imagine there would be anything left of them.
Bill struggled with the steering, and the engine whined as he tried to slow their descent. The trees that had been so far beneath them were suddenly closer as the plane skimmed along their tips.
Scott wasn’t religious, but he found himself silently pleading with any entity that might be listening for them to survive the landing.
The ground rushed up to meet them, and dirt flew everywhere as the landing gear ripped loose and the fuselage plowed into the earth.
Scott felt the crash rattle every bone in his body as he slammed hard against the side of the plane.
Someone screamed. Everything went black.
When Scott woke up, he smelled blood and airplane fuel. The light had changed, telling him he had been out for a while and that the weather was shifting.
“Mike? Bill?”
Scott got loose from his seat harness and realized that the front of the plane had torn away in the crash.
The nose and engine lay several feet away, while the front seats had ripped free and been tossed to the side.
“Guys? Can you hear me?” Scott crawled free of the wreckage, guessing that his shifter metabolism had protected him as much as having been in the back.
Blood dripped into his eyes from a cut on his forehead, and he felt bruised and battered, especially where the harness dug into his flesh against the impact.
Mike and Bill were still strapped to their seats, but without the nose of the plane to absorb the impact, their bodies had taken the brunt of the crash.
Scott caught his breath at their severe injuries and willed himself not to throw up.
Both corpses were mangled beyond recognition.
Mike’s camera lay in tiny pieces spread across the rocky ground.
Scott forced himself to check for cell phones and found them bloody and mangled.
“I’m so sorry,” Scott murmured. He fished in his pocket for his phone and discovered that it had smashed when he slammed against the side of the plane. Scott hoped his SOS had reached Justin and wondered if there might be a tracking component that still worked.
He skirted the bodies of his colleagues to check the console, hoping against hope that the plane’s radio might be intact. Scott wasn’t surprised to find the nose of the plane was nothing but twisted metal.
Bill said the emergency beacon was transmitting. Scott thought he remembered that while most small private planes weren’t required to carry the trackers, the rules were different with planes for hire.
A headache pounded behind Scott’s eyes, and he guessed it was from both the crash and the rapidly changing weather. Clouds filled the sky, threatening rain, and the day had gotten colder.
We need to get out of the storm, his coyote warned.
Scott realized that even if Justin and the authorities got the SOS, it would take time for them to arrive. What if the people who shot us down come to make sure the job got done? Shit. They’ll get here long before anyone can rescue me.
They won’t be looking for a coyote, his other side reminded him.
Scott went back to where he had been sitting and ensured he left no trace.
Then he headed into the woods, stripped out of his clothing, and shifted.
Protests from bruised, sore muscles reminded him that he hadn’t escaped the wreck unscathed, and he knew he owed his shifter side for the resilience that had saved his life.
Shifting also usually sped healing, and he hoped that held true now, since he needed every advantage he could get.
This is why coyotes don’t fly, his animal side noted.
Can you scent whether anyone’s nearby? I don’t know if the bad guys are around, Scott replied.
He sniffed the air, and his whiskers twitched. I don’t smell anyone else close. But we should leave before someone comes.
His left hind leg hurt enough to give him a slight limp, and Scott worried it would slow them down walking for help. There were a few small towns not too far away, and he hoped he could call Justin from there.
He glanced around, found a spot beneath a large oak, and dug a hole to bury the pieces of his phone. Scott had made a small, tight bundle of his clothing before he shifted that his coyote could carry in his teeth, and he had his wallet and ID if he encountered people who weren’t trying to kill him.
Lifting his head to sniff the wind, his coyote caught the scent of strangers, several men. Realizing that his suspicions had been correct, Scott hoped their attackers had no clue about shifters.
It’s going to be a long, cold walk home, he thought, although making the trek in his fur seemed more doable. His ears perked at the sound of voices and footsteps. They melted into the brush, close enough to see the wreckage but hidden.
“We didn’t need to shoot them down,” one of the men said as they got closer. Both men looked like ex-military, and Scott wondered if they had been special ops.
“Yeah? Tell the boss that. He gave the order,” the second man retorted.
Scott recognized him as the man in the mechanic’s jumpsuit from the airport.
He had a gun in his hand, and Scott knew enough from movies to recognize a large caliber sniper rifle, one that could actually down a plane if fired by an experienced marksman.
“What were they going to see? Cars by the mine? Now there are going to be cops and search parties crawling all over this area. And if someone realizes why they crashed, it’s going to be bad,” the first man argued.
“Nah, he wanted the guy dead. Said he already knew too much. Didn’t want the pilot nosing around, either.
Now they’re both dead. The boss said to burn the bodies and the plane,” the fake mechanic said.
“Make it look like it was an accident. If there isn’t much left, no one’s going to find a bullet hole. ”
“Then you’d better hurry before it starts to rain,” his companion said. “Or it’s not going to burn long.”
Are these the poachers people saw in the woods? he wondered. Did they have something to do with the hikers who disappeared? Are they Mob? They meant to murder us, murder me. This wasn’t just to stop the photos and articles; someone put out a hit, Scott realized, feeling a chill.
The smell of gasoline filled the air as the men sloshed it over what remained of the plane and the mangled bodies. Despite a fine mist in the air, flames rose with a roar, lighting the clearing despite the lengthening shadows.
Scott tried to move farther from the fire. The brush rustled, and one of the men drew his gun.
“What the fuck are you doing?” his companion snapped.
“There’s something out there.” The man trained his gun on the area where Scott hunched in the brush.
“We’re in the woods. Probably a deer.”
“I don’t know…” the man argued, not lowering his gun.
“All we need is for some early first responder to hear shots,” the second man said. “Put the gun away.”
“But—"
“We need to get out of here, in case the guys on the plane got a message out before they crashed,” the man said. “We don’t want to be nearby if the rescue squads show up.”
“They wouldn’t be coming if the boss wasn’t trigger-happy,” the second man grumbled as they turned to leave.
“Go ahead. Tell him that. He’ll probably toss you down the mine shaft and leave your bones for the rats,” his companion replied as they headed back the way they came.
Scott remained where he was for several minutes, fearing they might hear his movement. His heart thudded at the close call. For a moment or two, he had been certain he would be a goner, surviving the crash only to get shot.
When the men’s scent faded, and he no longer heard footsteps, his coyote stepped out from his hiding place, eyes still fixed on the flames consuming the wreckage.
Mike and Bill deserved better. Now they won’t even get a decent burial.
A fat raindrop hit him on the nose. His instincts told him the storm was likely to last a while, and he knew he had to find shelter before he struck out for Fox Hollow. He needed a safe place to sleep and recover.
They spotted a shallow cave beneath a rocky outcropping, and to his relief, it wasn’t already claimed by other animals. Coyotes were predators, but cougars and wolves were larger, and with a sore leg, he wasn’t in top fighting form.
His coyote had gone quiet, leaving Scott alone with his worries.
I’m hurt and a long way from home. Someone shot our plane down. Mike and Bill are dead. Guys with guns came to finish off any survivors. I have no way to know if Justin got my message. No one may even notice we didn’t come back until tonight.
Even if the SOS got through, it’s a big area to search. The rain will make it hard to look for the wreck from the air. Someone might have seen us go down or spotted the smoke, but it could take days for them to find the plane.
I could be dead by then.
The realization made him grieve the future he might not live to see. No articles are worth three lives. Justin and I were just getting started. I don’t want it to be over yet. I want to spend the rest of my life with him and get old and grouchy together.
Curled up into a tight ball, his fluffy tail wrapping around himself, he buried his nose in his fur to stay warm. Out of the rain and wind, in the relative shelter of the small cave, he figured that a coyote should be able to last out the night without danger of hypothermia.
We’ll be okay, his animal side encouraged. We’re a wild animal.
Scott appreciated his other half’s sense of humor. Wild-ish. Good instincts, but we like sleeping in a warm bed.
Scott pushed away the sights and sounds of the wreck, although he knew they were likely to haunt his dreams. He used his heightened senses to scan for danger and nearby creatures. When no immediate threats surfaced, he let his human memories come to the fore.
His mind wandered over the time he spent with Justin, from their first meeting to their most recent phone call. He focused on remembering the sound of Justin’s voice, the smell of his hair, and the touch of his hands when they made love.
I’m not ready for it to be over yet, so I guess I’m just going to have to save myself.