No Return

2

With no road or path to follow, Wes pushed the Escape faster than he should, bouncing over dirt and rocks and avoiding what vegetation he could. Soon he was surrounded by sagebrush set ablaze by the crash.

Thump.

Sparks flew out from the side of the car as he smashed over a clump of burning brush.

Immediately he heard a rumble. The axle? Had he damaged it?

Just then a fighter streaked across the sky, a mere hundred feet above his roof.

Jerking back in surprise, Wes nearly swerved the truck into the gouge created by the crash. But he quickly regained control and shoved the accelerator back to the floor.

It took him four and a half minutes to get from the pinnacles to the plane. Four and a half minutes that felt like a year.

Slamming to a stop, he jumped out of the SUV and ran toward the aircraft. The fighter that had buzzed by moments before had been joined by another, both circling helplessly a few hundred feet above the wreck of their friend.

The dust cloud from the crash was still dissipating as Wes weaved around the small pockets of fire where the groundcover was burning.

The aircraft was pointed almost toward him, so he could see into the cockpit. The glass canopy was gone. He had no idea when that had happened, or where it was for that matter. It certainly had been in place when the plane had swept past him before it had hit the ground.

Wes looked around anxiously, thinking that maybe the pilot had been able to eject. But then he spotted a person still in the cockpit, slumped to the side, unmoving.

Unmoving didn’t mean dead, though.

Wes ran around the plane looking for the easiest way up. But the brush next to the aircraft was more densely packed, pushed together by the crash, and all of it on fire. He continued searching until he spotted a narrow gap.

I can make that, he thought.

Somewhere behind him doors opened, then slammed shut.

“Wes!” It was Dione. “Get back!”

He ignored her as he sprinted toward the gap, then leapt up onto the wing at the last second. But he landed hard, his knees slamming into metal and sending him sliding backward. Groaning, he clutched at the wing to keep from falling off. Once he’d stopped moving, he shoved himself to his feet and lurched toward the fuselage.

“Wes!” Dione yelled. “That thing could explode!”

Wes reached the fuselage, then shimmied down a lip that ran from the wing to the cockpit. He could see the back of the pilot’s head now, tilted to one side, still motionless.

He grabbed the back of the cockpit opening and threw himself forward, aiming his feet for the lip just outside the pilot area. But his toes barely touched the edge before slipping off. Immediately he clamped his hands tight to the rim of the cockpit to keep from falling to the ground. Below his dangling feet, he could feel heat from the burning brush.

“Wes!” a different voice-Anna, it sounded like-called out.

He heaved himself upward, scrambling with his legs until one of his feet found the lip. Ten seconds later he was exactly where he’d been trying to get, only now sporting a long scratch down the inside of his left arm.

He leaned into the cockpit and pressed two fingers against the man’s neck. A pulse. Strong.

“Can you hear me?” Wes said.

No response.

He quickly scanned the man’s dark green flight suit for any blood. When he saw none, he probed lightly down the man’s arm, across his ribs, then down his thighs.

He was pretty sure the pilot’s left leg was broken, and possibly two of the ribs. But there were no other obvious injuries.

“Hey,” he said again.

The pilot remained motionless.

He was about to give the man a shake when he noticed something that should have registered right away. The pilot was holding his helmet under his left arm.

Holding his helmet. No way he’d been flying like that.

“Hey,” Wes said, moving the man’s face side to side. “Hey, wake up!”

There was a moan, but nothing more.

“Come on, buddy. Wake up!”

This time the man’s head rolled forward, then slowly tilted up.

“Good, good,” Wes said. “We got to get you out of this thing.”

Wes grabbed the buckle of the harness holding the man to the chair and tried to pop it open, but it didn’t budge.

“Is there some kind of safety lock on this?” Wes asked.

The man moaned again. “See the ground … trying … it’s not … it’s not …”

Wes slapped the pilot’s face. “You’ve gotta wake up.” This time the man’s eyes blinked several times, then opened all the way. “I’m trying to get you out of here, but I can’t undo your harness. Help me. What am I doing wrong?”

The pilot jerked his head right, then left, his consciousness returning. He focused on Wes. “What happened?”

“You put your plane down in the middle of the desert,” Wes told him. “And if you help me, you’ll actually walk away.”

“The crash,” the man said. “Oh, God. Tried to eject … followed protocols but … the display … the electrical … everything just … something …”

“Yeah, okay. We can talk about that later,” Wes told him. He yanked on the harness, but it didn’t give. “Help me get this open.”

The man looked down at his chest, staring for a moment.

“Jammed,” he said. “Already tried. Wouldn’t open.” His head lolled back. “Must have blacked out.”

Wes stared at the buckle. If it was jammed, how was he going to get the guy out? There had to be some way. His eyes moved from the buckle to-

The straps! He could cut through them.

He turned and looked out at the others. Dione and Anna were standing back by the SUVs, looking worried.

“I need a knife!” Wes yelled.

Dione pointed to her ear and shook her head.

“Dammit,” he cursed under his breath.

Just then something off to his right caught his attention. Danny. He was toward the front of the plane, holding his camera and shooting the wreck.

“You have a knife?” Wes yelled.

Danny moved his eye away from the viewfinder.

“No,” he yelled back, shaking his head.

Wes turned to the pilot. “Just hang on. I’ll be right back.”

The pilot nodded, gritting his teeth. “I’m not going … anywhere.”

Wes leapt from the plane and landed just beyond the edge of the burning brush. His knee howled in pain, but he ignored it and sprinted toward the SUVs.

“A knife!” he called out. “There’s one in the Escape.”

Anna shot to the back of the truck and threw open the rear hatch. As Wes neared, she popped back around and ran up to him.

“Here.” She held out a utility knife, blade retracted.

“Thanks,” Wes said as he grabbed it and turned.

Anna didn’t let it go right away. Her fingers strayed against his palm, her face full of concern.

Wes looked back. “I’m going to be okay.”

With a reluctant nod, she let go, and Wes started toward the plane.

“Wait,” Dione said, reaching out and grabbing his arm. “You’re not going back there.”

“He’s stuck! The only way to free him is to cut his straps.”

“I don’t care. It’s not safe.”

He shrugged out of her grasp and began running.

This time he angled himself so that he didn’t have to stop as he jumped onto the wing. Again his knees smashed against the surface, but he anticipated it this time and didn’t slip.

When he stood up, he could see the pilot straining to look over his shoulder. Wes raised the knife. The pilot started to smile, then suddenly he craned his neck, as if he was trying to look behind his seat.

The man’s eyes went wide. He started to yell at Wes. “Get ba-”

Whoosh.

An explosive burst of flames engulfed the cockpit.

“No!” Wes yelled.

He started to charge forward, hoping he could still get to the pilot.

“Wes! Stop!” Anna screamed.

He made it to the middle of the wing before the heat of the new blaze forced him to throw his arms up in front of his face. He staggered backward a few steps before the wing disappeared from under him.

He hit the ground hard, knocking the air out of his lungs. Gasping, he rolled out of the burning brush.

Hands grabbed him, pulling him farther away as he sucked in air, trying to fill his lungs again.

“We’ve got you,” Anna said, her voice raised so she could be heard over the roar of the fire.

Danny showed up a few seconds later and helped them lift Wes to his feet and half walk, half carry him farther back.

Wes tried to turn back. “The pilot!”

“It’s too late,” Anna shouted. “There’s nothing you can do for him.”

Wes looked toward the cockpit. It was completely engulfed in flames. He sagged against his friends.

“It’s all right. We’ve got you,” Danny said.

Together the three crew members dragged Wes away from the heat of the fire into the cooler heat of the desert, finding shelter on the other side of the vehicles.

Once Wes finally caught his breath, Dione asked, “Are you okay?”

“Yeah … Fine.”

“Here.” Anna handed him a bottle of water.

Wes took a sip, paused, then took another. “Thanks.”

“What the hell were you-”

“We’ve got company,” Danny said, cutting Dione off.

Wes’s eyes, stinging from the smoke, were having a hard time focusing on anything. But before he could ask Danny what he’d seen, a not-so-distant thumping answered his question.

Helicopters. A whole mess of them.