“I have no idea, but let’s head home now that you’ve seen it.”
“Good idea, and thank you.” Ros gives me a grateful smile, her eyes shining.
I veer west following the South Fork Toutle River. We should be back at Boeing Field in forty-five minutes, which will give me plenty of time to join Ana, the photographer, and Elliot for drinks.
Out of the corner of my eye I see the master caution light flicker.
What the fuck?
The fire light in the engine T-handle flashes, and Charlie Tango dips.
Shit. We have a fire in engine one. I take a deep breath but smell nothing. Quickly, I execute an S-turn to see if I can see smoke. A trail of gray fog lingers in our flight path.
“What’s wrong? What is it?” Ros asks.
“I don’t want you to panic. We have a fire in one of the engines.”
“What!” She clutches her purse and her seat. I shut engine number one down and blow the first fire bottle while deciding whether to land or carry on with one engine. Charlie Tango is equipped to fly with a single engine…
I want to get home.
I give the landscape a quick sweep, looking for a safe place to land, should we need to. We’re a little low, but I can see a lake in the distance—Silver Lake, I think. It’s clear of trees at the southeast end.
I’m about to radio a distress signal when the second engine fire light flashes.
Motherfucking hell!
My anxiety balloons and I clench my fingers around the collective.
Fuck. Focus, Grey.
Smoke filters into the cabin and I open my windows and quickly check all the instrument stats. The dash is lighting up like fucking Christmas. And it may be that the electronics are failing. I have no choice. We’re going to have to land. And I have a split second to decide whether to kill the engine or keep it going to get us down.
I hope to Christ I can do this. Sweat beads on my brow and I dash it away with my hand. “Hang on, Ros. This is going to get rough.”
Ros makes a wailing sound, but I ignore her.
We’re low. Too low.
But maybe we have time. That’s all I need. Some time. Before she blows.
I lower the collective and reduce the throttle to idle and we autorotate, diving down, and I’m trying to maintain speed to keep the rotors spinning. We hurtle toward the ground.
Ana. Ana? Will I see her again?
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
We’re close to the lake. There’s a clearing. My muscles burn as I fight to hold the collective in place.
Fuck.
I see Ana in a kaleidoscope of images like the photographer’s portraits: laughing, pouting, pensive, stunning, beautiful. Mine.
I can’t lose her.
Now! Do it, Grey.
I flare—pitching Charlie Tango’s nose up and dipping the tail to reduce the forward speed. The tail clips some treetops. By some miracle, Charlie Tango stays in line as I increase the throttle. We crash-land, tail first, on the edge of the clearing, the EC135 skidding and bumping across the terrain before she comes to a complete stop, in the middle of the clearing, the rotors whipping branches off some nearby fir trees. I activate the second fire bottle, shut down the engine and the fuel valves, and apply the rotor brake. I switch off all electrics, lean across and punch the buckle on Ros’s harness so it releases, lean farther, and open the door. “Get out! Stay low!” I roar, and push her so that she scuttles out of her seat and falls out to the ground. I grab the fire extinguisher beside me, scramble out my side, and run to the back of the cabin to spray CO2 over the smoking engines. The fires are quickly subdued and I take a step back.
Ros, bedraggled and deeply shaken, stumbles over to me as I stand and stare with horror at Charlie Tango, my pride and joy. In an uncharacteristic show of emotion, Ros throws her arms around me and I freeze. It’s only then that I notice she’s sobbing.
“Hey. Hey. Hush. We’re down. We’re safe. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.” I hold her for a moment to calm her down.
“You did it,” she chokes out. “You did it. Fuck. Christian. You got us down.”
“I know.” And I can’t quite believe we’re both in one piece. I step away from her and hand her a handkerchief from my pocket.
“What the hell happened?” she says as she wipes away her tears.
“I don’t know.” I’m stumped. What the fuck happened? Both engines? But I’ve no time for this now. She could blow. “Let’s move away. I’ve done an emergency shutdown on all the systems, but there’s enough fuel on board to give Mount St. Helens a run for her money should it go up.”
“But my stuff—”
“Leave it.”
We’re in a small clearing, the tops of some of the fir trees now missing. The smell of fresh pine, jet fuel, and acrid smoke is in the air. We shelter under the trees at what I assume is a safe distance from Charlie Tango, and I scratch my head.
Both engines?
It’s rare for both to go. Bringing Charlie Tango down intact and using the fire extinguisher means her engines are preserved and we can find out what went wrong.
But a postmortem and crash analysis is for another time, and for the FAA. Right now, Ros and I have to decide what to do.
I wipe my forehead with my jacket sleeve, and I realize I’m sweating like a fucking pig.
“At least I have my purse and my phone,” Ros mutters. “Shit. I don’t have a signal.” She holds her phone skyward, searching for service. “Do you? Will someone come and rescue us?”
“I didn’t have time for a distress call.”
“That’s a no, then.” Her face falls.
I grab my phone from my inside pocket, and I’m cheered when I hear the rattle of Ana’s gift, but I don’t have time to think about that, now. I just know I have to get back to her.
“When I don’t report in, they’ll know we’re missing. The FAA has our flight plan.” My phone has no signal either but I check the GPS on the off chance that it’s working and set to our current position.
“Do you want to stay or go?”
Ros looks nervously around at our rugged surroundings. “I’m a city girl, Christian. There are all kinds of wild animals out here. Let’s go.”
“We’re on the south side of the lake. We’re a couple of hours from the road. Maybe we can get help there.”
Ros starts in heels but is barefoot by the time we hit the road and it makes our progress slow. Fortunately, the ground is soft, but not so the road.
“There’s a visitors’ center along here.” I inform her. “We could get help there.”
“They’re probably closed. It’s after five,” Ros says, her voice wavering. We’re both sweating and in need of water. She’s had enough, and I’m beginning to wish we’d stayed near Charlie Tango. But who knows how long it would have taken for the authorities to find us?
My watch says 5:25 p.m.
“Do you want to stay here and wait?” I ask Ros.
“No way.” She hands me her shoes. “Can you?” She makes a snapping-twig motion with her fists.
“You want me to break the heels off? They’re Manolos.”
“Please, just do it.”
“Okay.” Feeling that my manhood is on trial, I use all my strength to snap off the first heel. It gives after a moment or two, as does the second. “Here. I’ll get you a new pair when we’re home.”