False Horizon. Alex Archer
release the harness around her, scrabbling to dig through the snow to reach the release.
As she shifted, she felt a sharp punch of pain in her side and took a gasping breath.
She felt her ribs gingerly. One, maybe two, on her left side felt badly bruised or broken. She ignored the pain and struggled to release the harness.
She looked at Mike. His head was thrown back against the pilot’s seat. His eyes were closed. Annja reached out for his neck and put her fingers against his throat. She felt a thready pulse there and exhaled in a rush.
They were alive.
But they both needed help in a bad way. Annja reached for the microphone, but as soon as she tried to key it, she heard nothing. The plane had lost communications in the impact.
Annja took stock. She could move her legs and arms. Aside from the ribs, she seemed okay. Her head had a lump near her temple. She’d probably bashed it on the cockpit as the plane hit and that’s what caused her to black out.
But otherwise, she was fine.
She brushed some of the snow away from her window and peered out. From what she could see, the plane had hit the side of Dhaulagiri and then slid across and came to rest on a fairly level piece of ground. The right wing, which had been shot off by the second missile, no longer smoked and she saw why. It lay covered in snow and that had helped extinguish any remaining smoldering wires.
Annja frowned. That also meant that there’d be no smoke trail to help rescuers find them.
I need to get out of here, she thought. It was the only way she could get an accurate perspective on their situation.
Annja braced herself for the pain and then grunted as she clambered out of her seat. The pain in her side was tremendous, but she steeled herself and then clawed her way outside of the plane.
As she took her first step, she fell into waist-deep snow. Instantly, she felt the cold smack her hard. Wind whipped around her and bits of snow and ice stung her skin.
She remembered that Mike had seemingly put some more altitude on even as the plane sank toward the earth. Annja looked around and reasoned that if Dhaulagiri was eight thousand meters high, then they were at least halfway up the mountain.
The air was thin and Annja’s lungs struggled to fill themselves with oxygen. Each gasping breath brought more pain in Annja’s side.
Then her ears caught a sound.
It was coming from the plane.
She frowned and started back toward it. Maybe Mike had regained consciousness.
But as she neared the cockpit, she could see that Mike was still out. She’d need to get a fire going soon if they had any hope of lasting the night.
She heard another sound. It was a moan. But it didn’t come from Mike.
Annja steeled herself. Was the person who had shot them out of the sky coming back to finish the job he’d started?
If so, they were going to meet with a very unpleasant Annja Creed. She summoned the mystical sword she’d inherited from Joan of Arc. The sword gleamed in her hands.
“Who’s there?” she demanded. “Show yourself!”
The wind whipped up around her. Annja fought off the icy sting and glared toward the plane.
She heard another moan. She struggled to get closer to the plane. As she did, the plane seemed to rock. Again, Annja glanced at Mike to make sure it wasn’t him causing the motion.
It wasn’t.
Someone else was inside the plane.
Annja’s vision swam as she drew closer to the plane. How in the world had someone else gotten on it? How was that possible? Did Tsing hide someone in there?
She swung her sword and cleaved an opening in the back of the wreckage. Like a piñata splitting open under the assault, the metal sheared under the power of the sword and spilled its contents into the snow.
Annja saw bags tumble out.
And then she saw a tiny man come falling out, as well. He was bloody and he looked terrified.
But he was alive.
Annja took a step toward him, felt another wave of pain wash through her and toppled over.
Back into darkness.
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