Trapped. Beverly Long
I got his head wound cleaned up and stitched. I suspect he has a concussion and I’m still worried that there may be some internal injuries.”
She looked around. The others were huddled around Angus, quietly conversing. “If you’re right and he has internal injuries, he might not survive the night,” she said.
“I’ll watch him,” Brody said. “These just aren’t great conditions to have to cut someone open and try to stop internal bleeding.”
“You would do that?” she asked.
“I’ll do what I have to do,” Brody said simply. “Right now I think we need to concentrate on that,” he said, pointing to a hole in the roof of the plane. It was almost as if the hard impact had ripped apart a seam.
But it hadn’t ripped neatly—the area around the hole was a jagged mess of metal. “We need to get that covered, but first, I’d like to use the hole to take a look around outside. I need something to stand on.”
“There are some boxes in the closet at the front, the one where the flight crew hangs their jackets,” Elle said.
“An empty box won’t work,” he said.
“They’re not empty,” Elle said.
He walked toward the closet, kicking additional debris out of his way as he went. He opened the closet door and, sure enough, there were two boxes. He picked one up. It was heavy. “What the heck is in here? Cement?”
“Books,” Elle said.
He carried a box and set it down under the hole. The floor was wet and more water was dripping in. He got the second box. “I hope you don’t mind if they get wet,” he muttered.
“Under the circumstances, I think I can get past it,” she said, her tone dry.
“People can get past a lot,” he said to no one in particular. He stood on the boxes and carefully stuck his head outside. Rain pelted his face and shoulders. It was very dark and the moist smell of wet foliage was almost overwhelming. He raised his arm and shone his flashlight out into the distance.
Trees. And more trees. He pivoted, carefully moving his feet so as to not lose his balance on the stacked boxes. Every direction was the same. When he brought the light in closer, he could see where the plane had knocked through some trees, breaking off branches before it had come to rest on the floor of the jungle. The trees, big and leafy, towered over the plane, probably some seventy to eighty feet in the air.
Angus had been right. It was going to be very difficult for rescuers to find the plane.
* * *
ELLE REALIZED SHE’D been holding her breath while Brody was surveying the outside. When he pulled his torso and head back inside, she gulped in a big lungful of air.
“Well?” she asked.
For a minute, she thought he was going to tell her to look for herself. Then he let out a soft sigh, as if in acceptance that he was going to have to talk to her, regardless of how distasteful it might be.
“I don’t think we’re in any immediate danger,” he said. “The plane appears to be on a flat surface. It’s hard to see much, but I’m fairly confident of that. I think we need to sit tight tonight. I suspect they’ll suspend any search until daylight.”
She looked at her watch. Daylight was ten hours away. “We should probably cover this hole,” she said. “No need to advertise that there’s fresh meat in the jungle,” she said, attempting to insert a hint of levity into her tone.
He didn’t smile. “I agree. If nothing else, we need to keep the mosquitoes out as best we can.”
He was right. She’d had a malaria vaccine, but there wasn’t one for dengue fever or several of the other diseases that mosquitoes carried. “There are some blankets in the front cabinet.”
“I saw that, but let’s see if we can find something else. We should reserve the blankets for warmth.”
She started looking around. The plane was small with few hidden cracks or crannies. Behind the last row of seats was a built-in cupboard for passenger luggage with a double door. Both doors had come open during the crash and the few pieces of luggage inside had spilled out. On the shelf above the open space was...something. Whatever it was, it was covered in dust. Rather gingerly, she reached for a corner and pulled it toward her. With it halfway out, she realized what it was. She held it up for Brody and the others to see. “Look. A parachute.”
“I think it’s a little too late for that, dear,” Mrs. Hardy said, humor in her tone.
Elle smiled at the woman. She didn’t miss the odd look in Brody’s eye. He was probably thinking that she was pretty good at bailing out.
“This makes no sense,” Elle said. “This is not the kind of plane you’d jump from.”
Brody nodded. “You’re right. It looks as if it got stuffed in here and somebody forgot about it. Regardless, it’s a good find and quite frankly, we’re due some luck.”
Elle pulled the parachute out, spreading the nylon canopy as best she could in the small space. “I think this is a job for Mrs. Hardy’s knife.”
It took Elle several minutes to slice a section of the fabric that would cover the hole. When she was done, she looked up. That had been the easy part. Now she was going to have to go outside, climb on top of the plane and place it over the hole. She was worried about the jagged pieces of metal piercing the nylon, but she couldn’t do much about that right now. Also, she’d have to find something heavy enough to lay over it to keep it in place. Maybe a few branches from some trees or even some heavy palm leaves. She could use Mrs. Hardy’s knife to cut them off. “I’ll go outside and put it over the hole.”
“You’re not going outside and climbing on top of this plane,” Brody said, his tone adamant, as if it were the dumbest thing he’d heard today.
“Getting the hole covered is important,” she reminded him.
“Cover it from the inside.”
“I need tape and nails for that,” she said. “I haven’t come across any of that.”
“There’s some bandage tape in the first-aid kit. That should be strong enough to hold it.”
“Shouldn’t we save that, just in case?”
“It was a new roll,” he said. “If you use some, we should still be okay.” He walked toward her, first-aid kit in hand.
“How’s the shoulder?” he asked.
“Fine. Good as new,” she said.
“Okay. I want to clean up your head wound.”
She let out a huff of air. “Fine.”
He opened the first-aid kit and motioned for her to have a seat. Holding a flashlight in one hand and alcohol sponges in the other, he quickly cleaned and disinfected the wound. She tried to hold very still.
Brody Donovan had always had nice hands. Gentle. Yet strong.
There were no rings on any fingers. Was it even possible that he’d never married? Married and divorced? She doubted that. Once Brody made a promise, he’d keep it.
Unlike her.
“The cut is about an inch long but not too deep. I’m going to cover it. If you can keep it from getting infected, it will heal and probably won’t even leave a scar.”
She wasn’t worried about a scar. She knew that small imperfections like that hardly mattered. “It will give me character,” she said, trying to make light of the situation.
“You have a tan,” Brody said, surprise in his voice.
She felt her whole body heat up. He used to tease her that her fair skin would never tan. On the other hand, she’d called him Goldenboy.