Chapter 4 - ONE WINDOW IN THE STORM
The helicopter crossed the Front Range under a ceiling that seemed to lower with every mile.
By the time we reached the western slope, the stars were gone.
Cloud swallowed everything above us.
Below, the mountains existed only as dark masses on our instruments and occasional shapes in the snow.
Pilot Jenna Jackson came over the headset.
"Whiteout, weather station updated."
"Give it to me."
"Winds sixty gusting seventy at ridge level."
"Surface?"
"Thirty-five to forty in the lower basin."
"Snow?"
"Increasing."
"Ceiling?"
"Dropping."
I looked at Kwon.
He shook his head.
The insertion window was closing faster than forecast.
"How long?"
I asked.
Jackson did not pretend certainty.
"Ten minutes if the valley stays open."
"And if it doesn't?"
"Then you enjoy the flight back."
Nobody laughed.
We were twenty-three miles from the crash site when the beacon returned.
Beck heard it first.
"Signal."
He bent over the receiver.
"Bearing two-eight-four."
"Strength?"
"Weak."
"Stable?"
"No."
I leaned close.
A thin electronic pulse moved through static.
Then vanished.
Three seconds later it returned.
Then vanished again.
"Patterned."
Beck looked at me.
"What?"
"Count the gaps."
We listened.
Four seconds.
Seven seconds.
Four seconds.
Seven seconds.
Four.
Seven.
Beck's expression changed.
"That's not random power failure."
"No."
"Somebody is cycling it."
"Or the circuit is failing in a repeatable way."
He listened again.
"You don't believe that."
"Not yet."
Shaw stood behind us.
"Can we talk to them?"
"Maybe."
I keyed the emergency frequency.
"Downed aircraft, this is Rescue One."
Static.
"Downed aircraft, this is Rescue One."
Nothing.
I waited.
"If you can hear me, transmit any signal."
The beacon stopped.
Everyone looked at Beck.
He stared at the receiver.
Ten seconds passed.
Then a voice broke through.
"...one... copy..."
It disappeared.
I keyed immediately.
"Say again."
Static.
Then the voice returned.
"Rescue... do not... land... aircraft."
"Identify yourself."
The signal crackled violently.
"...Miller."
My pulse jumped.
"Miller, this is Whiteout One."
Silence.
Then his answer came through so clearly that for one second the mountain seemed to disappear.
"You've got to be kidding me."
Kwon laughed once.
Ramirez grinned.
I almost smiled.
"Good to hear your voice too."
"Whiteout?"
"Yes."
"Thought I used up my lifetime rescue package."
"Apparently not."
Static swallowed him.
I keyed again.
"Status."
His answer came in pieces.
"Pilot... injured."
"How many ambulatory?"
"Five."
"Critical?"
"Two."
"Fire?"
A long burst of static.
"No fire."
"Fuel leak?"
"Yes."
"Location?"
"Left wing root... strong smell... pooling downhill."
I looked at Jackson.
She shook her head before I even asked.
No landing near the wreck.
"Miller, can you move away from the aircraft?"
"Trying."
"Terrain?"
"Steep."
"Shelter?"
"Rock shelf... eighty yards north."
"Avalanche exposure?"
"Yes."
Of course.
"Can everyone reach it?"
A pause.
"Not Cross."
Pilot Daniel Cross.
"Why?"
"Pinned."
The word changed everything.
"Leg?"
"Lower body."
"Circulation?"
"Don't know."
"Who is treating him?"
"Dunn."
Good.
Corpsman Caleb Dunn had trauma training.
"Miller, listen carefully."
"Go."
"We cannot put the helicopter near you."
"Copy."
"We're inserting lower and coming on foot."
"How far?"
I looked at Shaw's map.
"Best case, four miles."
Miller laughed weakly over the radio.
"Of course you are."
"Stay on this frequency."
"Beacon batteries failing."
"Why are you cycling it?"
A pause.
Longer than the signal delay justified.
"Miller?"
"I'm not."
Every person in the cabin went still.
I looked at Beck.
He looked back at me.
"Then who is?"
Static.
The signal vanished.
"Miller?"
Nothing.
"Noah?"
Nothing.
Beck checked the receiver.
"Gone."
Shaw leaned in.
"Interpret."
I hated being asked that when the answer was dangerous.
"Either someone else is operating the beacon, or the system is cycling automatically and Miller doesn't know it."
"Which is more likely?"
"The first."
"Why would someone cycle a distress beacon?"
"To control when we can locate them."
"Why?"
"I don't know."
Jackson interrupted.
"Two minutes to decision point."
I moved toward the cockpit.
Cloud streaked past the windshield.
Snow hit the glass so hard it sounded like sand.
"What do you have?"
Jackson pointed through the darkness.
"Lower basin is visible now."
I saw almost nothing.
Then moonlight leaked through a break in the cloud.
A white valley appeared below us.
For five seconds it looked peaceful.
Then the cloud closed again.
"Landing zone?"
"One option."
"Show me."
She tapped the moving map.
A small flat area near an old mining access track.
"Three point eight miles from the crash."
"Elevation difference?"
"Twenty-one hundred feet."
Kwon swore softly behind me.
Four miles sounded easy until you added twenty-one hundred vertical feet, darkness, heavy snow, avalanche terrain, and injured people at the end.
"Can you hold the LZ?"
Jackson looked at the instruments.
"For one pass."
"One?"
"I am not promising a second."
I went back to the team.
"We insert."
Nobody argued.
That was why they were here.
We clipped in.
Harnesses checked.
Ropes checked.
Medical gear checked.
Avalanche beacons active.
Radios confirmed.
Weapons were not part of this mission.
That would matter later.
The helicopter dropped into the basin like a stone.
Wind slammed us sideways.
Jackson corrected.
The aircraft shuddered.
Snow became a wall outside.
"Thirty seconds."
The rear ramp lowered.
Cold exploded into the cabin.
My goggles iced almost instantly.
Below us, the landing zone appeared and vanished through blowing snow.
"Ten seconds."
The wheels hit hard.
"GO!"
We ran.
Kwon first.
Beck with the equipment case.
Ramirez carrying trauma gear.
I jumped last.
My boots hit snow nearly to the knee.
Rotor wash turned the world white.
We dragged the gear clear.
Jackson lifted immediately.
The helicopter disappeared into blowing snow less than twenty seconds after touching down.
Then the noise faded.
And we were alone.
No lights.
No roads.
No engine sound.
Only wind.
Kwon switched on his headlamp.
"Welcome to paradise."
"Save your oxygen."
He grinned.
"Yes, ma'am."
I checked my GPS.
Three point seven miles.
The direct route crossed two avalanche paths.
The safer route added almost a mile.
We took the safer route.
There is a particular kind of arrogance that mountains punish quickly.
It sounds like faster.
It sounds like probably fine.
It sounds like we can make it.
I had buried friends who had trusted those sentences.
We climbed north.
Snow reached mid-calf, then knee.
Wind erased our tracks within minutes.
Beck launched the micro-drone once we cleared the first ridge.
It climbed thirty feet and immediately began fighting the wind.
"Thermal feed unstable."
"Push west."
"Trying."
A grainy image appeared on his screen.
Rock.
Snow.
Trees bending almost flat.
Then a bright shape.
"Heat source."
We stopped.
"Human?"
"Too small."
The shape moved.
"Animal."
Probably elk.
Beck redirected.
We continued.
Forty minutes later, we reached the old mining track.
It was almost invisible beneath snow.
My radio clicked.
A voice broke through.
"Whiteout."
Miller.
"Go."
"Situation changed."
"How?"
His breathing was heavy.
"Hale is missing."
I stopped walking.
The team stopped behind me.
"Victor Hale?"
"Yes."
"Where did he go?"
"Don't know."
"When did you last see him?"
"Ten minutes ago."
"Was he ambulatory?"
"Very."
"Why did he leave the group?"
Miller's answer came slowly.
"He said he was checking the beacon."
I looked at Beck.
"Miller, where is the beacon located?"
"Tail section."
"How far from your shelter?"
"Maybe sixty yards."
"Can you see the tail from where you are?"
"No."
"Who else knows Hale left?"
"Everyone."
"Did he take anything?"
Silence.
"Miller?"
"A pack."
"What kind?"
"Black equipment pack."
"Northstar?"
"Yes."
My pulse slowed rather than accelerated.
That happened when things became serious.
"Listen to me."
"Go."
"Nobody follows him."
"Wasn't planning to."
"Nobody goes near the aircraft unless Cross dies without intervention."
"Understood."
"If Hale returns, do not let him touch your radios."
A pause.
"You think he did something?"
"I think I don't know enough."
"That's not an answer."
"It's the only one you're getting."
Miller breathed once into the radio.
"Still bossy."
"Still alive."
"Fair."
The transmission ended.
Kwon moved closer.
"What are you thinking?"
"Northstar technician leaves injured group during a blizzard carrying company equipment after somebody cycles the emergency beacon."
"You think sabotage?"
"I think coincidence is getting expensive."
We moved faster.
Twenty minutes later, Beck suddenly raised a fist.
Everyone stopped.
"Signal."
"Beacon?"
"No."
He adjusted the receiver.
"Short-range digital burst."
"From where?"
He turned slowly.
The antenna pointed upslope.
Not toward the crash.
"There."
I followed the line of his arm.
A stand of dark pines bent beneath snow fifty yards above us.
Kwon's hand moved instinctively toward the knife on his harness.
We had no reason to expect hostility.
That did not mean hostility required our permission.
I signaled spread formation.
We climbed quietly.
The signal pulsed again.
Beck whispered.
"Closer."
A shape moved between the trees.
Human.
I raised my light.
"Rescue team!"
The figure stopped.
For one second, I expected Victor Hale to answer.
Instead the person turned and ran.
Kwon looked at me.
"That's not normal."
"No."
I keyed my radio.
"Unknown person, stop."
The figure crashed through the trees.
"We are a rescue team."
No response.
I looked at the slope ahead.
It climbed toward a loaded snowfield beneath a rock face.
The runner was heading directly into avalanche terrain.
"Do not chase."
Kwon stopped immediately.
The figure did not.
Twenty yards higher, he slipped.
He fell to one knee.
Then I heard the sound every winter rescuer fears.
A deep, hollow whomp beneath the snow.
Kwon's face changed.
"Back!"
A crack shot across the slope above the runner.
Not a small crack.
A black line fifty yards wide.
The entire slab shifted.
"MOVE!"
We ran sideways toward the trees.
The mountain released.
Snow came down with the sound of a collapsing building.
I threw myself behind a thick pine.
The first wave hit my legs.
Then my hips.
Then everything became white.
For several seconds, there was no up.
No down.
No air.
Only pressure.
I fought to keep one arm in front of my face.
The snow stopped moving.
Darkness closed around me.
I tried to breathe.
Nothing entered.
My mouth was packed with ice crystals.
I forced my chin down and cleared a pocket with my glove.
One breath.
Then another.
Radio static crackled near my shoulder.
Somewhere beneath the snow, Kwon shouted my call sign.
"WHITEOUT!"
I tried to answer.
My chest would not expand.
Then, very close to my buried right hand, something vibrated.
Not my radio.
A phone.
Somebody else's phone.
I pushed my fingers through the snow until they touched hard plastic.
The screen lit dimly under the ice.
One notification was visible.
UPLOAD COMPLETE.
Below it was a file name.
NX41_FINAL_TEST_REPORT.pdf
The unknown runner was buried beside me.
May you like
And whatever Victor Hale had been carrying into the storm had just become much bigger than a broken airplane.
