Silent Spring
The rabbit stared placidly, its’ silvery fur an effective camouflage against the new fallen snow. Rina Sandoval shivered inside her down parka and raised a hand to her head.
It came away red with blood. Her blood. Thanks to the cold, there was little pain. She gazed ruefully back up the slope and wondered that she hadn’t broken something. That was as hard a fall as she had taken in many years. It was a stupid move on her part but the only apparent damage was a bumped head. She hadn’t been knocked unconscious; that she knew. If she had, the blood would have frozen in this temperature.
Rina glanced at her watch…well her chronometer. It had been a gift from Paul on her last birthday and was her most prized possession. He had said that, no matter how far a search took her, it would always bring her home to him. It had an altimeter, barometer and chronometer in addition to a GPS and compass. Paul had her name and Zodiac sign engraved into a silver plate set into the band. She was never without it, even on formal occasions. Now it told her that she needed to hurry.
She got to her feet and whistled for Bear. The well trained Lab wouldn’t have gone far. Oh wait. The fall must have shaken her more than she thought. She had left him with Karen. She and Paul had planned to fly up to Mount Baker for a weekend of skiing. But the rescue alert had put an end to that.
She checked the compass again and started off, still shaking off the effects of her tumble. The cold quickly infiltrated her trail boots as she followed the stream bank west toward a bluff she knew overlooked Mason Gorge. A grove of Birch bowed their pale limbs before her as if to acknowledge her approach. The area looked familiar but that was to be expected. The general features of the landscape were repeated countless times throughout Northern Washington and into southern Canada. Only the presence of certain local landmarks set one area apart from the next. It was those unique local features that enabled you to keep your bearing when searching an unfamiliar region. That was what she taught her trainees, to find the unique, identifying landmarks and plan your search track relative to them. Of course, sometimes the plan went out the window if the stakes were high enough. Like now.
Rina paused beside a large granite outcrop and listened for sounds of the rest of the search party. There was nothing carried on the wind but the pine scented dampness that spoke of coming snow. They were running out of time. Another snowfall after the previous nights’ storm would make further searching impossible. The already perceptible drop in temperature would make it unnecessary. There had been three people in that small plane when it left the airstrip just outside Rimrock. If any had survived the crash they wouldn’t survive the plummeting night temperatures. The search would have to be suspended until the snow pack melted in the spring.
She listened again. Still nothing except the occasional ‘whuff’ as a heavily laden branch gave up its’ frozen cloak. It was too quiet. Had she fallen behind the others when she had fallen? She called out but her voice sounded oddly muffled, as though absorbed by the soft powdery snow. She loved fresh powder, loved the way the edges of her skis carved through the pristine cottony landscape. So did Paul. That was why they had planned this weekend and gotten Paul’s sister, Karen to watch Bear. But a rescue always came first. She had been with Snohomish Search and Rescue for over twelve years and Paul understood and agreed. Everyone deserved to go home.
She glanced again at her chronometer and, as she suspected, the barometer was steadily falling. The crash victims deserved to go home too, but time was running out for them. She had to get moving. She checked the GPS and started off up the slope at a brisk pace.
The path was fairly steep but surprisingly easy going. Still, it took the better part of an hour and a half before Rina reached the bluff she hoped would give her a good view of the river area. She still hadn’t seen other members of the search party but she wasn’t surprised. The guidelines were to return to base when a weather front was moving in and it made good sense. You weren’t likely to find anyone in a blizzard and you ran the real risk of needing rescue yourself. But Rina had been working search and rescue for over twelve years and knew when she could push the limits. In her opinion, three lives warranted a risk or two. Still, the smell of snow was heavy in the air and even she couldn’t justify staying much longer. She raised her binoculars and scanned the gorge.
She spotted the wreckage almost immediately. Bill Jessup’s red Cessna stood out sharply against the white blanket of snow. Damn… He had almost cleared the mountain. Another hundred feet would have done it. She watched a moment longer. No movement around the wreck. If there were survivors, they were badly injured. Still…she could be at the site in less than half an hour. She checked her chronometer. Barometer still dropping but she had just enough daylight left. The way down was faster than the way up and everyone deserved a chance to come home.
The crash site was eerily silent. No movement at all. No survivors. No one to come home, after all. Maybe a chopper could get in to take off the bodies if she could get them the location. She tried the radio but there was only static on all channels. The other members of the search party had long since turned back and the weather was playing havoc with the signal. There was no way she could get the three bodies down the mountain by herself but at least she could retrieve a few personal effects to bring some small measure of comfort to their loved ones.
The small plane had come to rest on its’ side with only a tree preventing it from continuing its’ slide into the gorge. She reached through the shattered cockpit window and retrieved the small packet of photos she knew Bill Janus always carried in his jacket pocket. It was something his wife and kids should have. She moved back to the mangled fuselage, anxious now to be returning down the mountain to her own loved ones. The male passenger had thrown himself across his companion but it hadn’t changed the end result. There was nothing in the one easily accessible jacket pocket other than a lift pass for the Mount Baker Ski Area. Paul owned a jacket just like this mans’. Paul. He would be concerned. She didn’t usually stay with the search this long, she should have been home long ago, sitting in front of the fireplace, listening to Paul play his guitar. Paul worried when a search ran too long after dark.
The other side of the plane was canted downhill and she knew she had to be careful not
to dislodge it from its’ precarious mooring. If she could just get the door open a crack that should be enough to reach inside. She wedged her knife blade into the crack and gently pried at it. The door gave way with a tortured groan and the female passengers arm fell limply through the aperture. Rina fell back. “Noooooooooooooo….”
Her shriek of horror was swallowed by the rising wind. The first few flakes began to fall
on the elaborate chronometer that encircled the out flung wrist, the silver plate bearing the inscription “Rina Sandoval” still visible in the dying light.
The rising moon cast an eerie light across the tangled mass of crumpled metal and its’ three silent occupants, waiting for the spring.
