Clear to Lift (35 page)

The main lodge shudders.

The rope sags.

Kelly, midway on her traverse, dips, swaying perilously close to the water.

“Kelly, get back! Get back now!” Will shouts, finding his feet. “Mono County, Whiskey One, need to re-rig the anchor. This house isn't gonna hold! Rescue Seven, we need you fast!”

We can't move. Hap is untangling Jack.
Shit. Shit. Shit!

Jack—my father—snarled in debris. My mother—dangling on a rope. My aunt—clinging next to her. Will—standing on a roof that's going to collapse at any moment.…

My family. This is my
family!
And for one terrifying moment, I'm overwhelmed by the images of losing them—my entire family snatched by the river in one fell swoop.

I bring my ungloved hands over my mouth to stifle the panic … and that's when I feel the rapid exhalations beating against my bare palms. This physical sensation—this here-and-now feedback—snaps me back to reality.
What the hell are you doing, Ali?

I turn to look at Boomer, a model of concentration, focusing on keeping the aircraft still. Then Beanie's voice registers. “No rise, no drift. Hover's lookin' good, sir,” Beanie says.

Clark also flashes through my vision—Clark, who kept it together when all was crumbling around him, when he knew all was lost.

My family still has a chance.…

Okay, Ali, head in the game. Head in the game!

Embarrassed that I let my attention slip, even for a few seconds, I adjust my scan to find Will. The main lodge shakes while he frantically pulls slings and a rope from his pack, looking wildly about as he does so, searching for another way to anchor the rope should the main lodge collapse. Tawny leans over the edge of the roof, shouting and encouraging Kelly, who scrambles, hand over hand, upward toward the roof. My mom and Celia continue to hang on for dear life at the other end of the rope.

The roof quakes beneath Will as he attaches a secondary rope to the main rope.

“Kelly, when you get to the roof, stay hooked to the rope no matter what!” Will says. “Tawny, you, too!”

There is no answer from Kelly, but I'm sure Tawny heard, as she, too, clips herself to the rope using the carabiner on her harness.

Will runs to the corner of the building, paying out the new rope behind him, the one he has attached to the main rope right near the chimney. What is he—?

He steps up to the roof's ledge, and based on the direction he faces, it seems that he's looking at the giant cottonwood tree downstream of the main lodge and adjacent to Cabin One—a new anchoring point.

But the tree is at least twenty feet away, maybe twenty-five. There's no way he can—

He jumps.

With the rope lying in coils over his shoulder, he plunges into the icy river.

Will!

My heart drops to the bottom of my stomach and stays there for several excruciating seconds as the river propels him downstream … and straight into the trunk of the cottonwood.

The last thing I see is Will wrapping his arms around the tree—his body submerged, a body without a dry suit, only his head above the surface.

“Okay, Hap's got Jack cleared. He's hooked up…,” Beanie says. “We have a thumbs-up … hoist is on the way up … he's halfway up…”

To my right, Kelly approaches the main lodge, scuttling upward, now about twenty feet from the roof. Craning my neck around, I see the reflection of Will's white helmet through the branches of the cottonwood. In the time it took Beanie to hoist up Jack, Will scrambled up at least thirty feet above the water. His bright orange gloves visible, his arms fly, wrapping the rope around the trunk. Good god, how did he make it up there so fast?

Kelly touches down on the shaky roof, but keeps herself attached to the rope as Will instructed.

A splitting. A splintering. A thundering
crrrrrrack!

Like an invisible hand taking a knife to the middle, the main lodge splits in half, caving toward the center. If the rope remains looped around the chimney, it will pull Kelly, Tawny, my mom, and Celia with it.

“Break the anchor! Tawny! Break it!” Will yells.

Tawny pulls the main rope out of the carabiner that holds it to the chimney, freeing it. The rope snaps taut, Will's new anchor at the cottonwood tree now holding the rope. In a blur of movement, Kelly and Tawny grab tight to the rope as the main lodge folds beneath them.

 

40

From cottonwood tree to Jeffrey pine, a distance spanning at least seventy yards, a rope holds four women above the raging Walker River. Actually, two ropes. The new rope Will tied to the giant cottonwood near Cabin One is tied to the original rope, and this, of course, is tied at the other end to the Jeffrey pine on the far side of the river.

“Men are inside, we're clear to go,” Beanie says, indicating that Hap and Jack are now in the aircraft.

Boomer slides the bird across the river and swoops down immediately over my mom and Celia. As the helicopter twitches and yaws in the wind, I think how Will has just saved four lives. Had he not made a new anchor, when the main lodge went down it would have taken the rope with it, and everyone attached. They would have—

But they didn't, Ali. So get on with it.

“Hoist is on the way down,” Beanie calls. “Steady … halfway down … steady. Hap's at the women.”

I scan from side to side as Beanie hooks up either Celia or my mom, I don't know which. Two structures remain—Cabin Ten, just next to us, still with the family of three on its roof, and Cabin One, on the far side of the river. Will is in the cottonwood tree—a temporary safe haven next to Cabin One.

“Temporary” is the key word, because this “haven” resides under a set of power lines. Will knows very well that we can't lower a hoist cable through a set of power lines, so even though I can't see him now, I'm sure he's making his way to Cabin One for pickup.

That settled, I tune in to Beanie, who's calling that Hap and the first woman are at the skids. I twist in my seat to look out my window, watching as Beanie pulls Celia into the cabin.

I glance at the gauges. Good power now.
Thank you, winds.
“Boomer, I think we can get Kelly and Tawny, too, after we're finished here.”

“Agreed. But the fuel,” he says, referring to the low-fuel lights that glow orange—lights that flicker so fast, they're almost solid.

“I know,” I say. “Let's just do what we can do.”

And just a quick two minutes later, Beanie is calling Hap and my mom into the aircraft.
Thank god …

Boomer rolls the aircraft to the left, flying across the river, and flares to a stop, pulling into a hover directly over Kelly and Tawny.

As Beanie and Hap go to work to get the girls, I check on Will's progress. I suspect he's pacing on the roof of Cabin One now.

But I search and squint, and the roof is empty. My eyes go back to the tree. I see his helmet. He hasn't moved.

Nor has he spoken on the radio since he directed Kelly and Tawny.

Something curls in my stomach.

“Whiskey One, Rescue Seven, over,” I say.

I wait. And I wait …

It's then that I notice something I hadn't before. Mojo. I never knew he was here, but he runs toward the water's edge now, skidding to a halt just before the highway moves underwater. He maintains a staunch barking stance—all of his energy directed toward Will's location, about thirty yards up-canyon from him.

“Whiskey One, Rescue Seven, do you read, over?” I ask, as Beanie reports that Tawny is now in the aircraft and the hoist is on its way down again for Kelly.

“Go ahead,” Will says, but something is off in his voice. Something terribly off.

“Whiskey One, Rescue Seven, you need to get to Cabin One. We can't hoist you if you're under the power lines, over.”

Wait. Wait …

“Whiskey One, Rescue Seven, you need to get to Cabin One, over,” I say, attempting to keep my voice level, but the alarm bells are ringing.

“Rescue Seven, I can't feel my hands,” he says. I imagine him having to push the talk button on his radio with his wrist, just as I had to do when I couldn't work my hands on Basin Mountain.

But the resignation in his tone is so startlingly clear, my breath catches, my chest tightening. How long has he been in that tree now, soaked through, gloves probably useless, in bitterly cold rain, the wind howling? He can't feel his hands, which means he can't use them, or not effectively, anyway. Not in a way that would allow him to get to the roof of Cabin One.

He knows he's stuck. He knows we can't get him. He knows …

Shit! Think!

“… I have a thumbs-up,” Beanie says. “Hap and Kelly are on their way up.”

Beanie is leaning over the side of the cabin, his hand loosely guiding the hoist cable, as he gives the final calls to bring Hap and Kelly into the bird.

“They're at the skids,” Beanie says. “Stand by. Bringing 'em in.”

“Guys, we have to figure out how to get Will out from under those power lines and over to Cabin One,” I say.

“Rescue Seven, Whiskey One,” Will says, an uptick in his voice. “Can you get me a rope?”

“Whiskey One, stand by.”

A rope for what?

“Hap and Kelly are in the bird,” Beanie says. “They're strapping in.”

“Beanie, can we get Will a rope?”

“We have a rope, ma'am, but—”

“Rescue Seven, Whiskey One, I have Jumars,” Will says. “If you can anchor a rope to the chimney and throw the other end to me, I think I can get over.”

“I think I know what he wants to do, ma'am,” Beanie says. “I can hoist Hap down to Cabin One, and he can set it up.”

“Do it,” I say as Boomer slides the aircraft to Cabin One.

“Whiskey One, Rescue Seven, we're lowering Hap now. He'll set up the rope. Then we'll have to leave to unload the pax and return for you, over.”

“Whiskey One copies.”

Boomer hovers, and Beanie lowers Hap to the roof of Cabin One. He secures one end of the rope to the chimney and throws the rest of the coil to Will—about a fifteen-foot toss.

Hap gives us a thumbs-up that Will has received the rope, we hoist Hap back into the aircraft, and Boomer noses over and accelerates to our drop-off point, the same field at the edge of the canyon.

“Beanie, what's Will's plan?”

“Ma'am, he can use the Jumars to attach himself to the rope we threw over. I don't know if you remember from rock climbing that day, but those things are like claws. Even if his hands aren't working right, if the Jumars are clamped on one end to the rope, and on the other end to his harness, he'd be hands-free. Maybe he can swing over or something. That's what I'm guessin'.”

“As long as it gets him clear of the power lines, that's all we need,” I say.

My breaths come easier now that I know that Will has a rope and a plan.

That is, until I look at the solid orange low-fuel lights. Boomer's looking at them, too. We lift our eyes to meet each other's, and he looks at me knowingly before shifting his attention back to the field, setting up his approach to land.

“We have fuel,” I say. My voice, as steely as it's ever been, belies the unease I feel deep in my gut.

Low-fuel lights in a helicopter work as they do in your car. They flicker when you're approaching a certain level of fuel, then glow solid when you reach some predetermined, almost-empty level.

And that's all well and good, but equating it with flight time is another matter altogether. Depends on burn rate.

Solid low-fuel lights could indicate fifteen minutes of fuel remaining or five. I don't know, because I've never purposely taken off with low-fuel lights to find out. You're not allowed to.
Strictly
not allowed to.

And six months ago, if you'd asked me if I'd take off with solid low-fuel lights, I would have said not only “No” but “Hell no!”

But that was six months ago.…

“We have fuel,” I repeat, probably trying to convince myself more than anyone else.

“I was hoping you'd say that,” Boomer remarks with the hint of a grin.

Boomer lands, five people run out from under the rotor arc, and I'm witness to the moment when my mother's body stills, her face frozen in stunned recognition, as she realizes who stands next to her, who was with her in the helicopter all along—Jack.

It's loud, it's sleeting, it's cold, but Jack removes his helmet anyway, his eyes never leaving my mom's. The seconds stretch, neither moving. And then the air contracts. They reach for each other at the same time, a crushing embrace.

“Beanie, are we clear to lift?” Boomer asks.

Snap. Blink. Back to now.

“You're clear, sir.”

Boomer lifts, turning our searchlight on in the process.

I shift my focus to the fuel gauge.
It's going to be okay. We have enough fuel. We can get this done.

“Mono County Sheriff, any word on that fuel truck?” I ask, wondering why I'm even bothering. If we stopped to fuel now, it's not like Will and the family could wait around for that to happen. If we're going to get them, it has to be now.

“Rescue Seven, that's a negative,” Walt answers. “But I don't think you'd have time anyway.”
My thoughts exactly.
“You're gonna need to get back to Cabin One ASAP.”

“Rescue Seven copies,” I say, shuddering. Has Will moved over yet? And if he has, will Cabin One continue to stand until we get there?

“How's Cabin Ten holding?”

“Holding for now,” Walt answers. “Not great, but holding.”

“Rescue Seven copies. Inbound to Cabin One.”

Boomer raises the searchlight to shine on Will's tree just as he leaps from it, Tarzan-style. The rope goes taut, the one that Hap tied off to the chimney, and Will arcs down and away from the power lines, his useless, orange-gloved hands wrapped loosely around the rope while his weight is held by the Jumars. He slams hard into the side of the building, his legs splashing in the water, and the current immediately rips him sideways, pulling, pulling …