‘Where are we?’ Gallen looked at the ceiling and saw the oxygen masks still dangling.
‘Fuselage, the middle section,’ said Winter. ‘The rear exploded from the bomb — we salvaged a bunch of clothes and other stuff from the luggage area, but we lost most of it. It’s lucky we got into the arctic gear before the bomb went off.’
‘We got a flare gun?’
Winter shook his head. ‘Looked for it all yesterday. It was either in the cockpit or the luggage area, both destroyed.’
‘What about the front section?’ said Gallen, wondering about comms and navigation.
‘Mike’s been going up there as long as his fingers are working, trying to get the radio operating again. He’s got a battery that works good, but too much of the circuitry was burned out.’
‘So, there’s six of us?’
‘Soon to be five, maybe four.’ Winter nodded at McCann. ‘I don’t know what we can do for him.’
‘What’s our situation?’ said Gallen, wanting food.
‘The av gas was stored behind the baggage area. One of the tanks survived and that’s what we’re burning, using soaked rags.’
‘Food?’
‘The galley was stocked with cold cuts, muffins, milk, tea, coffee, bread,’ said Winter. ‘Florita and I went over the supplies a couple times.’
‘And?’
‘We can feed six people for four days,’ said Florita. ‘Five people a bit longer.’
‘There are firearms on board, so hunting is an option,’ said Winter. ‘But I’m advising against it. This is really tough country and the last thing we need is a fresh case of hypothermia.’
‘Agreed,’ said Gallen.
The tarp flipped up and Mike Ford dropped to his knees as soon as he entered, hands out to the fire. ‘Hey, boss. You’re back?’
‘Sure am,’ said Gallen. ‘How we looking in that cockpit?’
‘Got a battery with charge and a few circuits connecting,’ the Aussie said, rubbing his hands together. ‘But the radio is fire-damaged. I can’t get it to work. Its receive function works sometimes, but that’s useless to us.’
Gallen sipped the tea then asked, ‘Any idea where we are?’
‘Nah, mate,’ said Ford. ‘Lost the avionics, so there’s no coordinates.’
‘We were flying south-west for, what, an hour?’ said Gallen. ‘Any idea where our nearest town or settlement might be?’
Reaching behind him, Winter produced a fold-out map of North America.
‘That’s the best we have?’ said Gallen.
‘Planes don’t really carry maps anymore,’ said Ford. ‘The navigation system is in the computer. These maps are just Oasis notations for where the fuel depots are.’
‘So where are we?’
Ford put a finger on a place on the map and made a vague circle. ‘West of Baker Lake.’
The Aussie’s finger was in the middle of a wilderness so vast and so devoid of human settlement that it made northern Wyoming look like midtown Manhattan.
‘What’s the scale on this?’ Gallen could barely comprehend their predicament. Putting three fingers together and measuring the distances, he looked up at Ford and then Winter. ‘There’s no settlement within five hundred miles of us,’ he said.
‘Five hundred would be Baker Lake, and that’s the closest,’ said Ford.
‘Okay,’ said Gallen, realising there wasn’t much more than morale to keep them going, ‘let’s keep the injured alive, and then in the morning we’ll work on a way to attract those search planes.’
‘Roger that,’ said Winter.
Feeling something in the breast pocket of his parka, Gallen fossicked it out and smiled at his find. ‘Look what I got.’
Smiles ripping their faces, hands went out for Gallen’s full and unopened pack of Marlboros. Lighting up from the fire, Winter sucked on the smoke and leaned back. ‘That’s what I call leadership.’
Gallen nodded at the men, pleased he could make a small difference. But it was Florita’s eyes that told the real story. They were realistic female eyes; they had seen the end of the road and were resigned to it.
CHAPTER 21
The peak of the cliff that the Challenger had crashed into formed a convenient lookout platform and Gallen sent the men up in shifts to search for aircraft. If any were spotted, the lookout would signal to the others below, who would throw the foam cushioning from the leather cabin seats onto the fire and create a mass of black smoke.
It was a treacherous climb to the top, so Gallen excused Florita from that duty. Florita was charged with keeping blankets and clothes dry. If the sun was strong enough, she could suspend the clothing and blankets on salvaged rope and air them as much as possible. She was also the sole arbiter of food rationing and kept a distillery going all day that created fresh water from the snow.
Winter took the first watch on the lookout, taking with him the radio headset that they’d managed to recharge from the spare battery in the fuselage. Gallen worked with Ford to shore up a warmer environment for the nights, when the temperature would get to minus forty if the winds rose.
Checking on McCann every hour or so, Gallen couldn’t shake him from the coma. Among the debris, Ford had found a large medical kit and they searched it for something that might wake McCann up.
‘That Harry Durville’s rooted,’ said Ford, as they sorted through the medical supplies. ‘Once you’re bleeding inside, it’s over, but Donny can recover if we can keep him conscious. Want to try adrenaline?’ He held up a large syringe.
Gallen wasn’t convinced, slightly suspicious of the Australian use of adrenaline. But as the afternoon wore on he approached Ford. ‘Let’s try it. Once only, okay?’
Peeling back the layers of blankets and clothing, which Florita whisked away to dry, Ford plunged the needle into McCann’s neck muscle and depressed the syringe until half of the adrenaline was expelled into McCann’s bloodstream.
The result was instantaneous, McCann’s eyes opening wide and his face taking on a surprised look, like a baby waking from sleep.
Florita had food and tea ready, and fed him while Ford created a better bed for the former Marine. The talk was forced and empty, the survivors saving their energy for the task ahead.
They laid McCann in the remade bed, with dry blankets and a fresh set of thermals. Gallen lowered his ear to McCann’s lips when he realised the man wanted to talk.
‘It’s important, what I said,’ said his former corporal in a deathly rasp.
‘Your mother gets the payout,’ said Gallen.
‘I forgive her for Terry.’
‘I’ll tell her that.’
‘I woulda found a way to juvie anyhow, didn’t have to beat him to do it.’
‘Who’s Terry?’ said Gallen.
‘Stepfather.’
‘Okay.’
‘He hit my sister, so I beat his ass — put him in the hospital.’
Gallen pretended not to notice the wetness in McCann’s eyes. He was a tough, proud Marine with a combat history and a kick-ass reputation. He didn’t need to go out like this in front of his old CO.
‘I was fifteen, boss, and, you know, the things that happen in—’
‘You don’t need to tell me,’ said Gallen.
McCann sniffed, tears running down his face. ‘I was fucked up, man. Hurt, scared and fucked up, and I blamed Momma.’
‘Look—’ started Gallen.
‘I said some things, terrible things, to that woman. But it weren’t her fault for all that. So you get her the money and you say I’s sorry. Donald loves her and forgives her.’
Gallen couldn’t meet his eyes.
‘Boss?’ said McCann, a new tone in his voice.
‘Yep.’
‘I ain’t no homo — I mean, it happened and all but I don’t go for dudes.’
Gallen laughed. ‘You can bivvy down with me any day, brother.’