Quinn didn’t wait to make sure Beaudine had heard him. He wriggled backward, crawfishlike between the headrests, making it to the front as Lovita took a last desperate gasp and the water rose above her face.
Quinn took a deep breath and ducked under beside Lovita’s face, covering her mouth with his to give her a rescue breath as he reached up to release her harness. She fell away in his arms and he pushed her to the surface, kicking at the passenger door again and again until it finally opened enough to pull her out.
Fuel dripped from the shredded metal sheeting. Steam rose from the engine compartment, but so far at least, the initial splash of impact had extinguished any flames.
Sliding and slipping over snot-slick rocks, Quinn cradled Lovita’s limp body in his arms and carried her to the gravel shore twenty feet away. Her breath was shallow, but she was still alive. Quinn got her situated as best he could on the damp ground before sloshing quickly back into the icy water, moving on autopilot to retrieve Beaudine.
From the perspective of even this short distance, Quinn wondered how any of them had survived. The Piper looked more like a crushed beer can than an airplane. He smiled in spite of himself, chalking it up to Lovita’s ability to fly all the way to the bitter end. She was a tough girl, and she’d saved his life again.
Cursing spilled from inside the plane as Quinn made his way toward the rear cargo door. That was a good sign. Deeper water piled up in the trough of gravel behind the wreckage and shoved him sideways. The fuselage was badly twisted and Quinn was unable to pry open the rear door, even when hooking the fingers of both hands inside the lip. Beaudine was on her belly, already working her way forward by the time Quinn made it around to the front door. Leaning inside and half submerged in the freezing water, he grabbed her flailing hand and fell backward, pulling her under the headrest and through the narrow crack in the door like he was delivering a newborn baby. He floundered in the stream with Beaudine on top of him.
“You okay?” she sputtered, clamoring to her knees. Achingly cold water rushed in around them, and she had to hang on to Quinn’s shoulder to keep from being upended in the current. A cloud of white vapor blossomed out of her mouth with each unsteady breath when she spoke. A nasty mixture of drizzling rain and wet snow began to fall, peppering the river and making it feeling even colder.
Outside of the shadowed interior of the plane, Quinn was able to get a better look at the nasty gash that ran down Beaudine’s forehead, splitting her left eyebrow and bisecting the bridge of her nose. River water and blood plastered sodden hair to her face. The wound didn’t look like it went to the bone, but it was deep enough that they would have to do something about it.
Beaudine swayed as she struggled to her feet, rapidly falling into shock. Unless they did something to get dry, hypothermia would follow in a matter of minutes.
“Lovita?” she said, her teeth chattering in time with the raindrops. She pushed sopping wet hair out of her eyes and then held up her fingers to look at the blood.
Quinn nodded toward the bank. “The crash knocked her out,” he said, panting. Water dripped from the end of his nose. “But she’s a tough kid.” He held Beaudine by the arm as they walked, bracing her against the shove of the icy current. If his assistance bothered her now, she didn’t mention it.
“Am I hurt bad?” Beaudine said, dabbing at the wound again with her fingertips as they staggered into the shallows and up onto the bank.
“It’ll be… a cool… scar,” Quinn stammered. His teeth chattered so badly it made his jaw sore.
Slogging out of the water, he dropped to his knees beside Lovita. Water drained from his clothing. His soaked wool shirt had grown several sizes too large and his sleeves hung past his hands.
Lovita’s eyes fluttered at the growing intensity of the rain. She turned slightly at the crunch of gravel to look up at Quinn, her lips pulling into a tight grimace from even that slight movement.
“Hi, Jericho,” she whispered, licking chalky lips.
“Hey, kiddo.” Quinn peeled off his jacket and draped it over her. It was wet but would provide some protection from the drizzle. “I’m going to get us a shelter put up. We need to get you dry and warm—”
She reached for his arm but missed, flailing feebly at nothing but air. He took her hand in his and patted the back of it.
She opened her mouth to speak but broke into a series of ragged coughs that wracked her entire body. Her face seemed to grow even paler than it had been. “Stay,” she whispered once she regained control, swallowing hard. “Please, just stay with me.”
Quinn nodded. “But just for a minute,” he said. “I need to get a fire going.”
Lovita’s eyes rolled back, and then fluttered shut. She struggled to swallow again, then gave his hand a weak squeeze. “I think I broke somethin’.” She used the grimy fingers of her free hand to point at her left shoulder.
Beaudine staggered up beside them to collapse in the wet gravel, legs akimbo, hands cradled in her lap. Quinn was afraid she might fall forward on Lovita, but her body listed heavily to one side. Her eyes drooped as though she might pass out at any moment. “Can… I… help?” she asked.
“I don’t know,” Quinn said, fighting back a futile panic that pressed at his chest. He brushed a matted strand of orange hair out of Lovita’s eyes. “Okay, hon,” he said. “The pain, you say it’s in your shoulder?”
“Uh-huh,” Lovita whispered. She strained to roll toward him to take the pressure off her shoulder blade, like she was attempting a sit-up but couldn’t manage it. Tears welled in her eyes. Her tongue flicked over pale lips. She was beginning to hyperventilate.
The fact that she complained of pain in her shoulder but was still able to move both arms sent a flood of worry over Quinn. This was something far worse than a broken bone. Hoping he was wrong, but knowing he was not, he moved to unzip the pink fleece jacket, and inadvertently brushed Lovita’s abdomen. He barely touched her, but she recoiled, screaming the unintelligible noises that humans make when pain or fear was too overwhelming for them to form words.
Quinn’s heart fell when he lifted the tail of her shirt. Her belly was tight and distended, an ugly purple bruise forming a donut around her navel. The harness should have prevented such an injury, but Lovita was so small she’d had to scoot her seat forward to reach the airplane’s foot pedals. This put her dangerously close to the yoke during the crash. Intense pain in the left shoulder after impact very often meant a damaged spleen. It was called Kehr’s sign. Quinn had seen it far too many times when vehicles hit IEDs and the driver was slammed against the steering wheel. Lovita was bleeding inside — and bleeding badly. Quinn put a hand to her neck. Her pulse was fading fast, hardly even there.
Stifling a scream, Quinn fell back on his knees and squeezed a handful of gravel in his fist until his hand shook. A man of action, the tremendous weight of helplessness pressed him down, threatening to grind him into the earth. Three years of tactical medical training, dozens of real-life operations as a Combat Rescue Officer in some of the most austere and dangerous environments on earth — and he could think of absolutely nothing to do. There were really only two options with traumatic internal bleeding — transport to the nearest surgeon… or stand by and wait for his friend to die.
Lovita reached for his hand again. Her breath came in short, shuddering gasps now. Eyes clenched, her small, almost Asian face twisted from the unbearable agony as blood filled her gut. Quinn smoothed the hair out of her eyes, gently resting the back of his hand against her cheek. He was covered with oil and his hand left a black streak across her copper skin.