When Dietrich took Remi’s arm, helping her up through the door, Sam worked his way down the mountain until his phone was able to pick up a satellite signal and he could successfully call Nando.
“I can barely hear you, Mr. Fargo. We were worried when it got dark and you weren’t back.”
“‘We’?”
“Julio called. His wife had the baby. He was sending his brother. I assumed he was on his way to get you. He didn’t make it there?”
“Not yet,” Sam said, shouting over the wind. “We’re taking shelter in the downed plane. Call Julio’s brother. Tell him to come back in the morning when it’s clear.”
“If it’s clear,” Nando said. “The weather report isn’t looking good. You’re sure you’ll be okay?”
“We’ll be fine.”
Sam pocketed his phone, then climbed back up to the plane, keeping his head down against the wind, which was even stronger now than it had been just a few minutes ago.
Remi watched him from the doorway, the flashlight turned on to light his way. “Did you reach anyone?”
“Nando,” he said, pulling himself into the fuselage. He and Dietrich pushed the door closed, the wind whistling through the crack. “On the good news front, Julio’s wife had the baby.”
“That explains why he’s not here. He—”
Sam held up his hand. “Hear that?”
“Thunder?” Remi asked.
“I think our ride’s here.”
They pulled open the door, the three running out toward the front of the plane. A tiny speck in the sky just over the pass was almost hidden in the snow flurries, the sound of the rotors barely audible over the wailing wind.
With gloved hands, they shielded their eyes against the spotlights as the helicopter swept overhead. It suddenly swung back on a course directly toward them, the pilot struggling to control the craft against the ever-stronger wind.
It rose sharply for a few moments, fighting a losing battle with the gale. The rotors blasted the frigid darkness. Then, barely in the air, the nearly uncontrolled helicopter pounded the driving snow, magnifying the thunder, on the ridge and steep side of the mountain.
Suddenly, there was an unbearable roar that swept down the deeply blanketed slope that engulfed the helicopter. It became lost under a white storm of ice and vanished.
The three stared in shock as the ice-packed snow beneath their snowshoes began to pulsate, and Sam realized it wasn’t thunder at all.
“Run!” he yelled. “To the plane!”
82
Avalanche!”
Bits of snow and ice rained down on them. Remi ran without question. Dietrich froze, his attention fixed on the wall of snow slipping down the mountainside.
“Hurry!” Sam shouted. He followed Remi under the wing, Dietrich coming to his senses, following right behind them. The noise grew louder as ice chunks pelted the fuselage. Snow slid in from both sides as Sam shoved open the door.
Remi climbed in, then looked back just as a sea of white swept Dietrich from his feet. “Sam!” she yelled, pointing.
He grabbed Dietrich’s arm, pulling him up. The two men scrambled into the plane, then struggled to close the door before the snow poured in, Remi leaning into it alongside them. The fuselage creaked and groaned from the weight, the deafening roar turning into muffled silence as the level rose past the windows, shrouding them in darkness. The three stood there, leaning against the door, their breaths coming fast.
“Remi?” Sam asked.
“I’m fine.”
“Dietrich?”
When he didn’t answer right away, Remi reached for him. “Are you okay?”
“Yes… What — what about that pilot?”
“Hard to say,” Sam said. “But his helicopter was in one piece right before the avalanche. If he’s as experienced as Julio, he’ll find a place to ride out the storm.”
“What if something happened to him? Or the helicopter?” Dietrich asked. “How will they even know to come looking?”
“Satellite phone,” Sam said, taking it from his pocket, the screen lighting up his face as he turned it on, showing it to Dietrich, before powering it off to conserve the battery. “Not that it’ll do us much good now. At least not until we dig out.”
“And if we can’t dig out?” he asked.
“Avalanche beacon. But we’ll be okay. I’m hoping that from the angle of the mountain, most of the snow fell on the other side.”
Remi eyed the door, unable to see anything out the window. It might as well have been a starless night looking back at her. “Not looking good so far.”
“Being optimistic again, Remi?”
“Practical.”
“Wait until we dig our airhole. You’ll see. So what is it you have in that magic backpack of yours to tide us over the next couple of days?”
“Caviar and champagne,” she said, pulling out protein bars and water bottles.
Dietrich reached into his pack. “I have chocolate.”
“You,” Remi said, eyeing the shiny silver wrappers, “are my new best friend.”
“One night covered,” Sam said. “But we’ll have to ration, and hope it blows through soon. In the meantime, let’s get to work on that snow tunnel. The longer it snows, the farther we’ll have to dig out. I’d hate to run out of oxygen before then.”
He took his flashlight and climbed up into the cockpit.
Remi also climbed up, but just far enough to take a look, forcing her gaze past the shadowed frozen bodies to the snow-covered cockpit glass above. All was dark. “You think we’ll be able to dig through?” she asked softly.
He glanced over at her. “Depending on how deep it is, it’s our only chance.”
About to climb down, she saw Klaus’s boots just a few inches from her face and she paused. “What about Klaus?” she asked in a low voice, her expression one of sadness, no doubt thinking about the fear the young boy had felt as the plane was going down. “It seems almost sacrilegious to be stepping over him…”
This time, Dietrich overheard her, saying, “I don’t think he’d mind. He’d want us to live.”
“I agree,” Sam said, climbing down after Remi. “Let’s have another look in the fuselage and see if we can’t come up with some wood to shore up that snow tunnel.”
“Out of what?” Dietrich shined his flashlight around. “There’s not much down here.”
“That broken seat, for one,” Sam said, nodding at its back. “Maybe others are loose. Pre — World War Two construction. No doubt they used wooden frames,” he said, pressing down on the nearest seat.
Remi held the flashlight as Sam and Dietrich tore apart the leather upholstery, separating the ties and frames from several seats.
When they had enough wood, Sam climbed up into the cockpit, carrying his compact shovel and snow probe. He had two worries. The first was that he hoped his calculations on the avalanche were correct, that it had fallen mainly to the right of the plane. There was no telling how far they’d have to dig otherwise. The second and bigger worry, one he hadn’t shared, was that the current storm might create a second avalanche by adding weight to an already unstable base.
Using his shovel, he broke the glass, knocking away any shards left in the frame. Snow fell down to the floor as the two men started digging through the hole in the window. Remi propped the flashlight so that it shined into the cockpit, then started scooping the snow to the cabin below.
It was slow going, and in some places they had to hack away at the concrete-like snow, careful not to dislodge the braces they’d placed. Finally, Sam’s shovel broke through. Frigid air blew through the hole, snow swirling in from the storm raging outside.
Remi and Dietrich cheered, breathing in deep, and the three celebrated by splitting a protein bar and a chocolate for dinner, then toasting with water bottles.