‘Oh, my God.’ She knew under this fog lay the national park and her beloved gum trees. But they wouldn’t love a plane. They stood firm, strong and too close together to gently receive a plane.
‘Mayday, mayday, mayday. Duchess D.A.V. with three POB, ten miles from Laurelton at five thousand feet, heading north. Both engines failed. Do you have me on radar?’
The radio buzzed static.
‘Right.’ Tom’s voice sounded in control again. ‘Emergency drill. Tighten your seat belts. I’m turning off the fuel tap and I’m going to glide her down.’
‘But you can’t see anything!’ Terror forced the words everyone knew out of her mouth.
‘Meg, love, I don’t have any choice.’ The finality in his voice sealed her fear.
Meg wanted to run. To jump out of the plane. Anything but stay there and do nothing.
‘Put your head down on your knees, Meg.’ Will spoke quietly but his voice was laced firmly with control.
Dazed with shock, she followed his instructions, not wanting to let go of his hand, not wanting to let go of his supportive strength, but knowing she needed her hands to cradle and protect her head.
‘Let’s do it on the count of three.’ Will nodded at their clasped hands, understanding the need they both had to stay connected. Knowing they couldn’t.
She bit her lip. ‘One, two, three.’ She let go of his hand and felt the plane dropping through the sky.
‘Mayday, mayday, mayday. Duchess D.A.V. with three POB, ten miles from Laurelton at two thousand feet heading north. Both engines failed, do you have me on radar?’ The desperation and fear in Tom’s voice rang through the plane.
The shudder ripped through her as the plane hit the canopy of trees.
Glass shattered.
Timber splintered.
The crunching noise of ripping, crumpling metal screamed in her ears as her own screams stayed trapped in her throat. She was going to die.
She didn’t want to die.
The plane dived forward nose first, the weight pulling it inextricably downward to unforgiving solid ground.
An almighty boom sounded in her ears.
Everything went black.
BLACK fuzz swirled in Will’s brain, confusing him as he stiffened against the pain burning through his body. He dragged his eyes open against a trail of warm blood. A tree protruded through the plane directly in front of him. Vegetables and green glass, the shattered remains of champagne bottles, surrounded him.
He forced himself to think through the fog that clogged his mind, to really focus. He couldn’t remember the impact, only the icy fear that had preceded it.
An eerie silence encircled him, broken occasionally by the creaking of the trees.
He turned his head slowly, grateful he could move at all. He flexed his fingers, his arms and his legs. All moved. He breathed in deeply. Knife-sharp pain lanced him.
Ribs. His hand cupped his side. Broken or bruised, he couldn’t tell.
He heard a moan.
Meg.
The confused fog lifted instantly.
Meg. Tom. They had to get out of the plane. It could explode, catch fire. His mind started racing. He had to get them out of the plane.
He fumbled for his seat belt and clumsily released the catch. ‘Meg?’ His hand gripped her shoulder and gave it a gentle shake.
She swivelled around, her gaze resting on him, her face blanched white but scarred red by blood. She opened her mouth. No words came out.
‘Can you move?’ He gently released her seat belt.
‘I…I don’t know…I…’
Hell, she was shocked. He needed her brain to kick back in like his had. ‘We have to get out of the plane, Meg. Now.’ He used her name. Shocked people responded to their name. ‘Meg, can you move your legs?’
She wriggled her toes. She stretched out her legs. ‘I can.’
‘Good. I’m going to help you stand up.’ He put his arm under her shoulder, biting his lip against his own pain as she pulled forward and stood. She grimaced as her ankle took her weight.
‘Tom.’ She looked around wildly, her view obscured by the tree. ‘Tom.’ Her voice rose frantically.
‘Meg.’ Will continued to grip her arm and locked his gaze with hers. ‘We have to get out of the plane on this side of the tree and then we’ll get to Tom.’
Her blue eyes, dull since the crash, suddenly cleared to the vivid blue he’d so admired when he’d first met her. Her head snapped around, taking in her surroundings. The tree had come through the side of the plane where the door had been. ‘We’ll have to kick out the back emergency exit.’
He nodded. ‘I’ll do it. Your ankle shouldn’t kick anything.’
Clambering over the freight toward the tail of the plane, glad he was wearing his hiking boots, he swung a kick at the exit. The metal gave way and he slithered out. Enormous snowflakes tumbled onto him and cold air bit his skin. He breathed in, praying to smell only fresh alpine air.
He got a lungful of aviation fuel. Dread clawed back. Hell, he only hoped the snow fell heavily enough to put out any sparks. Hoping that if the plane was going to explode, it would have done so by now. The engines had given out a couple of minutes before they’d crashed so they probably weren’t hot enough to catch fire on impact.
Still, he wanted out.
He leaned back into the plane. ‘Meg.’ He held out his arms.
She crawled toward him and he heaved her through the gap, his ribs screaming as she fell against him. For a brief moment he held her tight, needing to feel her heart hammering against his chest. Needing to know they both lived, they had both survived.
Clutching her tightly and trying to hold off the fear that Tom was dead.
‘Tom. Go to Tom.’ She pushed him away and turned back, leaning into the plane to reach for something. ‘I’ll send up the emergency flares.’
He ran forward, snow biting into his eyes, ignoring the fire of pain in his side. The plane had dived nose first, the front section taking the impact. Tom was strapped in his seat but the seat had moved forward, wedging him against the controls. He sat still, his head slumped sideways covered in blood.
It looked as if his face had hit the control panel on impact and then whipped back. His jaw sagged, probably broken, along with his nose, which looked crushed.
And they were the injuries Will could see. Hauling the pilot’s door open, he yelled, ‘Tom.’
No response. He put his first two fingers on Tom’s neck, feeling for the carotid pulse.
A weak and thready beat pulsed under his finger pads. Tom needed to be out of plane a.s.a.p. but moving him without a neck brace risked paraplegia. He didn’t have a neck brace so his choice was limited. Alive but paralysed? Or dead?
Will hated triage.
‘Is he alive?’
Will swung around at the sound of Meg’s terrified voice to see her clutching a large black backpack, a tarpaulin and coats.
An overwhelming need to protect her surged inside him. ‘Get back. I don’t need you being blown up if the plane explodes.’
‘And