Storm the Author's Cut (8 page)

"I guess that was part of it. My father was disappointed."

Luke drank his tea, watching her talk as if he knew the thoughts that went between her words.

"What about you?" she asked. "Did your parents had plans for you?"

"My father is in hotels, too."

"But you're not?"

"I might have been, but my father and I had a problem seeing eye to eye—over just about everything."

The lines of Luke's face were deep and hard when he spoke of his father. Earlier, his eyes had been gentle, his hand gentle as he reassured her in the plane. Hard, yet gentle. She was starting to know this man. She could see his father facing Luke, two stubborn men, too alike for their own good. "I imagine he wasn't any more stubborn than you."

"More tea? Here, hold your cup out. You're right. It was a hopeless situation. I would suggest a new idea; he would turn dogmatic and refuse to listen; then I would walk out in a temper. I had my pilot's license and almost enough hours for a commercial license, so I went flying instead."

He told her about flying in the northern wilderness of Canada's arctic and the people who lived there. She could see the people when he talked about them—the Eskimos and the trappers living among the corporate businessmen of the northern cities.

"That's enough from me," he told her finally. "What about you?"

"My dad brought my mother west from Toronto before I was born, so I've lived on Haida Gwaii all my life. My biggest adventure was running away when I was fifteen."

"Where did you go?" The fire burned lower. Luke put another log on. Sparks showered in the stone fireplace as the log settled on to the coals.

"I hatched up a plan with Shane, my brother, to hike from Masset to Tlell. If you cut a few miles through the bush at Rose Spit, you can hike all the way down the east coast beach of Graham Island to Tlell. Dad would have let Shane go with his friends, but I was a girl. I went anyway. My friend Bev tried to stop me—she was always trying to keep me out of trouble—but I was determined, so she came, too."

"Did you make it?"

"We would have. They sent out search parties and found us on the beach, about five miles north of Tlell. Both sets of parents were furious and I felt bad about Bev getting in trouble. She'd really only been trying to stop me."

"With a start like that, you should have had a few adventures."

He had. She could tell that, looking at him.

"My father said I was wild," she told him. "He was right, but I got over it. I went to college and came back and worked for a living. My one rebellion was getting the job at the radio station." She told him about the station, how she had started reading news on the weekends, then worked into her present job.

"It's as if I have my finger on the pulse of the world. Sometimes it's frustrating when I have ideas and my boss won't let me try them out, but I love the job."

"You're good at it. I listen to you."

"You can't have much rime for listening to my shows—you're always flying."

"I have a broadcast radio in all the planes." He smiled at her. "Remember that when you're talking."

"I'll remember. I'll talk to you." She talked to someone. For a moment she wondered if it was Luke. Then she shook away the mood, picking up their cups to carry them to the little sink. The thought of Luke listening to her was strangely disconcerting.

He put on his jacket and went out to check on the airplane while she cleared away their dishes. When he returned, the sun had set. It was only half light now inside the little cabin.

They had no light except the flickering of the fireplace, so sundown meant time for bed. Luke spread out sleeping bags, one on the small bed and one on the sofa. "You take the sofa, Laurie. You'll be warmer by the fire—and it's too short for me. I'll get up in the night to put wood on the fire. I'll try not to wake you."

"Will you be warm enough? Maybe you should move the bed nearer the fire."

"I'll be fine."

In the flickering firelight, she lay curled up under the sleeping bag. She was not cold. It was half dark and she was watching the fire.

She heard the sound when Luke unzipped his jeans, imagined the damp denim slipping down over his hard thighs. She stared into the flames and listened to his footsteps cross to the cooking-stove. She didn't need to look to see him in his briefs, spreading out his jeans to dry, or to see him walk back across the floor in his bare feet, then climb into the cot.

"Good night, Laurie. Sleep well."

"Good night, Luke."

She hadn't told him about Ken. There had not exactly been a need to, but her fear of the memories was no real excuse.

She slept, dreaming...

Much later, she opened her eyes and saw the fire glowing dully. The cabin felt dark and cold. When she stood up, the icy cabin floor shocked her bare feet. She took some small pieces of kindling from the pile of wood and coaxed the fire back to life, concentrating hard on the small task, trying to forget the dreams.

She could see the outline of Luke's form under the sleeping bag. She could hear his breathing as she moved silently about the cabin.

Luke had put the teapot on the back of the stove and she poured out a bit of the thick, bitter-looking mixture. She poured it down the sink without tasting it.

The moon was shining through the uncovered window, illuminating the inside of the cabin enough for her to find her shoes and socks. Her jeans were still wet, so she refastened Luke's belt around the blanket toga. She left her soaking jacket behind when she went out.

The wind had stopped. She stood outside the cabin on the pathway, listening for any sound. Nothing, not even the ocean waves, although it was unlikely the storm had ended. The sky was still dark and heavy with clouds, but a clear patch above let the moonlight through.

The path was smooth and well travelled. In another month it would be summer. Yachts would come from everywhere to sail these waters, many of them visiting Hot Spring island with its natural hot baths.

She walked past the little shelter where she had bathed earlier, on up the path to the top of the hill where she found a pool about ten feet across. The steam rose from the water in wisps.

She followed the path on, past the pool, to the crest of the hill. She looked out over a dark land of water and mountains. The black ocean was backed by the blacker outline of the mountains. She thought she could make out the south end of Lyell Island. To the left, she fancied she could see the beginning of Darwin Sound.

The passenger with the broken leg would be in pain. She hoped that was not Tony, Mike's son. Tony had been given a name and an identity. He was very real to her and she did not want to think of him in pain.

She was alone on top of the hill, perhaps alone in the entire world. It was a long time since she had been alone. She avoided solitude and the memories it brought.

She had been eighteen the summer after her graduation from high school, getting ready for college, excited, high on the adventure of life. Shane, usually the calm one, had been high on the excitement of obtaining his pilot's license.

"Let's fly to Prince Rupert," Laurie had suggested. "Shane, you could fly us over, then we could all go out for pizza and a movie."

They had been sitting in the coffee shop of the hotel—Laurie with Bob, her current boyfriend, and Shane with a girl named Cheryl. They were all a little bored, but Shane vetoed Laurie's idea and told them, "I'm not flying in this weather."

"Come off it, Shane! It's not windy! Those clouds have been hanging around all day, amounting to nothing. We'd be in Rupert in no time at all."

"This morning's weather forecast said there's a storm coming."

"The weatherman's wrong all the time! One of the commercial seaplanes just took off." She turned to her father. "We can go, can't we, Dad?"

When her father hesitated, Laurie picked up the phone and called the seaplane base to confirm that the floatplanes were still flying.

"All right," her dad agreed. "Just check first that Bob's grandmother does have room to put all four of you up for the night."

Shane hadn't protested any more.

Laurie took the co-pilot's seat, although she knew nothing about flying. Her brother had taken flying lessons with Dad's blessing, but their father had had no enthusiasm for the idea of his daughter as a pilot.

The black clouds didn't materialize on the southwest horizon until halfway across Hecate Strait.

"It's a squall," Shane said. "We'll outrun it."

He was a cautious pilot, aware of his relative inexperience. He chose to make landfall on the north end of Banks Island and follow the sea passage in to the port of Prince Rupert. Even if visibility became poor, he would have the aid of the large lighthouse on nearby Bonilla Island.

They had just sighted Bonilla Island when the squall caught up with them. Laurie was unprepared for the way their world suddenly narrowed to the small seaplane and a few feet of driving rain outside the windshield.

Shane altered course to come clear of the north end of Banks Island, but he was flying blind now. Banks Island disappeared, along with the rest of the world.

"My God! I can't see a thing!"

They flew on in a grey and formless world.

"Shouldn't we land?" shouted Bob from behind Laurie. "We'll fly into something if we keep going in this!"

Shane wasn't calm now. There was panic in his voice.

"It's a local squall! We'll fly out of it. I can't land here!"

"Fly back to that island!" shouted Bob, but Shane shook his head desperately.

When they saw land ahead, Shane checked his compass heading and the map on his lap. "I know where we are now," he said, and changed course again.

Laurie sat silent, frozen in the passenger seat. This was her fault. She knew they were going to crash, and that there was nothing she could do to prevent it.

They flew on for what seemed like hours, the engine loud in the storm-tossed Cessna. Sometimes she spotted the dim outline of land, but there was so much they could not see. From the back, Bob kept urging Shane to land somewhere, anywhere. Cheryl whimpered once and turned to bury her head in Bob's shoulder.

They lost control without warning. The gust overtook them and Shane was twisted and pulled on controls, trying to shepherd a wildly careening ton of flying aluminum.

Abruptly, the grayness in front of the windshield was replaced by dark menace. She didn't remember the instant when they hit.

She regained consciousness slowly. When she felt the trembling of the airplane in the wind, she knew they were still in the air. She had been terrified for too long and she must have fallen asleep trying to escape the terror. She wished they would land soon.

Or crash.

She didn't want to open her eyes. She tried to will sleep, but she felt terribly alert. She felt the vibration from the wind and she fancied she could feel the cold wind on her skin.

Something was wrong. The wind should not whip on her body as if she were standing on a lonely cliff.

When she opened her eyes she saw the branches of a tree first—in front of her—not moving.

Then she saw Shane.

There was no doubt at all that he was dead. His open eyes stared at her lifelessly. His broken body spoke all too plainly of the damage it had suffered.

His image burned itself on the inside of her closed lids. She could not remember the crash itself, but they had crashed.

Slowly, she became aware that someone was crying.

"Cheryl," she whispered, but although the sobs continued, no answer came. Laurie twisted in her seat, trying not to see Shane's poor, broken body. Pain from her leg flared up and engulfed her in unconsciousness.

The next time she woke, a painful sensation of cold enveloped her. She did not dare to open her eyes. It was a long time before she realized that the sobs she heard were not all her own. When she stopped on a ragged breath, there was still the occasional sound of Cheryl crying.

"Cheryl?"

The sobs did not stop.

"Bob?" her voice asked hollowly, but there was no answer.

It was dark when she woke again. She sensed Shane's form beside her, but she could see it only in her mind's eye.

She was alone.

All her life she had been surrounded by family and friends who loved her. Even when she ran away, Bev had come. Laurie was the daredevil, and there was always someone willing to keep her company.

When the sky began to turn grey with the morning, Cheryl finally stopped sobbing. When Laurie called her name, the only reply was the wind howling through the wreckage.

Eventually the sun rose, throwing light into the interior of the plane. Shane's lifeless eyes stared accusingly at her. She reached out to touch his face, to close his eyes. He felt cold and she couldn't make herself touch his lids.

When she closed her own eyes, her brother's image persisted.

Twice she heard the sound of a plane in the distance.

It was a long time before the coiled microphone cord made an impression on her consciousness. When she finally made the connection between the microphone, the radio, and help, she reached for the microphone. Her fingers stopped a few inches short of it. She tried to twist, to reach farther, but the pain surged up from her leg and she lost consciousness again.

She drifted in and out of consciousness most of the day. It seemed to her that she was awake for much of the long, dark night that followed.

The wind stopped sometime in that second night and the world around her became as silent as death.

She was to blame for Shane's death... and for whatever had happened to Bob and Cheryl. It seemed only just that she, too, should die.

But her parents would be shattered by Shane's death. How much more terrible if both children were taken?

She had done more than enough damage. She could not cause extra grief to her parents by her own weakness. She could not move, could do nothing to keep warm or to increase her chances of survival. But she knew she had been weakening, willing herself to die rather than face her own guilt. Her leg was broken. She knew from years living in the north that hypothermia was what would kill her. The only thing she could do was to fight with her mind, and she must do that.