The Crash
by Chris Taylor

**
Part 1
**

As it turned
'There were no screams.  Only the sensation of free fall, maddeningly rapid descent. 
Hurtling toward some dark and inexorable end, he closed his eyes in the inhuman silence. 
And waited.'

**
Outside.

An object plummeted toward the ground about two hours after midnight.  Ghostly pale,
it fell, seemed to right itself, struggled against gravity, and then continued its fall.  Not
more than five minutes later, it impacted.  The sound was eerie; not an explosion, but
the sound of a heavy body meeting water.  In the dense, deserted forest, the sound
ricocheted off a few trees and then stilled.  No human ear--save those inside the object--
ever heard a thing.

**
Inside.

The feeling of being wet and cold brought Brad Sherwood out of his stupor.  He
remembered the sensation of free fall, the pilot's panicked attempts to right the plane,
and then...what?  Blinking in the near complete darkness of the cabin, he tried to
piece it out.  It occurred to him that he was freezing and for some reason, his back
and head were throbbing.  He raised one shaking hand to his temple.  It came away
wet with warm fluid that carried a nauseatingly familiar copper odor.  Blood.  His
blood.

"We crashed," he said numbly.  Well, of course they had.  Why else would he be
pinned under a seat like this with a back that felt like it was full of broken glass? 
Moving gingerly and wincing at the cold water that froze his crotch, he managed to
struggle to a kneeling position.  As he did, he heard a tired voice speak up.

"Good observation, Brad."  The familiar voice was tinged with relieved sarcasm. 
"What tipped you off?"

"Greg?" Brad asked hopefully, turning in the direction of the voice.  "That you?"

"It ain't the Queen Mother," Greg Proops said from somewhere behind.  "Are you
okay?"

Brad took a quick inventory: head throbbing but clear, back aching, stomach and ribs
fine, legs...rubbery, other assorted aches and pains, but nothing too serious.  "I think
so," he called back.  "You?"

"I'm stuck," Greg answered, sounding as if his dignity had suffered a major blow.  "Do
you think you could find your way back here and help me out?"

"Uh, yeah," Brad said.  He pushed away from his seat carefully, holding both hands out
in front of him to keep from running into anything.  "Keep talking, Greg.  I can't see a
damn thing."

There was a pause, and then, "I'm four rows behind you on the left.  Or I was.  I don't
really know where I am now.  All I know is that I'm cold, this sucks, and I wish I had
a cigarette."

Brad's shin bumped against what felt like another person.  "Hang on a second, Greg,"
he said.  "I think I might have found someone else."  Bending down carefully, he
brushed fingertips over what did indeed prove to be another person.  Thick body,
short hair, and a chubby face.  "It's Drew," he said.

"He alive?" Greg asked.  He sounded much closer and unusually subdued.

"Drew?" Brad asked, tapping the side of the face with his hand.  "Drew?"  There
wasn't any response.  With a sinking feeling in his stomach, he moved his hand down
the side of Drew's neck to try and find a pulse.  "Oh, my God," he whispered.  "Shit. 
Oh, God.  Greg, I think he's dead.  I can't find a pulse."

"Fuck," Greg cursed.  "Are you sure?"

Closing his eyes and swallowing around a lump in his throat, Brad nodded.  "Yeah,"
he whispered.  "Yeah, I am.  Oh, God."  He felt panic rising in his chest. "No, no."

"Brad," Greg said harshly.  Then, almost apologetically, "Keep it together, man. 
You've got to keep it together.  I need help to get out of here."

Movement.  That seemed to be the ticket.  'One step. Another.'  Forcing unwilling
joints forward, Brad took a step, and then another.  "I'm coming Greg," he said
grimly, forcing the panic down.  It didn't go completely away, but it loosened its
maddening grip on his brain.  After a moment, he felt sane again. "Where are you?"

"Probably a couple more steps, and then to your left."

"Right.  Can you put out your hand or something so I can find you?"  As soon as he
said it, Brad felt a hand brush his left ankle.  "Got you," he said, turning.  Carefully,
he felt along the obstruction. The seat had been thrown forward, trapping Greg
completely underneath it.  It wasn't going to be easy to move, given that it was
wedged against the seat in front, but after testing it, he was pretty sure he could. 
"Okay, I'm going to try to lift the seat up and when I do, you should be able to
crawl out."

There was relief in Greg's voice.  "All right."

"On three," Brad said quietly.  "Ready? One...two...*three*!"  He was able to move
the seat a considerable distance, but after no more than a few seconds, his back began
to scream in protest. "Hurry," he gritted, feeling and hearing movement at his legs.

"I'm out," Greg said less than twenty seconds later.

Brad let the seat drop back down gratefully.  "Are you okay, man?"

"Hmm...other than being inside a wrecked plane in the middle of nowhere with no hope
of rescue, I'm fine," Greg answered shortly.  He sighed.  "Sorry.  I think my arm might
be broken.  I must have landed on it. Other than that...help me up, would you?"

Brad reached down carefully and brushed across Greg's shoulder.  When he felt Greg
grab his hand, he pulled up.  His back spasmed painfully, causing him to suckin a sharp
breath.  "Ah...shit, my back."

"Hey," a weak voice said from somewhere up front, "isn't that Ryan's line?"

"Colin?" Brad and Greg asked at the same time.

"I'm here," Colin answered.  "I think.  What happened? Last thing I remember, we
were-oh.  Never mind." There was the sound of someone shifting around in water. 
"Brad?  Greg?  Are you the only ones back there?"

"So far," Greg answered.  "Are you hurt?"

"Not too bad," Colin said.  "Except my shoulder feels like it's dislocated.  Guess I
jammed it on something.  I'm on my feet.  Any idea where Drew, Ryan, and the pilot
are?"

Brad bit his lower lip and dropped his chin to his chest.  "Drew's...dead, Col," he said
quietly.  "As for Ryan and the pilot...we haven't found them.  Can you move?"

Colin was quiet for a long moment.  "I'm in the aisle," he finally said.  He sounded calm,
but there was an edge in his voice.  "I can't say how far away I am, but probably not
that far.  Ryan was right next to me, but he's not there anymore.  Do either of you have
matches or something we could use for light?"

Greg's clothing rustled.  "Got a lighter," he said.

Something hard and cold pressed Brad's left bicep. "What-?"

"Take it, Brad," Greg said impatiently.  "My smart hand is currently attached to a
broken arm.  I can't move it, and my other hand is too stupid."

Hands shaking, Brad took the lighter.  He fumbled it, recovered, took a deep breath,
and then pushed the metal lid up with his thumb.  Then, he found the metal wheel and
snapped a light to it.  A small flame flared, flickered, and then righted itself.  Even that
tiny light was enough to cause him to wince away.  It seemed far too bright.

To his left, there was a quiet, "Fuck," from Greg.

"What is it?" he asked, turning.

Greg was kneeling over Drew's prone form.  Glancing up, face deadly pale, he said,
"You were right about Drew.  His neck is broken."

The panicky feeling rose once again in Brad's chest, but he reminded himself that this
was neither the time nor the place.  'Keep moving,' he told himself sternly.  'Mourn
later.  Panic is not allowed.' "Colin, we're coming forward."

"I found the pilot," Colin announced, a second later, in a voice utterly without emotion. 
"He's dead."

"What about Ryan?" Greg asked, sounding suddenly exhausted.

For a moment, the only sound was of someone walking through a shallow puddle. 
And then, Colin said, "I don't know.  I-"  He cut off suddenly, sucking in a breath. 
"Found him.  Hurry, Brad."

In the dim light, Brad saw Colin about three steps in front of him, kneeling over a prone
form.  "Is he-?" Dead?  Alive?  He wasn't entirely sure which question he wanted
answered.

Colin looked up, dark eyes full of relief.  "He's alive," he said.

Ryan's deep, quiet voice interrupted him.  "Y'know, Col," Ryan said wearily, without
opening his eyes, "this *isn't* the way to get me over my fear of flying."

Brad glanced at Greg, who managed a wan smile.  "We must all be doing okay if we're
already making jokes," Greg observed.  "Good to hear your voice, Ryan.  Are you
functioning?"

"Greg?  That you?"

"Yeah," Greg said.  "I'd say something witty, but I'm too tired to think of anything."

"'S'okay," Ryan said, focusing his eyes on the lighter.  "Brad?  Colin?  Where are Drew
and the pilot?"

Colin bit his lower lip.  "They're both...they didn't make it," he informed his friend
quietly.  "Can you move?"

Ryan was laying on top of an overturned seat in what seemed like an awkward position.
He coughed harshly into one cupped hand before nodding.  "I think so," he answered. 
Under his own power, he pushed to a seated position.  Raising one hand to his head,
he muttered, "Oh...I knew I shouldn't have done that."  When he drew his hand away,
his fingers were wet with blood from a gash above his right eye.  Suddenly, a wracking
spasm of booming coughs bent him over.  "Christ," he managed weakly when it passed.

"Ryan?"  Colin's voice carried the anxiousness Brad knew they all felt.

"I'm all right," Ryan mumbled.  "Help me up."  Leaning heavily on Colin, he managed
to stand, but another coughing fit quickly overtook him.  Suddenly pushing away, he
vomited into the space he'd just occupied.

Brad, disgusted, turned away, feeling his own stomach do a lazy somersault.  "We've
got to get out of here," he said with pardonable desperation.

"I am definitely all for that," Colin muttered.  "As unfair as it seems to leave these two
here, we do need to think about our own survival."

"Any suggestions?" Brad asked.  All three of his companions' faces were grim in the
dim, flickering firelight.

Ryan, who seemed much steadier, stood staring pensively down at the water that
covered the deck. "Any of you happen to bring your cell phones?" he asked quietly,
not raising his eyes.

Brad felt a cautious surge of hope.  He hadn't brought his phone, but he knew Colin
and Greg both had.  It was simple.  They could just call for help and be out of here in
no time flat.  'Thank God for levelheaded people.'  Why hadn't he thought of that?
"Colin?  Greg?"

"Yeah," Colin said with a tired sigh.  "It's in a dozen pieces under my seat.  It broke on
landing. Good luck putting it back together."

"I didn't even bring mine," Greg growled bitterly. "Shit!"  He punched a chair with his
left hand.  "Damn it all to hell!"

Looking up sharply, Ryan fixed a stern gaze on Greg. "Stop it, Greg.  That won't help
anything."  He shook his head.  "Okay, so we can rule out the easy rescue. I think
about the only thing we have in our favor-" he broke off, coughing hard into his fist. 
"Sorry.  The only thing in our favor is that none of us is too badly hurt."

"Which is going to mean exactly squat in an hour when we're all dying of hypothermia,"
Greg pointed out sullenly.  Brad had to restrain the urge to deck him.

Surprisingly, Colin rounded on Greg, uncharacteristically angry.  "Unless you have
something constructive to say, I'd suggest you keep your mouth shut.  Your bad
attitude isn't helping."

Obviously chastened, Greg blinked and nodded.  "I'm sorry," he said contritely.  "But
it's true.  We need to get off this boat."

"Problem is," Brad spoke up thoughtfully, snapping the lighter shut, and effectively
killing the light, "that we might be out in the middle of a lake."

"We probably are," Colin agreed.  "Otherwise, we wouldn't be standing in water-"

"Wait a second," Greg interrupted.  "If we were in the middle, don't you think we'd be
standing in more than a few inches of water?  Maybe we're close to the shore."

Nobody answered right away.  The darkness became almost oppressive.  Brad
couldn't see any of his companions' faces, but he could hear them shifting uneasily. 
"We should probably go check, don't you think?" he finally asked, breaking the
silence.

"Not a bad idea," Ryan said.  "In fact-"  He barked out a sudden series of harsh, wet
coughs that sounded almost ripped out of his chest and throat.

"Ryan..."  Once again, Colin's voice carried a strong current of worry.  "Are you sure
you're okay?  You don't sound too good."

"I'm fine," Ryan said quietly.  "I just have a little tickle in my throat.  Anyway, I was
going to say that the cockpit door is just to the left of the wing. Wouldn't take much to,
uh, to get out there so we can look."  A sudden light flared in Ryan's hand.  He had
what looked like a small penlight.  It shone brightly in the dark, quiet cabin.  "Come on." 
Stepping past the pilot with a sigh that turned into a weak cough, he made for the
cockpit.  Colin followed.

"Need any help?" Brad asked Greg.

"I'm okay," Greg said.  "Just go."

Brad reached out a tentative hand and felt his way carefully in the direction Ryan and
Colin had gone. His especially light-sensitive eyes found and fixed on the light reflected
from the tiny flashlight.  It shined off the surface of the water, off the mangled
instrument panel, and made it a little easier to see the way.  He shuddered when he
accidentally bumped against the pilot's body.  "Watch out," he warned quietly.

"Thanks," Greg said from less than a pace behind.

When he stepped into the crowded cockpit, Brad could just barely see that Ryan was
already working on the door.  The wreck had warped the frame a little, but Ryan had
managed to work it loose.  Colin stood by with the small penlight in his hand.  A
couple of moments later, Ryan gave a satisfied grunt and the door swung the rest of
the way open.  "Gimmie the light, Colin," he said, poking his head outside.

"Are you sure...?"  Colin didn't sound especially keen on the idea.

"The wing isn't anywhere near the water," Ryan reported, ducking back in.  He took
the flashlight and shone it around outside.  Pulling his head back in, he made a rumbling
sound deep in his chest, turned, and then spat out the open door.  "Good news first, or
bad?" he asked, glancing around at the others.

"Good," Brad said quickly.  "I think we could all use a little good news."

"The good news is," Ryan said, "that we're right at the shore.  The wing is resting over
a little cove, or something like that.  Bad news is that we're looking at a ten foot drop
to get down."

"Great," Brad muttered.  A stiff breeze picked up, and in combination with his wet
clothing, it caused his teeth to start chattering.  "G-Guys, we should get g-going," he
said through his shivers.  "It's getting c-cold in a hurry."

Colin nodded and nudged Ryan, who was staring out into the night sky.  "Right," Ryan
sighed.  "Before we go, though, does anyone have anything they think might be helpful
to bring?"

"The emergency kit," Greg volunteered.  "The one the pilot was talking about."

"I've got some water and stuff in my bag," Colin added.  "Bottled water, I mean."

"I've got a couple extra lighters," Greg added.  "What about you, Brad?"

"Dry clothes," Brad said, already ducking out of the cockpit and making a quick
beeline for the area he'd been in.  His overnight bag was still miraculously tucked away
in the overhead compartment.  It contained about four days' worth of clothes, plus a
bottle of rum, and a couple of candy bars.  Somehow, it had stayed perfectly dry.

He bumped into Drew's body and briefly closed his eyes.  A thought occurred to him,
and, with a silent prayer for forgiveness, he reached into Drew's shirt pocket, and
pulled out a slim cell phone, one that was intact.  Cautiously hopeful, he pushed the
power button.  Nothing happened.  The plastic face was shattered.  He grimaced and
threw it down, and then reached into the overhead bin for Drew's bag.  Who knew
what they might be able to find?  It was, after all, a matter of survival.

Still, it felt kind of wrong, almost like robbing a grave.  "I'm sorry, Drew," he said
briefly closing his eyes.  "We won't forget you."

"No," Colin's quiet voice said behind him.  "We won't."

"I wish.there was something we could do," Brad said. "Nobody deserves to die like
that."

"Nobody deserves to be left behind like this, either," Colin said.  "But what choice do
we have?"

Greg poked his head out of the cockpit.  "You two ready?"

"We're just paying respects," Brad said.  "But yeah, we're ready."  He shouldered his
overnight bag and then slung Drew's heavy bag over his neck, ignoring the protesting
whine in his joints.  "I've got Drew's bag," he sighed.

"Probably not a bad idea," Greg said.  "We might find something useful inside."  He
shook his head.  "Good bye, old friend," he murmured, before moving back. "We'll
send someone back for you."

**
Part 2
**

As it turned out, getting off the plane was easier than they thought.

When Ryan set foot on the wing, the plane shifted under his weight, causing him to
nearly lose his balance.  He sat down and scooted forward on his heels and backside,
which caused the plane to shift again. By the time he got to the edge, the wing rested
about three feet off the ground.  "Well," Ryan said wryly, "looks like this may be
simpler than I hoped.  Just be careful"

One by one, they went out.  Colin first, then Brad, and finally Greg.  By then, the edge
of the wing was resting on the ground, and Greg was able to just step off.  Once he
did, Ryan slid down and landed with a grimace in the soft sand.  The plane's wing
jumped up about four feet, like an uncoiled spring and then settled there.

"Okay," Brad said to no one in particular.  "We made it.  But where are we?"

"I don't know about you guys," Greg said, holding his broken arm close to his chest,
"but I'd like to get out of these wet clothes and get warm.  Maybe put a splint on my
arm."

Colin nodded, and glanced up at Ryan.  "We should probably also see what kind of
supplies we have, right?"

Ryan had been staring off into the distance again, and didn't appear to have heard. 
"Huh?" he asked, when he came back.  "Oh...right.  Supplies, sure."  He blinked and
shone his flashlight along the beach.  "Uh...there's a lot of driftwood around.  Let's get
a fire going first.  Then we can get warm."  He coughed gently into his fist, and then
cleared his throat.  "After that we can check and see what we've got for supplies."

Brad dropped his two bags in a pile with the others', and then turned to head up the
beach.  There was indeed plenty of wood around, and the first few chunks he found
were dry.  The exercise got his blood going and warmed him up a little.  It also drove
away more of his panic; for the first time since waking up, he felt sane and rational.

'Just give me something to do,' he thought, glad that someone had stepped up to take
charge.  As long as he didn't have to think, as long as he could keep moving, he was
okay.  He would be content to follow.

Not surprisingly, Ryan took charge of building the fire.  Moving quickly and efficiently,
he built a small column out of the smaller wood.  He added some bark in the middle,
and then took Greg's lighter from Brad.  "Here goes nothing," he muttered, and then
touched the flame to the bark.  It caught and quickly lit the small wood.  A few
moments later, Ryan added some slightly larger pieces of wood, and before too long,
the fire was going.

Brad sat back and, for the first time that night, smiled.  "Where'd you learn how to do
that?" he asked Ryan.  "Were you a Boy Scout?"

Ryan shook his head.  "No.  My dad took my brothers and me camping a few times
when I was younger, and he taught me then."  After making sure the fire was established,
he got up and slipped away for a few moments.

Taking that as his cue, Brad grabbed his bag and went to change his clothes.  When he
returned, he saw that each of the others had put on dry clothes as well. They sat short
distances apart around the fire, which was now roaring along nicely.  He sighed and
went to sit next to Greg.

Colin got up after a bit and went to Greg's other side and said, "Let me see your arm."

"How's your shoulder?" Greg asked, holding out his bare forearm.  It had a telltale
bend in it.  It definitely was broken.

"Hurts, but I think I got it popped back into place. It moves like it should."

Greg sighed and nodded.  "Well, that's something.  So Brad has a bad back, you've
got a bad shoulder, and I've got a broken arm.  This isn't looking so good."

Brad reclined on his elbow and then said, "It could have been worse.  At least we're up
and walking.  None of us have life-threatening injuries.  We're okay." He watched Ryan
wander over to the other side of the fire and sit down and then turned his attention back
to Colin and Greg.

"Let's see what we have in that kit," Colin said, standing.  He wandered over to the
small plastic emergency kit and popped the lid open.  "Hmm," he grunted, looking back
up at Brad and Greg.  "There's a flare gun and.five flares.  Ah, and a first aid kit." He
pulled out a big white box with a red cross on it, and then set it aside.  Digging down
into the small tub a little further, he came up with something else. "Guys, look, a map."

"Let me see that," Ryan said quietly.  It was the first time he'd spoken since starting the
fire. Reaching out one big hand, he took the folded map from his old friend with a
murmur of thanks.  He unfolded it and then bent to study it by the firelight.

Greg's face was pale, Brad noted.  "There anything like aspirin in that kit?" he asked
Colin through clenched teeth.  "This thing is fucking killing me."

"I don't doubt," Colin replied, opening the kit.  His eyes darkened a bit.  "It's pretty
slim pickings in here," he sighed.  "I'll see what I can find."  A moment later, he reached
in and pulled out a long, flat white board and several strap-type pieces of cloth. 
Holding them up to the light, he smiled.  "Now these we can use."

The break was in the middle of Greg's right forearm. Working carefully and deftly,
Colin slipped the board underneath the bad arm and secured it with the straps.  "There,"
he nodded.  "That's as good as it's going to get.  Now, for a sling."  Looking though the
first aid kit, he shook his head, then reached in and pulled out a small white bottle.
"Ibuprofen," he murmured, opening the bottle.

"Thank God," Greg said tremulously.  Beads of sweat lined his forehead.  With a
shaking left hand, he accepted the three small orange pills Colin held out and dry-
swallowed them.

"How is it?" Brad asked quietly.

"Hurts," Greg answered curtly.  "Can't move it, though, so either Colin did a really
good job or I'm going to lose use of it."

Colin rolled his eyes.  "You'll be fine, Greg.  I did worse falling off my back porch
when I was a kid."

Greg didn't look convinced.  "Hey, no offense or anything, but you're not exactly
qualified to make that determination, are you?"

"Would you rather I hadn't done anything at all?" Colin asked, voice dangerously soft. 
When Greg didn't answer, he nodded.  "All right then."  He stood up and walked
away for a moment.  When he returned, he had a blue T-shirt in his hands.  Kneeling
down, he bent Greg's bad arm up a little, put the T-shirt around it, and then tied the
shirt around Greg's neck.  When he was finished, he moved away without a word and
went to sit by Ryan, who, for the past ten minutes, had been completely absorbed in
his study of the map.

"Colin," Greg said quietly, "thank you.  I'm sorry I've been such an asshole."

Colin smiled a little and nodded.  "It's okay, Greg. I understand."

As usual, Brad was impressed by how easily Colin had managed to diffuse the
situation.  Not matter how much flack everyone gave him, Colin almost always smiled
and kept on being nice.  Sometimes Brad couldn't understand how Colin could keep
smiling, but he guessed some people were just built differently. Silently, he thanked
God for that.

Brad's eyelids began to slide shut, and he yawned hugely.  He'd been asleep, he
remembered, just before the plane started its descent.  It was, after all, about two
o'clock local time when they'd been flying over...wherever they were.  Everybody had
been asleep until then.  'It was so quiet,' he recalled.  'Like death.'  Shuddering, he
pushed the thought away and looked at the others.  Greg had stretched out on his back
and closed his eyes.  Colin's eyes were looking glassy as he looked over Ryan's
shoulder.  There was an odd flush in Ryan's cheeks, and his eyes were also dull with
fatigue.

"I'm going to get some sleep," Brad told them.  "You should, too.  You both look beat,
and we'll be able to see more clearly in the morning."

"It is morning," Colin said sleepily.  "Early, but morning."

Brad smiled and said, "You know what I mean."

Colin returned the smile and glanced up at Ryan. "Hey, Ryan," he said, nudging his
friend's shoulder.

"Hmm?" Ryan didn't look up from the map, but raised his eyebrows to show he was
listening.  "What, Col?"

Leaning forward quickly, Colin scooped up the map. "We're all going to get some
sleep.  You should too. It's been a long day."

Ryan didn't protest.  He looked at up Colin for a moment and then smiled wanly at
Brad.  "That's probably a good idea.  We can get a fresh start in the morning."

"You have any idea where we are?" Brad asked.  "Was the map any help?"

Nodding, Ryan turned his head away and coughed quietly.  "I think," he replied, "I've
found our general area.  Nothing specific, but an idea, at least."

Brad sighed and moved stretched out on his back.  A thin snore from his left told him
that Greg was already out.  Less than five minutes later, he was drifting off into a deep,
dark sleep.
**
'No screams...why I can't I hear them screaming?  We're gonna crash!  Oh, God!  No-'

Somebody was shaking his shoulders.  "Brad!  Brad, wake up!" a voice commanded. 
"Wake up, Brad!"

Opening his eyes a crack, Brad groaned, wincing against blinding sunlight.  His cheeks
felt wet. Someone was kneeling over him.Colin.  "Col...what?"

"You were having a bad dream, I think," Colin answered quietly.

"The crash," Brad sighed.  He pushed to a sitting position after getting his bearings.  A
stab of sharp, hungry pain immediately raced up his back.  "God," he gasped, putting a
hand to the injured place.  "My back.  Feels like I've done something to it."

"Can you stand?" Colin asked.

"I...yeah, I think so," Brad answered, gingerly stretching.  He heard a muffled series of
pops, felt them along his spine.  Some of the pain drained away, replaced by dull heat. 
Carefully, he stood. "Okay...that's better.  It's just stiff."

"I hope you're talking about your back," Greg Proops cracked from his sitting position
at Brad's left.  He looked pretty banged up.  There was a large bruise on one
cheekbone, and dried blood over his left eye.  He looked like he was in a lot of pain,
although his eyes were clear and calm.

"Yeah," Brad said with a grin.  "But now that you mention it."  His bladder was full and
throbbing. "I'll be back in a second."

After taking care of business, he returned to the makeshift camp, and for the first time,
got a good look at the area around.  The lake in which the plane had come to rest
wasn't especially large.  He could see the opposite shore about a mile and a half away.
Densely packed evergreens lined the area just above the shore all around the area,
giving it an eerily uniform appearance.  Azure sky was clearly visible above the lake,
but disappeared in the treetops.

"Oh, my God," he murmured.

"Amazing, isn't it?" Greg asked quietly from his shoulder.  "That all around us is this
dense forest, and somehow we managed to land in a clear area."

"Where the hell are we?"

"Near as I can tell," said another voice, "we're right in the middle of a forest."

"How observant of you, Colin," Greg said, turning to throw the Canadian a glare.  "I
mean, you might just get the Insight of the Year award for that one."

"It was just a joke," Colin said calmly.  Brad saw distaste flash through his normally
warm brown eyes. There were a couple of bruises on his face, and a couple of cuts on
his arms, but he seemed to have weathered the crash pretty well.  In the daylight, he
looked calm and not especially worried.

Greg made a face.  "Bad timing, then.  'Cause that sure wasn't funny."  He looked
around, eyes dark with trouble.  "Where the hell is Ryan?"

Brad realized he hadn't seen Ryan once since waking up.  "Don't know."

"He'll be here in a second," Colin said.  Pausing, he glanced around and frowned just a
little.  Lowering his voice, he said, "I don't think he slept last night.  Every time I woke
up, he was awake, too. Coughing."

"Did you say anything?" Brad asked.

"Yes," Colin answered.  "He said he was fine.  Just had a scratchy throat."  He
straightened suddenly, gaze moving to a point to Brad's left.

Brad turned his head in that direction and saw Ryan approaching.  Something nagged
at the back of his mind.  Ryan looked haggard and tired, yet his eyes were bright and
alert.  That hectic flush Brad had noticed the night before was still in his cheeks. Sweat
glistened along his forehead like tiny beads of dew.  He was panting in short, shallow
gasps that had a peculiar rasping quality.

"Where were you?" Greg demanded.

Ryan focused his green eyes on Greg's face.  "Over there," he answered quietly,
pointing over to a shallow rise.  "Checking out the terrain."  He wiped the sweat off his
forehead with one arm.

Brad shifted uneasily.  "What'd you find?"

"More trees," was the short answer.  "Hills.  I found the area on the map last night, and
I think I might be able to tell you more specifically where we are.  Come on.  We need
to see what we've got for supplies and then try and figure out what to do."

They had, as it turned out, a surprisingly large amount of supplies.  Each one of them
had brought something to snack on for the long flight, plus something to drink.  Only
Ryan hadn't brought any alcohol.  They had clothing enough for several days, matches
and lighters, Ryan's little flashlight, flare gun, the flares, and the first aid kit.

"Not bad," Brad mused, impressed.  It could have been a lot worse.  They could have
had nothing, but instead, they ended up doing pretty well for plane crash survivors. 
"We shouldn't starve, we won't freeze, and hopefully, we'll be able to find our way.
It could have been a lot worse."

"Yeah," Greg said, unusually subdued.  "We could have ended up like Drew."

Ryan looked up from his intense study of the supplies and frowned.  He opened his
mouth to say something, but then chose to let the comment go.  "We have," he said
quietly, "two options, as I see it.  We can either stay here and wait to be rescued, or
we can go ahead and try to make our way back to civilization." Pausing, he coughed
dryly into his hand.  "Anyway, I think I might have found where we are.  I want you all
to look at the map, though, and see if maybe you come to the same conclusion I did."

The map was already open and sitting under a rock.  It was a regional map, fortunately,
and relatively detailed.  Brad studied it carefully.  There was a straight line connecting
where they'd taken off to where they'd headed.  There were numbers written at intervals
along the line, which, he realized, were coordinates.  His eyes kept getting drawn to one
spot about halfway along the line.  It was a large, dark green area, marked with name
Blackfoot Forest.  Toward the top of the area were three smallish lakes.  At the
southern end of the northernmost lake was a series of hills.  In between those hills was
a river, and a ways down the river, there was a town called Deer Run. Brad looked up
at Ryan.

"That's where you think we are, isn't it?" he asked.

Ryan nodded affirmatively.  "That's my best guess," he said.  "That town looks like it's
about fifty miles away.  If we can find the river, it'll take us right there."

Greg looked up from close scrutiny of the map.  "I think you're right," he said.  "Unless
we got wildly off course, this forest is the only place we could be.  You said you saw
hills?"

"Yeah," Ryan confirmed.  "And that northern lake is the only one with hills by it."  He
looked at each one of his companions.  "So, now," he said, "the question is what do
you want to do?  Stay here and wait on a rescue or get out of here?"

Brad was torn.  On the one hand, it would be kind of nice to get moving again, keep
that momentum going. Of course, staying put so they'd be easy to find also made sense. 
This was probably where they'd dropped off the radar.  And they *had* been here
already for several hours.  It was quite likely someone was already looking for them. 
Plus, there was no guarantee that they were even where they thought. Biting his lower
lip, he glanced out at the plane wreckage.  His stomach immediately began knotting as
he thought about who was in there.  "Guys...let's get out of here," he said.  "I can't take
looking at that plane much more."

Colin nodded.  "I agree."

Greg held up a hand.  "Wait a second, guys.  The first rule of thumb when your car
breaks down in the middle of nowhere is not to go wandering.  If someone's looking
for us, the logical thing to do is stay here. There's plenty of wood, enough space, and
we're all in good shape.  If we go hiking, something might happen to one of us.  If we
stay, we might-"

"Never be found," Brad said gravely.  "This little plane in this forest?  It's going to be
like trying to find a needle in a haystack."

"We've got the flares," Greg pointed out.

"And they'll work just as well from the river as here," Brad argued.  "Fifty miles.  We
could do it in three days.  Maybe two.  We have enough stuff to last at least a week. 
Come on Greg.  I couldn't take just sitting around here, not knowing if anyone was
ever going to find us."

"Fuck," Greg cursed.  "What about you, Ryan?" he asked, turning angry eyes on the
tall man.  "What are you thinking?"

Ryan took his time answering the question.  "You're both right," he said slowly.  His
voice, Brad heard, had a bit of a gravelly quality to it.  "Going could be dangerous. 
Staying could be a bad idea."  He met Greg's gaze squarely.  "I'll tell you the truth,
Greg.  The choice is quite simple: depend on someone to find us, or help ourselves."

"You want to go," Greg said.  "You'd risk dying out there."

With a strange little smile, Ryan said, "I'd rather die knowing I tried than die without
trying."

Greg shook his head.  "Who *are* you people?"

"People who want to go home," Ryan answered.

That must have struck a chord.  "I still think it's a bad idea," Greg muttered sourly. 
"But I guess...what choice do I have?  There's no way I'm staying here by myself."

"All for one," Colin said quietly.

"That's right," Brad agreed thickly.  He'd been unexpectedly struck by what Ryan had
said about wanting to go home.  That was really what this was about.  Going home.

"Let's get going, then," Greg sighed.  "The sooner we get out of here, the better."

The first thing they did was to divvy up supplies. "Only what you can carry in your
bags," Colin warned after a quick word to Ryan.  "We can't take the tub with us."

In the end, they managed to get everything they needed.  Once packed and ready, they
all stood on the beach again for a long moment and looked at the plane.  Brad felt
compelled to say something, to deliver some kind of eulogy to Drew and the pilot. 
"Rest in peace," he murmured, fervently hoping they were. "Both of you be at peace."

"Amen," Ryan murmured.  Greg and Colin echoed the sobering sentiment.

Brad was first to turn away.  Colin took a couple steps back, and then Greg, but Ryan
stayed for another long moment.  With one last sigh, the tall, thin man in the brown
jacket turned away.  Surprisingly, there were tears in his eyes.  "Let's go," he said
quietly.


**
Part 3
**

Ryan took point, naturally.  Colin walked a couple steps behind, head down, lost in
thought.  Brad, keeping a close eye on Greg, was last.  They were all silent, grim.  The
only sound was their feet on the needle-strewn dirt floor of the forest.  One saving
grace of having such a dense growth was the lack of undergrowth.  Walking was
relatively easy, since there wasn't much obstruction.

It was good to be moving, building momentum.  It kept Brad from thinking about
anything but putting one foot in front of the other.  The stiffness in his back gradually
eased away, and he started feeling human again, like a survivor.  Not a victim.

They kept on a steady course and came to a small break in the trees about an hour
later.  The reason for the break, Brad saw, was that there was a relatively steep hill
right in front of them.  He heard something, he realized, cocking his head to the left. 
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Colin and Greg doing the same thing.  It sounded
like flowing water, distant, but unmistakable.

"I think I hear the river," he said excitedly, breaking the long silence.

"I do, too," Colin affirmed, smiling.  "Sounds distant, but it's there."

Ryan's eyes were focused on the hill and his mouth was drawn in a tight, grim line. 
Turning, he looked at Greg.  "Give me your bag, Greg," he said.

Greg frowned, but it smoothed quickly when he looked at the hill.  The climb wasn't
going to be that easy for any of them, but especially not Greg, whose right arm was
bound in a sling.  "Okay," he said, subdued. He took his bag off quickly and handed it
to Ryan, who slung it over his own shoulder.

There were loose rocks and small shrubs all over the side of the hill.  Footing was
probably going to be a little unsteady, Brad thought, sizing it up.  Probably not too bad,
though, if they were careful.  He turned to Greg.  "I'm going to be on your left, Greg,
so if you need help, just grab hold, okay?"

"Thanks, Mom," Greg said with a smart-alecky grin. "You want to give me a piggy
back and save the trouble?"

"I couldn't if I wanted to," Brad said.

"How's your back?" Colin asked.

"Better," Brad answered.  "Not as sore as it was when I woke up.  I think it just
needed to be worked out a little.  I'll have it looked at when we get to civilization."

"You all ready?" Ryan asked quietly, interrupting the party.  He seemed to be lost in
his own thoughts, an outsider to the bond that had instinctively formed between Greg,
Brad, and Colin.  There was distance in his eyes, making him suddenly appear to be
more a military-type commander than a friend.

"Yeah," Colin said.  He frowned, apparently seeing something he didn't like.  "Are you...
how are you holding up?"

"Fine," Ryan replied shortly.  Before anyone else could ask, he turned and began
carefully negotiating his way up the steep grade of the hill.  Rocks slipped loosely under
his feet.  Leaning forward, he held onto a tree as he climbed.  "Careful," he called down,
panting laboriously.  "It's just as slippery as it looks."

Colin started the climb, moving nimbly along in Ryan's wake.  As soon as he was about
a third of the way up, Brad touched Greg's shoulder.  "Let's go."

"Wonderful," Greg muttered.  "I ever tell you I hate heights?"

"Once or twice," Brad shrugged.

Greg nodded and walked resignedly up to the hill.  He moved with deliberate care,
making sure of his handholds before moving his feet, making sure of his footing before
moving his hands.  Brad was glad for that because the footing was more unstable than
he'd thought it could be.  It was like someone had thrown a light layer of pebbles down
over the hill just before they got there.

It took about five minutes to get over it, and when he did, Brad realized that they were
at the top of a very, very big hill.  "Wow," he said, taking the spectacular view.  At his
right was another small lake, just visible through dense woodland.  In front was a forest,
and to his left was the river, about a mile away.  It wasn't a huge river, but it would
probably be easy to get to.

"That's where we need to go, huh?" Greg asked. "Doesn't look that difficult."

"Just got to head that way," Colin said.  He glanced down at the rocky, tree-lined hill
under his feet. "This doesn't look as bad as the other side."

"No," Ryan agreed.  He was panting shallowly, hectic patches of red in his cheeks.  His
breath hitched and he started coughing again, in a harsh, barking burst. It was a loud
sound in the otherwise still forest. Turning, he spat, and as he did, Brad's eyes flew
open when he saw the color of what came out of Ryan's mouth.  Dark red.  Blood red.

Brad looked at Greg, whose eyebrows were raised toward Colin.  Colin's gaze was
intense, angry, and worried. "You're coughing up blood, Ryan," he said coldly. "Where
I come from, that usually means something's wrong.  Why didn't you say anything?"

Ryan sighed and stuck out his tongue.  It wasn't a rude gesture; blood welled from
what looked like teeth marks on the pink skin.  "I bit my tongue on the climb up," he
said mildly.  "Bad enough to draw blood, apparently."

"Oh," Colin murmured contritely.  He looked up at his longtime friend with an
apologetic smile.  "Sorry.  You just...sound sick."

"Well, I *do* have a cold," Ryan pointed out.

"You do?"

"Didn't you know?"

"How was I supposed to?"

A faint smile lit Ryan's eyes.  "Didn't I tell you?"

"How long have you had it?" Greg asked, jumping in.

"And how bad is it?" Brad added with a smile.

Ryan smiled brightly.  "Shouldn't we get going?"

"Aren't you going to answer the question?" Colin asked.

"What question?"  Ryan shook his head.  "Okay, okay, that's enough.  I've had the
blasted thing for about a week, but it's only been bad for about two days.  I was sicker
than hell yesterday.  Couldn't you tell?"

Brad shook his head and saw the others doing the same.  "You're too unpredictable,"
he said.  "I thought you were just grouchy."

"Me too," Greg seconded.  "The way you were biting Drew's head off-"  He stopped,
as if realizing he'd made a poor word choice.  "I mean, um, the way you were acting
wasn't much different than usual."

"Oh, gee," Ryan said lightly, "and there I thought I was actually being nice."  He shook
his head and turned his eyes to the hill.  "We should get going. When we get to the
river, let's take a break and have something to eat, all right?"

"Sounds like a plan," Colin said.  He looked very relieved all of a sudden.  "Lead the
way, boss."

They went in the same order down the hill: Ryan, Colin, and then Brad and Greg.  The
grade was shallower, so they were able to move faster and didn't have to be so careful. 
After getting off the hill, the terrain leveled out and once again became easier to walk on. 
There was some undergrowth, grass mostly, but it wasn't heavy.

Brad's eyes started to feel itchy not long after they reached the grass.  Wonderful.  This
was definitely not the time for allergies.  Fortunately, the itching subsided after a few
moments.  Once again, nobody said much.  The sounds of the birds chirping, their
footsteps, and the steadily increasing noise from the river were about all he could hear. 
Every now and then, he heard what sounded like someone laboring for breath, but
when he looked at his companions, none of them seemed to be having much difficulty.

He was pretty sore, but he felt okay otherwise.  The thing that mattered was that he
was alive; he'd survived.  The others seemed to be doing all right. Greg was probably
the worst for wear, but they all were banged up and bruised.  Ryan seemed to be
about the best off, although he was pretty sick.  He had to stop a couple of times to
control coughing spasms, but other than that, he seemed to have the fewest bruises
of all of them.  They were survivors.  They were going to get out of this one alive. 
Deep down, Brad could feel it.

They met the river about thirty minutes after coming off the hill.  Brad had been
thinking about suggesting a raft, but seeing water swirling around jagged rocks, he
held his tongue.  Not only would it be bad for Greg's arm, it probably wouldn't be
good for his own back.

Apparently, he wasn't the only one who'd been thinking along those lines.  "A raft
is out of the question, then," Colin said to no one in particular.

"It was a good thought, though," Ryan said.  One again, his voice sounded gravelly. 
He looked tired. They all looked tired, but Ryan most of all.  Glancing at the river for
a second, he sighed, and then unshouldered both his pack and Greg's.  "Here," he said,
handing Greg back the blue bag, "you can carry this now."

"Thanks," Greg said.  He'd been uncharacteristically quiet all morning.  It was strange
not to hear him making comments on the situation, but Brad wasn't complaining.  It
was also kind of nice.

Dropping his own bag, he reached in and fished out something to eat.  He was
famished, and he was willing to bet everyone else was, too.  It had been more than
twelve hours since any of them had eaten, and in that time, they'd all been exposed
to extreme stress.  It took a toll on the body.  He found something edible toward the
bottom of his pack and wolfed it down in a hurry.  Out of the corner of his eye, he saw
Colin and Greg doing the same.  Ryan, on the other hand, ate only a little without
showing much interest.

"That all your having?" Greg asked quietly.  "Hate to nag, Ryan, but you really ought to
eat more.  Keep up your strength."

Ryan shook his head.  "I'm not hungry," he said.

Colin joined in.  "Too bad, Ryan.  What are we going to do if you pass out on the trail? 
I've got a bad shoulder, Brad's got a bad back, and Greg's got a broken arm.  None of
us is in any kind of shape to carry you."

An annoyed grimace touched the corners of Ryan's mouth.  "Will you people just leave
me alone?  God, I'm not going to break.  I've got a damn cold, and that's why I'm not
hungry."

"Still..." Colin said, looking troubled.  "All right. But if you pass out on the trail, don't
expect any of us to carry you, and don't come crying to me when you get too weak to
stand up."

Ryan nodded and sighed.  "Whatever," he said tersely. "Let's just get going, shall we?"

**
Tension was running high and tempers were flaring.  The four survivors of the plane
crash had been forced together in a time of extreme stress.  A bond had instantly
formed between them, but as they moved further and further away from the wreck and
toward some unknown end, silences became sullen, retorts snappish, and generally,
everyone became unaccountably moody.

It was, Brad realized, wearing on all of them.  Now that the immediate danger had
passed, all of them were thinking again.  He found his mind thrown back to the wreck,
to Drew and to the pilot--Harold.  The others were probably dwelling on the same
thing.  Couple that with worry about safety, keeping an eye on the terrain, and Greg's
nicotine withdrawal, and well, the afternoon wasn't among the most pleasant Brad had
ever spent.

"I would," Greg announced sometime around mid-afternoon, "quite willingly kill you all
for a cigarette.  You know that, right?"

Ryan turned to Colin with a wry light in his green eyes.  "Makes me glad I quit when I
did," he remarked lightly.

"Makes me glad, too," Colin agreed.  He seemed to be the only one unaffected by the
animosity in the air. "It also makes me glad I never started."

"Same here," Brad said.

"All of you shut up," Greg snapped.  "It's difficult enough having a broken arm.  I
didn't ask for your input."

Stopping dead in his tracks, Ryan turned on Greg.  His eyes were hard.  "Now you
know how we feel when you open your mouth, Greg.  I know you're in pain, but you
aren't helping.  The sooner you start cooperating, the easier it'll be on all of us. 
Including you."

Colin, perhaps sensing that Ryan was reaching a breaking point, stepped in smoothly. 
"Easy," he murmured, resting a hand on Ryan's shoulder.  "It's okay.  We're all friends
here.  No need to try and kill each other."

"But Ryan *does* have a point," Brad said, giving Greg a meaningful look.  "I know
we're all stressed out, but we've got to try to respect each other and work together." 
For the first time since the crash, he felt completely in control of both himself and the
situation.  Was this how it felt to be a leader?  God, no wonder Ryan had been quick
to take charge.  "We're going to be just fine."

"Yes," Colin echoed.  "Just fine."

Ryan gave Brad a quick smile, and then reached up to clap Colin's shoulder.  "Thank
you," he said.  "Both of you.  Now, Greg, is there anything you need before we take off
again?"

"Besides a cigarette and a shot of morphine, no," Greg grumbled.  Clumsily, he combed
the fingers of his left hand through his hair.  "Let's just keep going.  The sooner we get
out of here, the less apt I am to offend you all."

"I'm all for that," Brad said, heading away.

After that, things stayed pretty calm.  For a while at least.

**
Colin, who was leading for a change, saw it first.  He stopped walking and waited for
the others to catch up.  There wasn't any need to explain why.  They all saw the small
but almost sheer rock face for themselves. About fifteen feet high, it jutted out well into
the river, acting as a barrier of sorts.  There was no way to get around it except by
going over, which wouldn't be easy; the rock was wet and had loose fragments
everywhere.

"Wonderful," the Canadian muttered.  "Any suggestions?"

There was a sinking feeling in the pit of Brad's stomach.  The river was churning far too
violently to allow safe crossing, and the big rock wall cut strangely into the bank. 
"What the hell is this thing?" he asked.

"It doesn't look like it belongs here, does it?" Greg commented quietly.

"The only way we can go is over it," Colin said. "Either we climb the bank and go over
that way, or do it from here."

Brad glanced at Greg.  "There's only one problem. How's Greg going to get over with
that arm?  He can't climb, and this thing is way too steep to walk over."

"We don't have any rope, either," Greg added. "Colin's got a bad shoulder, you've got
a bad back." Biting at his lower lip, he looked in Ryan's direction.  "What about you?" 
There was no answer. "Ryan?"

"Huh?"  Ryan turned slowly in Greg's direction.  His eyes, Brad saw with alarm, were
glassy, too bright. His face was flushed red and sweaty, but it looked like he was
shivering.  "Did you say something?" he asked quietly, voice deep and gravelly.

Colin, who seemed to worry about Ryan more than anyone, was immediately by his
side.  Reaching up to touch Ryan's forehead, he frowned.  "You're burning up, Ryan,"
he said mildly.

"I'll live," Ryan said.

"Why do I not believe that?" Colin mused.

"Got me," Ryan sighed.  "Can we just get going? There's still about three hours of light
left, and the further we get, the better off we'll be for tomorrow."

"How are we going to get over this thing?" Colin asked, sounding testy for the first time
all day.  "My shoulder's not in great shape.  Brad's back and Greg's arm aren't either."

"I can get Greg over," Ryan said.

Greg stepped forward.  "Are you sure you're up for that?  It's a big climb, and frankly,
you're not looking so hot."

"I'm not feeling so hot, either," Ryan admitted.  "But like I said, the sooner we get back
to civilization, the better.  For all of us."  He measured Greg up carefully.  "What do
you go these days?  One-seventy?"

"Five," Greg answered.  He tilted his head to one side.  "Do you think you can make it
the entire way up?"

"We'll see, won't we?"  Pausing, Ryan retook control. "Brad, Colin, you guys go ahead. 
Get up top and be ready to take Greg off me when I get up there."

"Gee, don't I feel like a piece of baggage," Greg muttered.

Brad touched Greg's good shoulder.  "Don't let it get to you, man.  We still like you." 
He saw that Colin had already begun his ascent.  "How is it?" he called.

"Footing's crap," Colin called back.  "Be careful."

"Thanks."  Brad glanced at Ryan and Greg again. Neither looked especially thrilled, but
the glassy look had gone from Ryan's eyes.  The tall man appeared more alert, but
there were shadows under his eyes, suggesting deep fatigue.  At least he'd stopped
coughing.  As soon as Brad thought that, Ryan turned away and barked a series of wet,
harsh coughs that sounded like they were torn out of his chest.

"Brad, are you planning on standing here all day?" Greg asked suddenly.  "Colin's made
it about halfway up already."

Startled, Brad turned to look at the rock wall.  Colin was more like two-thirds of the
way up, and making good progress.  "Guess I'll go, then," he murmured, glancing at
Ryan one more time.

"See you at the top," Ryan said.

"Be careful," Brad told him.

"Always."

The footing was every bit as bad as Colin had said. Loose rock crumbled away
underfoot, and handholds were sketchy at best.  There was no way Greg would have
been able to get up alone, Brad saw, as he carefully grabbed for another hold.  Above
him, Colin pulled to the top.

"That's one," he called down.  "Ryan, be careful."

"I always am," Ryan called back up.

Muscles nearly trembling with fatigue, Brad finally reached the top.  He was grateful
when he felt Colin's hands pulling him up.  His back was screaming bloody murder. 
"Ah, God," he groaned.  "You got any more of those ibuprofen?"

"Yeah," Colin nodded, absently fishing around in his pocket.  A moment later, he pulled
out the same white bottle and tossed it in Brad's direction.  His brown eyes,however,
were glued to the area below, concern and fear clearly projected.  "Come on, Ryan,"
he murmured under his breath.  "You can do this."

After dry-swallowing two of the coated orange pills, Brad turned to watch Ryan ascend
with Greg on his back.  He could hear Ryan breathing in shallow, rasping gasps as he
made slow, careful progress.  Ryan made absolutely of his holds certain before moving
one step at a time.

Ten minutes later, Colin and Brad were reaching out to help Greg up the wall.  Greg's
face was ashy pale; he was obviously in pain, despite Ryan's best efforts not to jostle. 
"Thank God," Greg breathed.

After making sure Greg was okay, Colin turned to help Ryan the last few feet up.  Just
as he did, Brad heard the sound of loose rocks giving way.  Whipping his head around,
he was just in time to see Ryan go sliding a few feet down the rock face.and then the
rock crumbled further, and Ryan fell the last eight feet, where he landed with a sickening
thump on the ground below.

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