Authors Note: I started with an idea that I reached quickly in the first page or so. Then I let the story take me on a journey. Hopefully you enjoy the ride.
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I dislike puddle jumpers. Unfortunately, they were part of my life. When you travel the world, searching out unique products to excite American minds, you have to accept a few risks. Small planes with duct taped seats are one. Pilots with questionable credentials are another. Today, I was gambling in a twin engine prop plane that was badly in need of a paint job.
The pilot did a lot of smiling and nodding when I boarded. His knowledge of English was poor. My knowledge of Azerbaijani was even weaker. I had separated from my translator earlier that morning since he wasn’t following me into Russia. Hilal had been invaluable while I searched for rug manufacturer that would suit the tastes of our discerning customers. His ability to convey meaning in translation was rare. Most of the translators I worked with could only think in one language, and that invariably lead to misunderstandings. Hilal understood nuance in both languages and chose words, at least in English, that held the true intent as well as meaning.
The plane had room for eight passengers, four on each side of the aisle. I took a seat in the back hoping I might rest in privacy. My internal clock was still messed up with the time change, and I had learned early on to take naps whenever I could. I watched two elderly gentlemen board. They wore old suits that looked like they once belonged to Al Capone’s gang. Like the rest of the country, they smiled at me, and I smiled back. It seemed to pass as a greeting here though the smiles were practiced and meaningless. They took the seats in the front that gave me hope for the privacy I desired.
The trip had been a successful one. With Hilal’s help, I had secured a manufacturer of high-quality hand loomed rugs, intricate designs at a high 60 x 60-knot density. They used only spring sheared wool that, I was informed, gave the carpet a softer texture. It also made them more expensive. One would think that people in the more remote parts of the world would be ignorant of the price Americans were willing to pay for quality. Negotiations proved that theory false. They also had a good handle on marketing. They affixed small labels to the underside that included the signature of the artist who did the looming. A family crest used for generations joined the signature and guaranteed authenticity. It was highly profitable for both their firm and mine.
I watched a slim women climb on board with a small child. She was holding him tight to her breast; his legs were not quite reaching her hips. He looked asleep which I dearly hoped he would remain. She had soft raven hair that cascaded down her back in natural waves. I could see the strain in her eyes that spoke of a difficult morning. Her contented sigh when she took the seat in front of me confirmed my hypothesis. A soft baby powder odor wafted back to my seat. It was pleasant.
I was still three days out from Kimberly. The mother in front of me somehow triggered the thought. She was about the same size as Kimberly. The hair was completely different from Kimberly’s short brown, but the ages were comparable. If it were up to Kimberly, she would be holding a child as well.
Kimberly was my enigma. She was a joy out on the town and passion personified in bed. If that were life, I would have married her long ago. It was the nothing parts of life where she, or we, failed miserably. The parts that made up the bulk of living. I missed her and didn’t miss her at the same time. I loved her some of the time.
After four years, we had gotten used to each other and suffered through the silence as penance for the good times we knew were never far away. I didn’t have the heart to marry someone who I tolerated most of the time. I didn’t have the heart to disconnect either. Right then, sitting on the plane, I missed her.
The pilot, in his greasy overalls, closed up the door and pumped his fists together at his waist. The international buckle-your-seatbelt gesture. He smiled and said something in Azerbaijani and then looked at me.
“We go now,” the pilot said in deeply accented English. I nodded my head, and he seemed happy I understood. He turned, ducked his head and entered the cockpit. That was the breadth of his in-flight safety briefing. The engines struggled to start, coughed, then kicked into a loud roar after producing an uncomfortable amount of white smoke.
The child startled awake and lifted his head from his mother’s shoulder. He looked surprised at his surroundings and locked his eyes on mine. I thought I saw fear, so I smiled. His mother patted his back, and he quickly dug his face back into her shoulder. The plane began moving forward.
The takeoff was smoother than I expected. The pilot was obviously skilled though he looked more like a mechanic. We were in a steady climb when I leaned my head back and closed my eyes. The engines, now that we were airborne, sounded more even and confident. I let them lull me to sleep.
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The alarm woke me rudely. I reached over, as if at home, and found the window instead of the snooze. I opened my eyes and felt the plane in a steep climb. The alarm was insistent, and the plane climbed harder. I looked out and saw nothing but white, thick clouds. I heard the pilot shouting. It sounded like encouragement, not instructions. He was yelling at his plane, not to us.
My hands gripped the armrests as the mother in front of me called out. She received no response, and her child was staring at me from over her shoulder. He looked more curious than frightened. I gave him a forced smile as we came out of the clouds.
“Fuck!” I yelled as I saw the trees. I could count the branches. The mother screamed, and the horrible sound of the left engine disintegrating into the treetops vibrated violently into the cabin. For a brief moment, I saw the child ripped from his mother’s arms and began to fly free toward the front of the cabin before my head exploded into the seat in front. I knew no more.
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The cold woke me. I found myself laying sideways in my seat, the seatbelt and armrest digging into my hip. The strong smell of fresh cut evergreen was out of place. The breeze I felt equally so. My eyes found it hard to open. The sun, dulled by clouds, was still too bright for the ache above my eyes. I took long blinks to allow my sight to adjust. The vision was surreal.
I lay against the window along the side of the cabin. The other side of the plane was gone, ripped unevenly along what was the ceiling and floor. The seats in front of me were intact. The ceiling was now made up of large conifers; their broken branches lay in my lap. I could not see a cockpit nor any sign of the other side of the plane. It was as if my portion of the plane had been peeled away and laid on its side.
I pushed up, away from the window, and released the clasp on the seat belt. Maneuvering slowly between the seats, I crawled off the metal and onto a cold hard natural surface dragging a few branches with me. Standing caused bile to rise in my throat. The world was not wholly stable and chose that moment spin. I grabbed the bottom of my seat and let the feeling clear.
Strangely, it was the silence I noticed next. I would have expected fire and explosions, but all I heard was the breeze whispering in the trees. The air was cold and crisply fresh. I stood taller and let go of the seat. My head ached. Reaching up, I found a knot half the size of a golf ball high on my right temple. I remembered smacking into the seat in front of me. Obviously, it was the cause of my equilibrium problems.
I turned around, looking for the rest of the plane. I could see nothing but trees, their dense foliage blocking out anything beyond twenty feet or so. I started going through the checklist of things I should do. It would be a few hours before anyone would come looking, maybe a day before they found us. I wondered why I wasn’t dead.
“Hello,” I called my voice strong but raspy. Gathering everyone was the first thing on the list. “Hello,” I called louder after coughing some phlegm away. The greeting was met with silence. A grim thought came to me. “Hello,” I yelled. Silence. The cold felt colder.
I stepped forward, toward what was once the front of the plane. The mother was childless, eyes closed and blood coating part of her face. The memory of the boy flying came back. I looked quickly forward again. Just trees. No boy.
Crawling, I was able to reach the woman’s neck and tried to check for a pulse. Nothing, but the skin was warm. I checked my neck. No pulse. Too many movies and no practice. I shifted my fingers a few times, gave up and tried my wrist. I found my pulse and tried the same on the woman. She was alive with a heart that was beating steady.
Leaving the woman in her seat, I moved to the next seat. It was as empty as when we took off. The front seat made me gag. I looked again, and then leaned over promptly losing what little breakfast I had eaten before we left. There was no reason to check for a pulse. A large portion of the old man’s face was missing, sheared off during the crash. I could only hope it was instantaneous. I shifted away quickly, wiping my mouth on the back of my sleeve.
“Hello,” I shouted again. This time, I added the desperation I felt. I was praying I would hear a young boy though the memory of him leaving his mother’s arms left me little hope. Again, there was no answer but the wind in the trees.
I turned back to the mother and crawled onto the side of the seat. I shook her shoulder and lifted her arm and babbled a few ‘are you all rights.’ Nothing. No response. I needed to get her out of that seat. Leaving her there just seemed wrong. I found the seatbelt and undid the clasp. She slipped toward the window, her body moving with gravity.
Moving behind the seat, I tried to figure a way to lift her up. It took a few aborted tries before I realized I didn’t have the leverage. I would have to lift her straight up while standing on her window. I walked around, stepping carefully, removing larger branches as I went. Squatting, I was able to get my arms under hers and lifted her up. Half pulling, half lifting, I squirmed back to the natural ground, dragging her feet between the seats. I laid her down on the ground, her head hitting harder than I would have liked.
“Sorry,” I apologized though she was unconscious and knew nothing of my efforts. I straightened her legs then sat near her head, pulling it into my lap. She had a shallow cut just above the hairline that had caused the blood. I felt carefully around her head and found a large swollen bump behind her right ear. I suspected that was the cause of her silence. I sat there, lightly stroking her hair, hoping she would wake up and share the disaster.
The ground had a gradual slope to it. Uphill was behind me, toward the row of seats. My feet were pointing downhill. It would be easier for someone to find us if we stayed with the wreck or what’s left of the wreck. If not, walking down seemed more reasonable than walking up. I looked up at the sky, or where the sky broke through the trees. I didn’t have high hopes an aerial search would be effective. Maybe the rest of the plane, wherever it was, was more visible. It couldn’t be too far away.
Coherent thoughts returned to me, and I fished my phone out of my pocket. My usual bars were replaced by ‘no service.” I tried calling and texting anyway. Nothing. Until the battery died, at least I would know what time it was.
The coldness of the ground and the chill in the air was concerning. I figured we might be stuck outside for the night. The temperature would only drop lower when the sun went down. I would have to find some shelter to block the wind and try to trap our warmth. Maybe build a fire. A vision of Tom Hanks jumping up and down in Castaway brought a smile to my face.
“Lady,” I said casually to my patient, “we are going to need shelter. I have to leave you here and see what I can come up with. I suspect we may smell like air freshener when we’re done.” Pine needles will end up being our mattress. The woman didn’t acknowledge me or chuckle at my humor. A bad sign for our bunking together.
“I’ll be right back,” I said as I laid her head carefully on the ground. I didn’t want to leave her there, but I couldn’t take her exploring. I walked perpendicular to the slope, winding around the trees. I turned back to the seats, and they were out of sight. Taking a deep breath, I walked back to the woman. I wouldn’t be able to go far, maybe a 100 yards in each direction. Everything looked the same and becoming lost was a strong possibility. I tried my phone again, in vain.
I decided to search in a series of four straight lines. Uphill, downhill, and to either side. Short searches so I didn’t lose my way back. Uphill became steeper quickly. It wasn’t long before I decided crawling wasn’t worth it. The trees seemed to ignore the slope and grew tall where I could barely stand without their help. Opposite to my first search, I located two suitcases. Neither were mine, but they were intact, showing little damage beyond scrapes that could have happened in any airport. I hauled them back to the seats. The lady still lay still.
Downhill held a surprise. A clearing developed ahead that excited me. At first, I thought it was a road, maybe a river or lake. I slowed as fewer and fewer trees blocked my view. Acrophobia invaded, and I could not go to the edge. I clung to a sturdy tree and stared out at a chasm so deep, I feared to look down. Across the vast space, many miles away, mountains grew similar to what I now knew I was standing on. We had most likely crashed into the Caucasus.
Thinking made me ill. There was little chance of a ground rescue. Parts of the plane could have plummeted into the valley below, further limiting the visibility of our location from the air. I tried to lean over to see the steepness of the descent. I could not see the cliff side and the slope made further investigation chancy. I created a new rule; no walking around at night.
I returned to my only friend, sat down and sighed. “We may be in a bit of trouble,” I told her, “looks like it will be awhile before anyone finds us.” I watched her face and saw no reaction. I hoped things weren’t worse for her than I thought. “I did a quick search and found nothing but trees and a cliff. I think we’ll have to sleep under an evergreen tonight and work out something better tomorrow.” I might as well have been talking to a soccer ball.
My nearly useless phone told me it was going on three in the afternoon. I decided to get started. I chose a large tree, close to the seats, with low hanging branches. Underneath, I found a thick bed of pine needles. I didn’t know where I got the idea they would be comfortable. They were dried out and pricked me often. Still, it was the only raw material I had.
The wind was picking up when I crawled back out of the tree after making room by ripping off some small branches. Ripping was the correct term. The saplings were so green they more ripped then snapped, leaving short trails of exposed wood and sticky sap.
“I need to gather some branches for a windbreak,” I told my silent partner. I wasn’t sure why I informed her. I knew I didn’t want to be there alone, and it was better than talking to myself. The smaller trees provided easily accessible branches with sturdy needles. These needles were softer, less brittle. Possibly the basis for future bedding if that should become necessary.
Using the loose branches, I stacked them on the live branches then wove them together. I created the walls and ceiling of a tiny hovel big enough for two people, about three feet high. It took the better part of two hours and covered my hands with splotches of sticky sap. I decided to use the suitcases as the door.
I moved back to the woman after I finished. She hadn’t moved an inch. Leaning down, I made sure she was still breathing. Smiling, I listened to her slow, steady breathing. She seemed more asleep than unconscious. No struggling for air, just soft breathing.
“Well, my dear,” I chuckled, “for the first time in my life, I am going to drag a woman into my bed unwillingly.” I thought for a moment. “Of course, I am going to need to give you a name. I can’t imagine sleeping with someone without, at least, knowing their name.” I stared at her silent face, so calm in the face of the danger. Her skin looked soft yet was paler than I would expect. I placed the back of my hand on her cheek. She was colder than I thought she should be.
“Dorothy,” I announced as I stood up, “this is definitely closer to Oz than anywhere else, so until you tell me otherwise, your name is Dorothy.” I rolled her on her side, then rolled her back into an almost sitting position. From behind, I tucked my arms under hers and lifted. I tried to keep my grip modest, away from her breasts, but gravity fought me. “Sorry Dorothy,” I whispered as I walked backward toward the makeshift hut.
Dragging her inside was more difficult than I imagined. It would have been better to put her in first then build the structure around her. I damaged the right wall getting her in, but it was easy enough to rebuild. I laid her head on the pine needles, wishing I had thought of a pillow first. I extricated myself, crawling backward.
The first suitcase was locked, and I wasn’t yet willing to break the clasp. For all I knew, the owner was doing the same thing we were. The second suitcase opened freely and contained a man’s clothes. I was hoping it was the guy I left in the chair since he wouldn’t need it anymore. A set of wool sweaters made the most sense. I folded one, crawled back into the hovel and placed it under Dorothy’s head. I left the other for me. I crawled back out and examined the rest of the clothes.
Nothing of great value jumped out at me. Pants and shirts that wouldn’t work as blankets. Underwear I preferred to leave alone. The socks might come in handy as mittens if it got really cold. I wadded up two pairs and tossed them inside. It would have been nice to find a blanket or large coat. I closed up the suitcase, leaving the rest of the clothes inside.
Searching the seats and what was left of the cabin wasted more time. I could find nothing we could use as a blanket. I thought about breaking the lock on the first suitcase. I shook my head and decided that if there was to be a second night, the lock was toast. Right now, I would allow the lock to do its duty.
It was getting dark when I gathered more fresh branches full of soft needles. I would build a natural blanket to hold in the warmth and, I was sure, make us really sticky. I crawled back into our tiny house, pulling the branches in with me. I closed off the end with the suitcases and spread out the makeshift blanket as best I could. If either of us rolled over, the thermal properties would be lost.
“Good night, Dorothy,” I whispered as I laid my head down on my wool pillow. Dorothy didn’t answer so I leaned my ear close and listened to her breathing. The reassurance that she was alive made me braver than I actually was. I needed her to stay that way. I wasn’t sure I could handle it alone. Saving her gave me the mission I needed and kept my mind on an even keel.
I woke when it was still dark. My chest and hands were shaking. It was colder than I had anticipated. I tucked my hands under my arms and tried to warm them. The wind was finding its way through the walls, blowing our warmth away. Remembering the socks, I reached out of the needle blanket and rummaged around until I found them. I quickly put a pair on me and warmed my hands.
“Dorothy,” I called out, hoping she was coherent. Nothing. I removed the socks, disturbed the blanket and found her hands. They were ice-cold when I put the socks on them. I reached up and felt her cheek. She was colder than I was. I tried to slow my breathing and calm my mind. I was questioning if we would make it through the night. The thought did not seem out of the realm of possibility.
“Dorothy, I hope your husband isn’t a big man,” I said with chattering teeth. I rolled her on her side, completely destroying the pine needle blanket. I cocked her legs and pulled her hands between her thighs. I scooted behind and reset the pine branches. I spooned with a woman I didn’t know, my face buried in her thick hair. My arm wrapped around her, and I tucked my hand under her breasts. “Sorry,” I said. Propriety was too cold.
How we survived that first night, I would never know. I slept fitfully, half my body warm, the backside like an ice cube. My feet felt like they would fall off. If Dorothy had not been there, I was pretty sure I would have died of exposure. She was my survival, physically as well as mentally. Her breath was still steady, for that I was thankful. When the sun began to shine, I crawled out of the hut after reburying Dorothy in branches and needles.
My muscles ached horribly, and my chest was fighting the cold. I chastised myself for using the sweater as a pillow instead of wearing it. I peeled back my jacket and shirt and found a large bruise on my hip where the seatbelt and armrest dug in during the crash. It was an ugly purple thing with a greenish border. I wondered if Dorothy had something similar. At least it didn’t look life threatening. I went off and emptied my bladder a good distance from the hovel.
I spent some time stretching and jumping about, trying to get the blood flowing back from my core. I looked about and saw that nothing had changed. The trees and our part of the plane were the only things in view. I didn’t like the odds of the cabin part being visible from the sky. I needed to do something about increasing our visibility. My stomach growled. I needed to do something about food as well.
I decided the first and best course of action was another search. According to the sunrise, the mountain peak was to the north and the cliff to the south. I could go out further east and west and not lose home base. Being on the safe side, I tied one of the shirts from the suitcase around a sapling near the cliff. If I got lost, I could follow the cliff edge until I saw the shirt.
My goal was to find a clearing that could be seen from the air and any other supplies, like more suitcases. Possibly find the other passengers or the pilot. Maybe a little boy.
“I’m going to scout about,” I told Dorothy while checking her breathing. She hadn’t moved from where I left her. It was not an encouraging sign. Outside of the shelter, I scraped an arrow into the ground, pointing east. At least if she woke, she would have some idea that I was here and where I went.
I decided that 15 minutes out would be far enough. I didn’t want to leave Dorothy alone for too long, and I also needed time to build a warmer shelter if we were forced to spend another night. I checked my phone. 6:03 am and 20% battery. I quickly put it into airplane mode. I should have done it last night. The damn thing had been using battery trying to find nonexistent antennas. I headed out, figuring I would lose my clock sometime tomorrow.
I was a good 10 minutes out when I saw the tail section. It was in among large broken tree sections. I looked up and saw the damaged trees above, a little farther ahead to the east. The section had been torn violently. The metal had jagged rips unlike the cabin section I survived in that had separated along welded seams. I cleared away some of the branches and exposed a small door where the cabin once terminated.
The door was the size of a half locker and seemed intact. I tried the fixed handle, but the door wouldn’t budge. Looking closely, I could tell the frame had bent and wedged the door tightly closed. I had no idea what was in the locker, but I wasn’t leaving until I found out. I jiggled the handle, and it moved slightly up and down. I assumed up was open and down, with gravity, was locked. I found a rock and used it as a hammer until the handle was as high as it could get. I tried the door again, and it failed to move.
I stepped back and decided to try more force. Raising my foot, I slammed it into the plane’s panel, just to the right of the latch. A sharp stinging sensation ran up my cold foot all the way to the knee. I ignored it and tried the door. It was looser but still wouldn’t open. I kicked it again, this time with an added yell to help me ignore the pain. The panel collapsed, and the door swung open. Christmas had arrived.
Two thin folded blankets sitting on top of a metal box at the bottom of the locker were the first things I saw. That alone was worth my sore leg. Two small airline pillows sat on the blankets. There was a small fire extinguisher attached to the wall on one side of the locker and a small plastic box attached to the other wall. The box had a red cross I assumed identified a first aid kit. I couldn’t stop smiling as I began to unload the booty.
The first aid kit was simplistic. Gauze pads, a stack of individually wrapped disinfectant wipes, tweezers, aspirin packets that were probably years out of date and a slew of band aids. There was a single cloth wrap for sprains. I pulled out a blanket and spread it out on the ground. I started adding my loot to its center. I had no idea what I would do with the fire extinguisher, but it was coming back with me. The two pillows and the other blanket were coming as well. I pulled out the metal box, more of a lunch box, and opened it. It looked like emergency overnight supplies for the pilot. Four packages of Ramen noodles, beef flavored by the look of the picture on the wrapper, box of matches, a small can, and a small metal cooking pot.
The can was surrounded by wording in a language I couldn’t read. I pried it open with my fingers. It was a Sterno pot. The lack of silverware was apparent, but beggars can’t be choosers. There were about twenty matches in the box. It was a gold mine. Only water would have made it better.
The blanket made a good carrying sack when I pulled the corners together and hoisted it over my shoulder. I decided to the cut the scouting out early and headed back to camp.
Dorothy showed none of my enthusiasm for the find. I was pleased she was still breathing and that, in and of itself, was another blessing. I pulled off her pine covering and covered her with the two blankets I had plundered. I smiled at my small victory and carefully pushed Dorothy’s hair back from her eyes. I didn’t like the dried blood on her face and now there was something I could do about it.
I opened one of the disinfectant wipes and carefully wiped the blood from Dorothy’s face. She was a pretty woman, high cheeks that I was sure enhanced her smile. Her skin was smooth with a light tone that enhanced its delicacy. “I’m sorry to be this familiar,” I told her as I cleaned, “but I can’t leave you such a mess.” She didn’t respond, but kept breathing for me. I laid her head back on top of one of our pillows. She was so peaceful looking.
I sighed and decided to do what I had been avoiding. If I was human enough to clean the face of a live woman, I could be human enough to take care of a dead man.
It took some time dealing with the old man. My revulsion to his injuries turned out to be the least of the problems. The ground was too hard to dig in, not that I had a shovel, and there weren’t enough rocks to cover him. I ended up finding him a nice tree well away from the camp. I laid him carefully and buried him in pine needles. It was the best I could do given the circumstances. I followed it with a few words, unsure of his religion or lack thereof.
I had heard no search planes or helicopters. Maybe the search was just getting started. Maybe they had no idea of the flight plan. Maybe the world didn’t give a shit about a small plane lost in the Caucasus. No matter the reason, it seemed wise to plan for another night. I decided to reinforce the hovel instead of starting from scratch. Maintaining warmth was the number one concern.
After checking on Dorothy’s breathing, I started to pile pine needles around the base of the structure. I collected the needles from under numerous trees, using a suitcase as my carrying device. The needles locked into the other needles rather well and I found they stacked right up the sides like insulation. A sense of pride filled my work as I got to the top of the structure and realized I had added about half a foot of width to the walls.
Stripping a few smaller trees of their branches, I laid new foliage along the needles to hold them in place. When I ducked in to check breathing again, very little light came through the walls. I tapped on the sides and found them rather sturdy. I didn’t know how it would handle rain, but wind would have a tough time breaking through. Rain reminded me of water.
I remembered a survival rule from when I was a child. It may not be accurate, but it was what I knew. It was called the Rule of Three. Three minutes without air, three days without water and three weeks without food. We were twenty-four hours without water. That meant two more days before serious problems would occur. Not to mention that eating dried Ramon didn’t sound appealing.
Cold first. I gathered deadfall for firewood. It was another resource that was not difficult to find. With a limited supply of matches, once a fire was lit I intended to keep it going. With hot enough coals, even the fresh branches would burn. It struck me that the fresh branches might smoke more as well. Possibly a visual sign for a plane. I smiled at my brilliance.
I created a wood pile under our tree. I figured if it rained, the branches would at least try and keep it dry and maybe it would help block some wind. I dragged larger logs into the small clearing between the trees. They would be seats before I fed them into the fire foot by foot. When I was done, I sat on one of the logs.
The sky was clear, at least what I could see of it. Not a sound but the wind. I tried to think what I needed to do. Water was the next chore. It had to rain on this mountain once in awhile, or these trees wouldn’t have gotten as large as they were. I wondered if I could boil the liquid out of sap. Maybe create some way to condense it. It was certainly cold enough for it. Of course, I wasn’t sure if water would be the only liquid to condense. I could save pee. I wasn’t really high on either solution, but thinking of peeing made me run off into the woods. I drained my bladder into nature. I knew the cold was disguising my thirst, but it was doing a good enough job that I wasn’t desperate yet. I was resecuring my pants when I thought about Dorothy. How was her bladder?
“Dorothy?” I said, slightly shaking her shoulders. There was no movement except her rhythmic breathing. “Dorothy, I am really sorry about this, but I have to check.” I lifted the blanket and carefully placed my hand between her legs. “Shit!” I yelled loud enough to wake the dead. She was warm and very wet. I left the hovel. “Shit! Shit! Shit!” I shouted at the world. Unconscious people pee.
If it got as cold as last night, or colder, being wet could very well be a death sentence. Dorothy was my only friend. We were each other’s blankets. There was no way I could lose her. I wasn’t sure I could survive without her. I knelt down and looked at her sleeping face from the door. There was no way I was going to let her die. A pilot, two old men, and a little boy were it. The world wasn’t going to take her as well. I silently prayed her husband was an understanding man.
I broke the latch on the other suitcase. I needed to assess the clothes we had and pick out something dry for Dorothy. It looked like her son’s suitcase. Extra shoes and many sets of clothes that fit no one on the mountain. Even the socks looked too small for mittens. Under the shirts, I found a rare gift. Torn cellophane containing three juice boxes. The writing was Russian, but they looked grape according to the picture on the side. No clothes, but I did have the means to create more pee. I laughed at the irony. There were a few more days of survival in those boxes.
I rummaged through the contents from the other suitcase and chose a pair a pants. I thought about the men’s underwear. I shook my head and decided Dorothy would rather go commando than wear some old man’s underwear. I took a deep breath and crawled back into our home.
“Dorothy,” I said loudly, hoping she would wake up and take care of this herself, “I need to change your pants.” No movement, not even an eyelid twitch. “This is not ideal,” I continued as I began undoing her belt, “but I have little choice. Your parts would become ice cubes, and I can’t have that.” I pulled the belt through the loops. She was wearing button fly jeans that made me struggle exactly where I shouldn’t be struggling.
“You had to wear button fly jeans on the plane,” I complained, “just too be difficult I assume.” The first button finally released. “I hope you know I am not enjoying this,” I went to work on the next button which was more stubborn, “if you would just wake up, you can save us all sorts of embarrassment.” Of course, if she didn’t wake up, I would be the only one embarrassed. The last button finally relented.
“Last chance,” I said, looking at her calm face. It was a rather nice face, now that the blood had been cleaned off. With no response, I started tugging the wet pants down her hips. It was a challenging operation since she couldn’t help by lifting her butt. I paused and tried to stifle a laugh.
Dorothy was wearing yellow panties covered with images of cute ducks in different poses. It wasn’t any cartoon character I was familiar with, but it definitely didn’t fit a mother. They would be more at home on a toddler. The timing couldn’t have been better. The laugh allowed some of my guilt to drift away.
“When you wake, I am going to need an explanation for your choice in underwear,” I said as I removed her shoes and tugged her pants over her feet. “I guess you didn’t expect the plane to crash.” Quickly, without trying to think, I laid the back of my hand on her yellow ducks. They were soaked.
“I am going to do this a clinically as I can,” I said, looking at Dorothy’s face, “I wish there were another way, but the cold leaves us no options.” I sighed and then pulled her wet panties down her legs and over her feet. I tried to keep my eyes on her feet as I took the dry pants and began running them up her legs. I paused.
“Apologies,” I said, then ran my hand carefully up the inside of her thigh to the apex. Her skin was too wet and I could imagine a rash would develop. I pulled off the dry pants, grabbed the first aid kit and ripped open a disinfectant wipe. I took a deep breath then began wiping her. I gave up not looking and moved her legs as necessary, even turning her on her side to get underneath. There was nothing I didn’t see, but I shut out the desire to see it. I was a doctor, not a voyeur.
When I was done, I grabbed one the boy’s shirts and dried her off. I tested the skin and decided she was clean and dry enough. I quickly ran the pants back up her legs, lifted her butt and zipped them up. Her waist was fairly trim compared the man who wore the pants. I retrieved her belt and spent some time feeding it through all the loops. Once cinched, she looked like a hillbilly. I had to smile. She was a cute hillbilly.
I took her wet clothes outside and laid them on one of the logs. We had limited resources so, drying them out seemed reasonable. I had no idea how long the two of us were going to be stuck on the mountain and a change of clothes, dirty or not, might become important. The duck covered panties continued to entertain my mind as I began to build a fire. I really wanted to meet the woman with the guts to wear such a garment. She obviously had a humorous side.
To be on the safe side and conserve matches, I lit the Sterno can first before trying to ignite the branches I was using as kindling. I was proud of my decision when the wood failed to catch prior to the match dying out. I started the kindling with the Sterno, then covered the can to preserve it.
The warmth the fire created was a luxury. The sun had heated the air enough that the cold was bearable, but the heat was most welcome. I turned my ass to the flames and let them return me to a sense of normalcy. I took stock of the situation.
Three juice boxes and four Ramon packets. My stomach was growling, but I didn’t want to partake of the food without the ability to share it with Dorothy. In time, if she didn’t wake up, I would have too. The juice I could possible share. I wondered if swallowing was as much a reflex as breathing. We would both need liquid to keep our innards working. The sugar might even give us a little energy.
I turned, facing toward the fire when my butt began to feel the burn. The wood was burning quickly. I wrestled one of the big logs, dragging the end into the fire. My hope was to slowly feed it in and not have to constantly feed smaller pieces. I thought of Dorothy as I singed the hair on the back of my hand. She deserved some warmth as well.
I crawled back into the hovel and checked her breathing. Steady as ever. I rolled her on her side, tucked the blanket underneath and let her roll back on top of it. Slowly, I pulled the blanket like a sled. The ground was a little uneven, but I don’t think it bothered her. I laid her near enough to the fire where she could feel the warmth, but not burn. I sat on a log next to her head and smoothed out her hair, pushing it out of her eyes.
Dorothy was a phenomenal listener. I explained our situation and sketched out my current plans, which were weak. I began talking to her about Kimberly. If I survived this rock, I would need to make some decisions about my future. I loved Kimberly some of the time. It wasn’t fair to her, or to me, to continue a relationship that was doomed to fail in the long run. Kimberly, I was sure, was thinking the same thing. I explained the whole relationship to Dorothy, defining when things began to not be right. I also expressed my reservations of hurting Kimberly. We had been together for so long, I wasn’t sure we knew how to be apart.
I drifted from Kimberly and I talked about my job. I was getting tired of popping around the world, never staying in one place long enough to see the sights. My partner Doug Finley and I started the business ten years ago. I just wished he took on some of the travel. It wasn’t all bad. I have seen more of the world than most people. The cultures I have been exposed to, have given me an understanding of people that has enriched my life. It is exhausting though.
Doug had mentioned that he had a buyer for the firm. I think he was getting tired of it all as well. I wasn’t ready to let the firm go and didn’t want to assume a loan to buy him out either. I told him to sell his half to the buyer. The buyer wanted all or nothing which left him in limbo. I was rethinking the situation. Maybe it was time to sell.
I rotated the blanket in a circle to warm Dorothy’s other side. Color had returned to her cheeks which made her prettier. I parted her hair and looked at the cut that had caused all the blood before. It seemed to have scabbed over nicely. There was no puffy redness to indicate infection.
Popping the straw into the little hole of the juice box was not as easy as the picture made it look. You needed a bit more force than I figure a child could employ. Needless to say, I ended up wasting some of the precious liquid when I squeezed the box as I poked. I hoped Dorothy would be awake the next time. I assumed she was practiced at it.
