Scott Free Read Free Page B

in his brain. As he pulled himself closer to the rim, the pain blossomed. Bitter cold pressed in around him, explaining the sensation of a million needles in his skin.
    Hypothermia!
    His mind fired the thought like a rifle bullet, launching him to a new level of alertness. These temperatures played for keeps; on a night like this, a few hours could mean eternity in a box.
    Scott O’Toole had no intention of dying tonight.
    Why couldn’t he move? He considered for a moment that he might be paralyzed, but the pain and the cold ruled that out. He wasn’t breathing right, either. The pressure in his head. The pain in his belly.
    Oh, my God, I’m upside down.
    â€œYou there, Scott?” The voice came from so close by that Scott wondered for a second if he wasn’t just thinking out loud.
    He jerked his head to the left to see Cody Jamieson’s silhouette hovering just inches from his own. A jet black splotch against the lighter black background, the pilot’s hair stood straight on end.
    â€œDude, I’m fucked, man,” Cody said.
    Scott didn’t like the fatalistic tone. “Hey, we’re alive, right? That’s a good first step.”
    â€œNo, dude, I mean I’m really fucked up. I can’t feel anything below like my chest.”
    Scott’s gut tightened at the thought, but he sensed that this was a time to keep things light. “Count your blessings. I can feel every damn thing, and it all hurts. What the hell happened?”
    â€œYou’ve heard of flying at treetop level, haven’t you?” Cody forced a chuckle, which became a wheezing, gagging cough. “I taste blood, dude.”
    â€œProbably just cut your lip.”
    Cody coughed again, and as he did, the whole world seemed to move around Scott. It was a swaying motion, back and forth. And then everything shifted. For a second, he thought they were falling, but then it all settled down again. The movement caused a new sound to gurgle out of Cody, half moan and half wail.
    â€œWhat? What is it?” Scott yelled.
    â€œOh, man, I am so righteously fucked.”
    â€œWe need a light,” Scott said. “I can’t see a thing.”
    Cody’s shadow moved in the darkness. A hand motioned lazily toward the bulkhead behind Scott and to the right. “Check the wall there. There should be a flashlight mounted to a charger there.”
    Scott strained to turn, but this disorientation was killing him. Left, right, up, down, none of them had any meaning. And why couldn’t he move?
    The seat belt.
    Of course! He was still strapped into his seat! That explained the pressure and the biting pain in his gut, too. The seat belt was cutting him in half. Until he got that undone, he wasn’t moving anywhere to recover anything.
    But first, it was time to do an inventory. Maybe he was hurt, too, but just hadn’t figured it out yet. His head felt fuzzy, and he was almost certain it was bleeding, but as he gingerly explored his scalp with his fingertips, it seemed that his brains were all tucked in where they belonged. There on his forehead, though, right at his widow’s peak, a nasty gash flashed a jolt of pain when he touched it. Yeah, he was bleeding, all right. He moved his shoulders next, and then his back, as best as he could in his current position. Everything felt stiff, but nothing felt terribly wrong until he worked his way down to his right ankle. He moved it, and the joint screamed. It felt as if his foot were jammed into something—or better yet, between two somethings.
    Shit, that’s what I need. A broken ankle out in the middle of nowhere.
    Actually, he’d broken his ankle before—last year, in fact, during the final soccer tournament against the Madison Warhawks—and this didn’t feel as bad as that. His toes wiggled inside his boot without pain, and when he moved his knee, it didn’t feel like the top of his head was coming off. That was what a