Russ looked over her head to where the trail twisted out of sight. “How far from here?”
Peggy shook her head. “I’m not sure. I wasn’t paying much attention. Everything seems sort of unreal. Like in a horrible dream.”
“Peggy,” Clare said. “Is he injured? Is he dead? Did you get a good look at him?”
She shook her head. “I don’t know. He was near the stream, facedown, very still. I yelled, but he didn’t move or answer. I was going to call for help when I got back to my car. He was just lying there. It’s a deep gorge. My grandfather would never let us hike near it when we were kids.”
“How come you didn’t drive back down?” Russ said.
Peggy blinked. There was a pause, as if she was trying to remember her thoughts at the scene of the accident. “I can’t drive a standard,” she finally said. She looked up at them. “I’m sorry. I guess I should have tried.”
Clare looked at Russ. “What do you think we should do?”
“I gotta go up and see. Will you take Ms. Landry back down to the cars?”
“Do you want me to call for help?”
He shook his head. “It’ll have to be Mountain Rescue. I want to be able to tell them if it’s a medical emergency or a body recovery. It can’t be that far, and I can travel faster without her. I’ll scope it out and get back to you as soon as possible.” He hunkered down to get close to Peggy again. “Did he park on the trail? Did you wander far from the vehicle?”
“No. I mean, yes, he parked on the trail. We walked from there to the gorge. You can hear—there’s still a bit of water running in the stream at the bottom. You can hear it.”
He stood up, rubbing his hands on his jeans. “I’ll meet you back there as soon as I can.”
Clare nodded. She watched until he disappeared from view. Then she stood up. “Do you think you can get up?” she asked Peggy, extending her hand. Peggy took it and let Clare haul her into a standing position. “Are you sure you’re not hurt anywhere? You’re going to have a bad bruise around your eye.”
Peggy touched her face lightly. “I’m not hurt. Other than this. I’m more shaken up than anything.”
Clare squeezed her arm. “You have every right to be.”
She led Peggy down the trail, murmuring assurances and encouragement, listening to her rattle on while keeping an ear cocked for the sound of Russ behind them. Peggy kept returning to Leo Waxman and how he was lying at the bottom of the gorge. “What if he’s still alive? Will the Mountain Rescue be able to help him? Won’t they take an awfully long time? What are his chances?”
“If that gorge is as steep as I think it is, yes, it’ll take a long time to rescue him,” Clare said. “They’ll have to rappel men and equipment down, fix him on a board, and then carry him out the long way, through the quarry. Either that or figure out a way to lift him back up the wall of the gorge without hurting him more. I think you need to prepare yourself. Unless he was only stunned when you looked at him, the chances are good that he’s not going to survive.”
Peggy moaned. “Oh, God.”
Clare looked ahead. They were getting closer to where the trail joined the rutted road leading from the quarry to the helipad. She recognized the rottingly sweet white-flowered vines running up the trees and—The force of her thought literally made her stop in her tracks. She whirled on Peggy. “I know how we can get him!”
“What?”
“Waxman. We don’t have to wait for the Mountain Rescue team. I can get him out. With the BWI helicopter.”
“What?” Peggy’s second “What?” was closer to a screech than a question.
“BWI keeps a helicopter right here at the site. I’ve been in it. It has a first-aid pack and, more important, it’s rigged with a cargo net and boom.” She looked up, as if she could see through the leaf canopy to the skies overhead. “It’s lousy flying weather, of course. The humidity will make it slow going, but there’s no wind. Once I’m over the gorge, I can just hover there and let Russ bring Waxman up.”
“You’re joking.” Peggy’s expression reminded Clare that declaring oneself capable of aerial extractions was not something most people did with confidence.
“It’s okay,” she said. “I was a pilot in the army. I’ve logged thousands and thousands of hours in helicopters.”
“You’re not joking.”
“Hurry up.” Clare quickened her pace. “Let’s get down to the site and get your cell phone. We can call ahead to the hospital and find out what to do for him. Then I can run back up to the helipad and do a preflight check.” She frowned. “I hope Mr. Opperman didn’t fly it back to Baltimore or anything.”
They trotted along at a fast pace. Peggy looked drawn and ashy, and Clare felt a wash of guilt at pushing her after her ordeal. But no matter what Leo Waxman had done, he didn’t deserve to die all alone at the bottom of a gorge. Not when she had within her the power to help.
She sighed with relief when they reached the turnoff to the spa site.
“Wait,” Peggy said, clutching at Clare’s arm. “Let me go get the phone. And maybe get a couple bottles of cold water from the office fridge?” She smiled weakly. “You go ahead and do what you have to with the helicopter. I’ll join you there. It’ll be quicker.”
“You’re right,” Clare said. “Are you sure you’ll be okay on your own?”
Peggy smiled, more forcefully this time. “I’ve made it this far, haven’t I?”
Clare threw her arms around the older woman and hugged her quickly. “You sure have. I’ll see you in a few minutes.” She jog-trotted the rest of the way to the helipad, arriving there slick with sweat and breathless.
The Bell was right where she had left it last, center stage on its tarmac square. She tried the door. Unlocked. Key still in the ignition. “Thank you, Lord,” she said. She flicked the key switch on, grabbed the fuel pipette, which the previous pilot had left wedged in the off-side seat, and hopped out to check the fuel.
It wasn’t full up, but there would be more than enough to get her safely to Glens Falls, or even Albany, if necessary. She drew down some fuel into the pipette and held it up to the colorless sky, looking for water or sediment that could spell a serious problem. It looked clean.
She climbed back into the cockpit and checked the buss and batt switches. She tapped the control panel. She knew she should test all the lights, since this was a new ship for her, but it wasn’t absolutely necessary, and right now, time was of the essence. Reflexively, she did verify that the fire extinguisher behind the pilot’s seat was full before clambering outside again to untie the Bell and do the exterior preflight check.
She had finished the right-side fuselage check, had untied the main rotor blade, and was closing up the tail rotor gearbox when she heard sounds coming from the track.
“Hey! Clare!” Russ emerged from the woods, closely followed by Peggy, who was carrying a large sailcloth L. L. Bean bag. Clare ducked under the tail boom to talk to them. Russ’s shirt was clinging to his chest in damp patches and his hair was plastered to his scalp. Peggy reached into the bulging bag and handed him a bottle of water dripping with condensation. He unscrewed the top and dumped half the contents over his head, shaking his shaggy hair like a dog.
“Is he still alive?” Clare asked. Peggy pulled an identical bottle out of the bag and handed it to her.
Russ swigged most of the rest of his water and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “Yes. He didn’t answer me when I called to him, but he shifted a bit. He’s about twenty, twenty-five feet down. Ms. Landry says you have some cockamamy idea about using the helicopter to get him out?”