Page 110

Sam felt a hand clamp onto his. With surprising strength, Remi jerked him back to the ground. “Sam, what do you think you’re—”
The Z-9 slammed into the gondola, shoving it backward into Sam and Remi, who began backpedaling, feet scrabbling over the ice.
The gondola stopped moving. The grinding thud-thud-thud of the helicopter’s skid continued for a few seconds, then suddenly died save the stuttering coughs of the engine turbine.
That too stopped, and Sam and Remi found themselves in perfect silence. They got to their feet and peeked over the gondola.
“Well, that’s not something you see every day,” Sam said drily.
32
NORTHERN NEPAL
It took ten seconds for Sam and Remi to piece together the scene that lay before them.
After bouncing off the gondola, the crippled Z-9 had reversed course and skidded toward the runnel that cut through the plateau, where, like a pinball caught in a groove, it had slid to the edge of the plateau, then over—or partially over. The Z-9’s tail, a few inches narrower than the runnel itself, had become lodged in the trough.
The helicopter’s cabin sat suspended over the edge, water cascading over the fuselage and through the open cabin door.
“We should see if anyone’s left alive,” Remi prompted.
Wary of the still-hot engine, they picked their way over to the Z-9. Sam knelt down beside the runnel and crawled on hands and knees to the edge. The fuselage was crushed to half its height, and the windshield was missing. He could see nothing through the doorway, so thick was the cascading water.
“Anyone in there?” he shouted. “Hello!”
Sam and Remi listened but heard nothing.
Twice more Sam called out, but still there was no response.
Sam stood up and rejoined Remi. He said, “Lone survivors.”
“That sounds both wonderful and terrifying. What now?”
“First, we can’t climb out of here. And even if we managed to without getting injured, we’re thirty miles from the nearest village. Between the subzero temperatures at night and no shelter, we’d have little chance. For that matter, we need to start thinking about surviving tonight.”
“Cheery,” Remi said. “Go on.”
“We have no idea how long before Karna declares us overdue and a search party is mounted. And even more important, we have to assume the Z-9 was in contact with its base after Hosni opened fire. When they don’t make contact again and don’t return, the base will send another helicopter, probably two.”
“Any guesses on how soon?”
“Worst case, a matter of hours.”
“Best case?”
“Tomorrow morning. If it’s the former, we may have an advantage: nightfall’s coming. It’ll make it easier for us to hide. I need to get inside that thing.”
“What, the Z-9?” Remi said. “Sam, that’s—”
“A really bad idea, I know, but it’s got supplies we need, and, if we’re very lucky, the radio may still work.”
Remi considered this for a few moments, then nodded. “Okay. But first let’s see what we can scrounge from the Bell’s wreckage.”
This took but a few minutes. There was little of value left, mostly charred bits and pieces from their packs, including a half-shredded section of climbing rope, a smattering of items from a first-aid kit, and a few tools from the Bell’s tool kit. Sam and Remi picked up anything that could be of use, whether recognizable or not.
“How’s the rope look?” Sam asked.
Kneeling beside their pile of supplies, Remi examined the rope. “It’ll need some splicing, but I think we’ve got eighteen or twenty feet of usable line here. You’re thinking a belay for the Z-9?”