Chapter 9: Emily: Is Help Coming?

Instinctively, I reach in my pocket only to come up empty-handed. I have no idea what happened to my phone. Beside me, Aiden pulls out a cell phone, but the screen is smashed so badly, he can't swipe his finger across it. I look over my shoulder. Several people have cell phones in their hands, holding them in the air.

"My battery is dead," Tom says.

"I don't have a signal," says the older woman standing beside me.

"Me either," says someone else.

One by one, everyone with a phone agrees. No service. My shoulders slump, and I hang my head. We can't even make a call for help. I take several short breaths, which makes me dizzy. My eyelids are heavy with exhaustion, and I rub my face in an effort to stay awake.

"Tom," I call out to him. "Doesn't the plane have a radio or something we could use to call for help?"

"The front of the plane is destroyed." He points toward the ocean. "Even if we could retrieve a radio, it probably wouldn't work."

Oh, no. All those people in the front of the plane… I squeeze my eyes shut against the barrage of horrific images flashing through my mind.

The crowd is getting louder by the moment. Jason hushes them. "Okay, calm down. Anchorage knew we were there. The pilot did have communication with them for a while, right?" He turns to Tom, who nods. "See?" Jason turns back to the crowd. "When they realize we've disappeared, they'll send out a search party. Just because we can't make a call doesn't mean we can't help them find us." He emphasizes his words by pointing at us. "So, I suggest we go down to the water's edge and start to build a signal fire. We'll break into groups. One to build the fire, another to scavenge whatever they can from the plane. Seats, blankets, pillows, food, water. We'll gather all the luggage, too, and get whatever we can from them."

"You're making it sound like we're going to be here a while," says a man from the back of the group.

"God spared us for a reason, and He won't let us down now. But that doesn't mean we can't be prepared for the worst."

I roll my eyes. God isn't going to save us, and the sooner Jason realizes that the better.

"We need to build a shelter," Aiden says, and for some reason, his voice startles me.

I put my hand over my chest, but my heart won't slow.

"The weather around here is unpredictable at best, and if it doesn't snow, it will rain. If it pours, the fire will go out. There's not much we can do about that, but we have to get ourselves out of the elements as best we can," Aiden says.

I stare at him in awe. He sounds so grown up and mature.

"That's a good idea, son. What's your name?" Jason asks.

"Aiden. I'm from Alaska, and I've studied these islands in my classes. I know the climate well, and I can help."

He's cute and smart? That's a wonderful combo, and one that would, under normal circumstances, put him out of my league. But these aren't normal circumstances, and right now, we only have each other.

"Great. Okay, so we'll need to find whatever we can to build a temporary shelter."

A full body shiver shakes me from the inside out. Why do I get the feeling the shelter isn't going to be temporary? I swallow hard and turn to Aiden, who looks just as skeptical as I feel. "Now what?" I whisper.

He shrugs. "I guess we pick a group and help out."

"All right." Tom steps forward and clears his throat. "The stronger, uninjured men should gather wood from those trees over there. The women can search what remains of the plane. And the injured" - he glances behind him - "you can sit off over here to the side, out of the way. Do we have any doctors or nurses in the group?"

A loud murmur ripples through the group, everyone looking at everyone else, shaking their heads.

"No?" Tom's gaze scours the crowd. "Does anyone have any medical training?"

A tall, thin woman steps forward. "I'm certified in CPR, and I took a couple semesters of college classes for nursing, but I didn't finish."

Tom frowns.

Jason smiles. "It'll do. What's your name?"

"Amy."

"Okay, Amy, why don't you see what you can do to help the injured." He holds out his arm as if to welcome her to some super-secret club or something. Once she is by his side, he says, "All right, let's get to work. But please, be careful. And remember, God is watching over each and every one of you."

I blow out a breath and turn to Aiden. "Guess I'm searching the plane." I really wish I could search for firewood with him, though. I have no idea what we'll find inside the plane, but the nagging thought of dead bodies shoves its way to the forefront of my mind. It's enough to make me want to vomit.

He nods and shoves his hands in his pockets. "Yeah, okay. So… I'll meet you down by the fire in a little while?"

"Yes." My throat is dry and scratchy. What I wouldn't give for a drink of water right now. If I got lucky, I'd find some in the plane. I stand there for a moment longer, watching Aiden walk away with a small group of guys. The blood on my forehead is starting to dry, and I scratch at it. Flakes of red fall in front of face, and I force back the urge to gag. There's no cut, so I know it's not my blood. I shudder to think whose it might be.

"Do you really think we'll be rescued?" There's an older woman with ghost-white hair standing next to me.

Where did she come from? I stare at her, unable to comprehend her question. "What?"

"Do you think we'll be rescued?" she repeats.

"Yes," I say immediately, but deep down, I'm not so sure. I really want a shower.

"I'm Marjorie."

"Emily." I smile.

"Well." She takes hold of my arm. "Let's go see what we can find in that plane, huh?"

I look down at where she's touching me, welcoming the comfort of the contact. "Yeah, let's go."

When we get down to the tail end of the plane, there's already a dozen people searching through it. I'm not sure I'll be much help, but I need to do something to keep myself occupied, so I make my way down what's left of the aisle and join the handful of people that are there. I find several suitcases and duffle bags, which I pile up on some seats, when I see a tuft of hair sticking out from beneath a couple of seats that had been ripped from the plane.

I try to shove them away but can't move them on my own. "Hey, I think someone's trapped over here. I need some help."

A young woman rushes over and helps me move the chairs. That's when I see him. "Theodore?" My eyes widen as I take in the sight of him.

He's white as a ghost, and there's dried blood on his nose and the corner of his mouth. His head is twisted at an uncomfortable angle. Oh no. Please not Theodore. I don't need to check his pulse to know he's dead. I drop to my knees and gasp, squeezing my eyes shut. Please let me wake up. Please let me wake up. But when I reopen my eyes, I'm still in the busted plane, and Theodore's lifeless face is still staring at me.

"Is he family?" asks the girl who helped me move the seats.

I shake my head and cup my hand over my mouth, nausea getting the better of me. I get to my feet and force my way out of the plane. I run toward the beach where the guys are making a huge pile of branches and firewood. I don't see Aiden, but then again, I'm not really looking for him. I separate from the rest of the survivors, double over, and dry heave until my throat is raw and burning.