She looked up, searching for something to hold on to while she clambered forward into the cockpit, but nothing, literally, was there. The left wing and most of the fuselage on that side were just gone, ripped away as if a giant can opener had opened up the aircraft. There was nothing to grasp except the razor-sharp edges of mangled metal. Part of a broken tree limb stuck through the gaping hole.
There was nothing else to use, so she gripped the top edge of Justice’s seat and pulled herself up, slithering between what was left of the roof and the top of the copilot’s seat. The best position she could get in was a crouch, with her feet braced against the right door. “Justice,” she said, because she’d read somewhere that unconscious people sometimes could still hear and respond a little to their names. Whether or not that was true, she didn’t know, but what could it hurt?
“Justice!” she said again, more insistently, as she grasped his shoulders and tried to pull him upright. It was like pulling on a log. His head lolled to the side, blood dripping from his nose and chin.
Pulling on him wasn’t going to work. His seat belt was holding him in place, but she was working against gravity. She needed to release the belt and get him out of the seat, try to get him out of the plane.
Like she had, he would fall out of the seat as soon as the belt was released, but it was a small plane; the distance was a couple of feet, at best. Still, the fuselage had been crushed inward on the copilot’s side, and a tree branch had punctured all the way through the metal skin like a wooden stake through a vampire’s heart. The sharp end of the tree branch was angled toward the back, rather than pointing upward, but she didn’t want to take the chance he might be impaled, so she looked around for something to put over the branch.
The first thing she thought of was her tote bag, but she didn’t see it. It had been lying on the left side of the bench seat, so it may have gone flying when that side of the plane was torn open. All that was available was her bedraggled, bloodstained silk jacket. Twisting around, grunting with the effort, she managed to grasp one sleeve and drag it to her. The garment was thin, almost weightless. Silk was strong, but what she needed in this situation was bulk to cover the sharp end of a tree branch, not tensile strength.
Inspiration struck. Swiftly she bent forward and removed her remaining shoe, a very expensive designer loafer, and jammed it over the jagged point of wood. Then she folded her jacket and placed it over the tree branch, as a bit of extra padding.
“Okay, Justice, let’s get you out of this seat,” she said gently. “Then I’ll see about getting you out of the plane, but first things first. When I undo your seat belt you’re going to fall a little ways, just a foot or so. Ready?” He’d probably fall on her, given the severely limited space, and then she’d be pinned with no wiggle-room for escape. She was in a really bad position. Sighing, she crawled over the top of the seat into the back again.
A low moan sounded deep in his throat.
She jumped, so startled by the sound she almost screamed. “Oh, thank God,” she whispered to herself as she scrambled into an upright position. In a slightly louder than normal voice she called his name again. “Justice! Wake up if you can. I can’t get you out of the plane by myself; you need to help me if you can. I’m undoing the seat belt now, okay?” As she talked she reached up and around, searching for the release, sliding her fingers along the woven fabric of the belt until she found the metal. A quick flip of the catch, and he dropped out of the shoulder restraint like a rock, onto his right side with his head and shoulders resting on the floor, his long legs still draped over the console and tangled with the controls.
“Damn it!” she groaned. This position wasn’t any better; his back was to her, and she still couldn’t see much of his bloody face. Nor was there room for her to wedge herself in front of him to see where all the blood was coming from.
Bailey took a few more deep breaths, wondering how she was going to manage this. The air she sucked in was cold, and sharp with the scent of evergreens. The effect was almost like a slap in the face. Once again she took stock of their situation. She couldn’t drag him up—he was far too heavy, and the slope of the plane was too severe. On the other hand, if she could get the copilot’s door open, then she could pull him out through it. Examining the protruding tree branch, she saw that it had actually entered the cabin in front of the door’s hinge, so the branch wasn’t an impediment. But the way the plane was tilted, the door might be blocked. She peered at the tinted windows on the right side, which were so badly scratched she could barely see through them, much less tell if anything was blocking the door.
The copilot’s window was hinged. If she could push it open—Action followed hard on the heels of the thought, but the frame was buckled just enough that the window hinge didn’t work, and she couldn’t get herself braced to apply any leverage to it. In frustration she lifted her fist and used the side of it to pound the window, which accomplished nothing except making her hand hurt.
“Damn it, damn it, damn it!” She blew out a frustrated breath. If she couldn’t open the window, she likely wouldn’t be able to open the door. “On the other hand,” she said out loud to herself, “why am I wasting time with the window when I need the door open?” If she could open the door, she wouldn’t need to open the window.
She felt as if she were missing several obvious points, that her brain was working at only half speed, but she was doing the best she could under the circumstances. Her entire body felt as if she’d been severely beaten, her head ached, and her arm was bleeding. She would think of things when she thought of them, and anyone who didn’t like it could take a hike.