“Probably everything,” he said casually. “Did you bring any hair spray?” Hair spray was probably less toxic than deodorant. Deodorant had some sort of aluminum in its chemical makeup, didn’t it? He didn’t know what was normally in hair spray, other than alcohol, but alcohol had to be better than aluminum.
“Nope,” she said from behind him. She sounded a little absent, as if she was concentrating on something other than conversation. “I was going rafting, remember? What would be the point of hair spray? Hmm. I guess I could rig up a funnel and pour this into the mouthwash bottle, if you don’t want to take a chance with the deodorant cap.”
“Just wipe it out with snow; it should be okay.” Now that she’d mentioned water, he was abruptly aware of how thirsty he was, and he didn’t want to wait while she searched for something she could fold into a funnel. He’d take his chances with deodorant residue.
“Okay, then.”
He listened to her crunch around for a minute, then he heard the crisp rustle of plastic. A few seconds later she squatted beside him, the blue cap in her left hand.
“Don’t try to sit up,” she instructed. “If you pass out and fall over, you might make me drop the water.” As she spoke she eased her right arm under his neck, the position cradling the side of his face against her breasts. He could feel the firm resilience, smell the warm, faintly sweet scent of a woman’s skin, and the sudden urge to turn his head and bury his face against her was so fierce that only a sudden stab of pain deflected him.
“Be careful,” she murmured, holding the cup to his lips. “It’s just a couple of swallows, so try not to spill even a drop.”
As soon as he took a sip she moved the cup away. The partially melted snow had a sharp mineral taste, mingled with that of plastic, and was so cold that it almost made his teeth hurt. The liquid washed over the swollen, scratchy tissues of his mouth and throat, being absorbed almost as fast as he could swallow. When she started to put the cup back in place for another swallow, he forestalled her by giving the merest shake of his head, which was all he could manage. “Your turn.”
“I’ll eat some snow,” she replied. “I’m moving around, so eating snow won’t lower my body temperature as much as it would yours.” She frowned. “How long do you think it will be before a search party finds us? It’s been several hours since your Mayday call, but I haven’t even heard a search helicopter, much less seen one. If you think it’ll be much longer, I’ll have to find a better way to get some drinking water. Melting snow isn’t very efficient.”
No, because it took a lot of snow to make a little water, and vice versa. In answer to her question he said, “Likely it will be tomorrow before a search party can reach us, at the earliest.”
She didn’t look surprised, just worried—and annoyed. “Why so long? It’s been hours since your Mayday call.” As she talked she held the plastic cap to his lips, and he took another sip of water.
“Because no one will have even started searching for us yet,” he said when he’d swallowed.
The look of annoyance grew stronger. “Why not?” she asked, her tone sharp.
“When we don’t make our scheduled fuel stop in Salt Lake City, that’s when the alert will go out. If we don’t check in somewhere within a couple of hours after we miss that stop, a search will be organized.”
“But you sent out a Mayday call! You gave our location.”
“Which may or may not have been monitored. Even if it was, a search wouldn’t be initiated then. Searches are damned expensive, and search teams have limited resources; they have to be certain the Mayday wasn’t bogus, that some idiot didn’t think it would be funny to send out a Mayday call when nothing was wrong. So they wait until a plane doesn’t show up where and when it’s supposed to before initiating a response. Even after an alert is issued, organizing a search takes time. This is June, so the days are long, but even so I doubt a search team could locate us before dark. They would stop for the night, and start again tomorrow morning.”
He watched her as she processed that information, her gaze searching the massive landscape around them. After a few minutes she sighed. “I hoped I could get by with just finding some way to keep the wind off us, but we’ll need a lot more than that, won’t we?”
“If you want to still be alive tomorrow morning, yes.”
“I was afraid of that.” She gave him the last of the water, then carefully lowered his head to the blanket and eased her arm from beneath him. Her smile was rueful as she reached under the pile of clothing covering him, finally withdrawing her arm with his pocketknife in her hand. “I’d better get started, then. This will take time.”
“Don’t try for anything elaborate. It needs to be small enough that our body heat can warm the air around us a little, so the smaller the better, as long as there’s room for both of us. Salvage what you can from the plane: the leather from the seats, any wiring you can use to lash poles or sticks together, things like that.”
She snorted at his instructions. “Elaborate? Dream on. Just so you know: I really suck at construction.”
10
HAVING JUSTICE CONFIRM WHAT SHE’D INSTINCTIVELY known, that no one was searching for them, rattled Bailey more than she wanted to reveal. She had really, really needed to hear that they’d be rescued soon, because managing any sort of shelter would tax her little remaining strength to the limit. She simply didn’t know how much longer she could keep going.