Read Online Snowblind by Michael Abbadon - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Michael Abbadon
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nice. It's a pretty cherry red."
He'd given her the jacket when he'd said goodbye at the school. He said it would be a part of the "experiment" they'd try on Sunday, when he came up to join them. If it worked, it would help him "watch out for her" he said. She didn't ask him what the experiment would be. She wanted to be surprised. She wanted it to be fun.
She pressed her arms close to her body, and rubbed her chin against the soft fur of the ruff. Day after tomorrow, she thought. One day and two nights. She remembered the touch of his fingers, brushing back her hair. She remembered the tiny mole she'd felt at the peak of his cheekbone, and the sandpaper whiskers under his chin. But his voice, that's what she remembered most. It was gentle, and soothing, and clear. It reminded her of her dad.
Kris began reciting a poem.
"Whose woods these are I think I know.
His house is in the village though.
He will not see me stopping here
To watch his woods fill up with snow..."
Andrea stopped tying on the chains. "I love that poem," she said.
"Oh, please stop," cried Erin. "We had to study Robert Frost last semester. I got so sick of it."
Kris stood silent for a moment, then opened the back door to the Jeep and climbed inside.
20.
It was night when Jake awoke, hanging upside down in a tangle of straps. One eye stung, its vision blurred; he realized it was filling with blood that flowed from a gash behind his ear. He pulled himself up and grabbed hold of the bottom edge of his seat. This gave some slack to his harness, and allowed him to unbuckle the straps. He slipped free, dropped to the ceiling of the cockpit, and collapsed in pain.
His foot was broken and bleeding.
Gusts of swirling snow blew in through the shattered windshield. The broken cockpit exit door hung ajar, knocking in the wind. Jake felt the deep cut behind his ear and pressed his palm over it to stem the bleeding. He crawled back along the ceiling to the cargo door. It was jammed shut and would not open.
In a compartment in the wall behind the copilot's seat, Jake found the emergency kit and a flashlight. He jammed the flashlight through his belt, then pushed open the exit door and climbed out onto the underside of the broad wing. Trying to step gently down the icy wing, he lost his grip and went sliding over the edge. He landed on his back, mercifully cushioned by the deep snow.
Jake stood up, pulled out his flashlight and aimed it at the aircraft. He could see the wind had already built snowdrifts against it. He stood up, putting all his weight on his one good foot, and limped painfully through the falling snow toward the tail of the plane. The rudder fin had broken off, and the fuselage was cracked wide open. Jake aimed his light into the opening.
"Donny?"
He listened, but heard only the howl of the wind.
Jake climbed inside.
The hold was pitch dark. He squinted his blurry, blood-caked eye, and scanned his flashlight across the baggage and debris that littered the overturned ceiling. Torn bags, tarps, broken boxes, stove parts, scattered Christmas presents. It had all tumbled and mixed up in the chaos of the crash.
"Donny?"
He continued searching with his light, moving deeper and deeper into the dark.
He stepped on something metallic. He pointed the light down and saw the tail end of a thick chain. The chain disappeared beneath a pile of crates. Jake knocked the crates aside and saw a hand sticking out from beneath a cardboard box.
"Donny!"
Jake threw off the box and grabbed Donny's hand.
He screamed with fright — the arm was detached from the body! Jake held it in his hand, staring in horror at the gnawed end, ripped or chewed from the shoulder. The white bone of the upper arm stuck out from ragged flesh. Jake dropped it to the ground and backed away, shaking.
He felt fingers at his neck and screamed. He whipped around, pointed his light at Donny's face!
The copilot's twisted body lay atop the sapling cage, head hanging upside down over
He'd given her the jacket when he'd said goodbye at the school. He said it would be a part of the "experiment" they'd try on Sunday, when he came up to join them. If it worked, it would help him "watch out for her" he said. She didn't ask him what the experiment would be. She wanted to be surprised. She wanted it to be fun.
She pressed her arms close to her body, and rubbed her chin against the soft fur of the ruff. Day after tomorrow, she thought. One day and two nights. She remembered the touch of his fingers, brushing back her hair. She remembered the tiny mole she'd felt at the peak of his cheekbone, and the sandpaper whiskers under his chin. But his voice, that's what she remembered most. It was gentle, and soothing, and clear. It reminded her of her dad.
Kris began reciting a poem.
"Whose woods these are I think I know.
His house is in the village though.
He will not see me stopping here
To watch his woods fill up with snow..."
Andrea stopped tying on the chains. "I love that poem," she said.
"Oh, please stop," cried Erin. "We had to study Robert Frost last semester. I got so sick of it."
Kris stood silent for a moment, then opened the back door to the Jeep and climbed inside.
20.
It was night when Jake awoke, hanging upside down in a tangle of straps. One eye stung, its vision blurred; he realized it was filling with blood that flowed from a gash behind his ear. He pulled himself up and grabbed hold of the bottom edge of his seat. This gave some slack to his harness, and allowed him to unbuckle the straps. He slipped free, dropped to the ceiling of the cockpit, and collapsed in pain.
His foot was broken and bleeding.
Gusts of swirling snow blew in through the shattered windshield. The broken cockpit exit door hung ajar, knocking in the wind. Jake felt the deep cut behind his ear and pressed his palm over it to stem the bleeding. He crawled back along the ceiling to the cargo door. It was jammed shut and would not open.
In a compartment in the wall behind the copilot's seat, Jake found the emergency kit and a flashlight. He jammed the flashlight through his belt, then pushed open the exit door and climbed out onto the underside of the broad wing. Trying to step gently down the icy wing, he lost his grip and went sliding over the edge. He landed on his back, mercifully cushioned by the deep snow.
Jake stood up, pulled out his flashlight and aimed it at the aircraft. He could see the wind had already built snowdrifts against it. He stood up, putting all his weight on his one good foot, and limped painfully through the falling snow toward the tail of the plane. The rudder fin had broken off, and the fuselage was cracked wide open. Jake aimed his light into the opening.
"Donny?"
He listened, but heard only the howl of the wind.
Jake climbed inside.
The hold was pitch dark. He squinted his blurry, blood-caked eye, and scanned his flashlight across the baggage and debris that littered the overturned ceiling. Torn bags, tarps, broken boxes, stove parts, scattered Christmas presents. It had all tumbled and mixed up in the chaos of the crash.
"Donny?"
He continued searching with his light, moving deeper and deeper into the dark.
He stepped on something metallic. He pointed the light down and saw the tail end of a thick chain. The chain disappeared beneath a pile of crates. Jake knocked the crates aside and saw a hand sticking out from beneath a cardboard box.
"Donny!"
Jake threw off the box and grabbed Donny's hand.
He screamed with fright — the arm was detached from the body! Jake held it in his hand, staring in horror at the gnawed end, ripped or chewed from the shoulder. The white bone of the upper arm stuck out from ragged flesh. Jake dropped it to the ground and backed away, shaking.
He felt fingers at his neck and screamed. He whipped around, pointed his light at Donny's face!
The copilot's twisted body lay atop the sapling cage, head hanging upside down over
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