[ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
neither got too tired of towing the toboggan, and they were both in peak condition. But it was still a
difficult thing to do.
They rested, and Quinn reached down to check Amanda's pulse. It was still there, and even seemed to
be, incredibly, a little stronger than it had been. But she was pale and still and Quinn felt his spirits
sink as he looked down at her.
"There it is," Hale called, sweeping his arm over the ridge. "The chopper."
"Now if only it can land," Quinn said quietly, and he began to pray.
The chopper came lower and lower, then it seemed to shoot up again and Quinn bit off a hard
word. But the pilot corrected for the wind, which was dying down, and eased the helicopter toward the
ground. It seemed to settle inch by inch until it landed safe. The pilot was out of it before the blades
stopped.
"Let's get out of here," he called to the men. "If that wind catches up again, I wouldn't give us a
chance in hell of getting out. It was a miracle that I even got in!"
Quinn released his bindings in a flash, leaving his skis and poles for Hale to carry, along with his
own. He got one side of the stretcher while the pilot, fortunately no lightweight himself, got the other.
They put the stretcher in the back of the broad helicopter, on the floor, and Quinn and Hale piled in—
Hale in the passenger seat up front, Quinn behind with Amanda, carefully laying ski equipment beside
her.
"Let's go!" the pilot called as he revved up the engine.
It was touch and go. The wind decided to play tag with them, and they almost went into a lodgepole
pine on the way up. But the pilot was a tenacious man with good nerves. He eased down and then up,
down and up until he caught the wind off guard and shot up out of the valley and over the mountain.
Quinn reached down and clasped Amanda's cold hand in his. Only a little longer, honey, he thought,
watching her with his heart in his eyes. Only a little longer, for God's sake, hold on!
It was the longest ride of his entire life. He spared one thought for the people who'd stayed behind to
give Amanda her chance and he prayed that they'd be rescued without any further injuries. Then his
eyes settled on her pale face and stayed there until the helicopter landed on the hospital lawn.
The reporters, local, state and national, had gotten word of the rescue mission. They were waiting.
Police kept them back just long enough for Amanda to be carried into the hospital, but Quinn and
Hale were caught. Quinn volunteered Hale to give an account of the rescue and then he ducked out,
leaving the other man to field the enthusiastic audience while he trailed quickly behind the men who'd
taken Amanda into the emergency room.
He drank coffee and smoked cigarettes and glared at walls for over an hour until someone came out
to talk to him. Hale had to go back to the lodge, to help plan the rescue of the rest of the survivors, but
he promised to keep in touch. After he'd gone, Quinn felt even more alone. But at last a doctor came
into the waiting room, and approached him.
"Are you related to Miss Callaway?" the doctor asked with narrowed eyes.
Quinn knew that if he said no, he'd have to wait for news of her condition until he could find
somebody who was related to her, and he had no idea how to find her aunt.
"I'm her fiancé," he said without moving a muscle in his face. "How is she?"
"Not good," the doctor, a small wiry man, said bluntly. "But I believe in miracles. We have her in
inten-sive care, where she'll stay until she regains conscious-ness. She's badly concussed. I gather she
hasn't regained consciousness since the crash?" Quinn shook his head. "That sleigh ride and
helicopter lift didn't do any good, either," he added firmly, adding when he saw the expression on
Quinn's tormented face, "but I can understand the necessity for it. Go get some sleep. Come back in
the morning. We won't know anything until then. Maybe not until much later. Concussion is tricky. We
can't predict the outcome, as much as we'd like to."
"I can't rest," Quinn said quietly. "I'll sit out here and drink coffee, if you don't mind. If this is as
close to her as I can get, it'll have to do."
The doctor took a slow breath. "We keep spare beds in cases like this," he said. "I'll have one made
up for you when you can't stay awake any longer." He smiled faintly. "Try to think positively. It isn't
medical, exactly, but sometimes it works wonders. Prayer doesn't hurt, either."
"Thank you," Quinn said.
The doctor shrugged. "Wait until she wakes up. Good night."
Quinn watched him go and sighed. He didn't know what to do next. He phoned Terry at the lodge to
see if Amanda's band had called. Someone named Jerry and a man called Hank had been phoning
every few minutes, he was told. Quinn asked for a phone number and Terry gave it to him.
He dialed the area code. California, he figured as he waited for it to ring.
"Hello?"
"This is Quinn Sutton," he began.
"Yes, I recognize your voice. It's Hank here. How is she?"
"Concussion. Coma, I guess. She's in intensive care and she's still alive. That's about all I know."
There was a long pause. "I'd hoped for a little more than that."
"So had I," Quinn replied. He hesitated. "I'll phone you in the morning. The minute I know anything.
Is there anybody we should notify. . . her aunt?"
"Her aunt is a scatterbrain and no help at all. Anyway, she's off with Blalock Durning in the
Bahamas on one of those incommunicado islands. We couldn't reach her if we tried."
"Is there anybody else?" Quinn asked.
"Not that I know of." There was a brief pause. "I feel bad about the way things happened. I hate
planes, you know. That's why the rest of us went by bus. We stopped here in some hick town to make
sure Amanda got her plane, and Terry told us what happened. We got a motel room and we're waiting
for a bus back to Jackson. It will probably be late tomorrow before we get there. We've already
canceled the gig. We can't do it without Amanda.
[ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]