Chapter Four
It was a little before six am (PST) when Kim woke up, or rather was woken up by a distant thumping sound. She had been half-awake for a few minutes already, long enough to become aware of the fact that Ron was now next to her digging through the contents of the survival kit, but the distant beating of rotor blades quickly snapped her to attention.
“Helicopter…” She scanned the horizon for the approaching rescue helicopter that was, no doubt, coming to pick them up.
“What?” Ron asked as he turned toward his friend; he still looked a bit pale, but the weakness and delirium from the night before seemed to have passed.
“It’s a helicopter…do you hear it?” The echo off the mountains made it impossible not to.
“Yeah, it’s over there…” The freckled-blond spoke in a monotone voice and pointed off to the south. Sure enough, on the other side of the granite-strewn basin, the redhead could just barely make out the form of a large dark-green military helicopter cruising over the mountain ridge. Kim was about to grab the rescue blanket and began waving it frantically when Ron spoke up.
“Don’t bother trying to signal them.” His voice was ominously hollow, like that of a person who had given up hope. “I already tried that with the last two, and they were much closer…” He turned to face his friend and Kim could clearly see the despair in his eyes.
Kim watched helplessly as their rescuers disappeared behind the mountains before turning back to her friend. “There were others earlier?” She asked, her despair transforming into aggravation, which unfortunately, was quickly directed toward her partner.
“About fifteen minutes ago two red and white Hueys flew by in formation a little north of that last one. They all seem to be heading in the same direction.”
“And you just let them go by!” Kim’s eyes were beginning to burn with anger.
“No Kim!” Ron’s temper was quickly loosing its fuse as well. “I tried to signal them with that,” He gestured toward a small signal-mirror lying at his feet. “But they either didn’t see it…” His voice dropped several octaves. “Or they didn’t care.”
Kim let out a frustrated sigh. “Ron, don’t talk like that.” She couldn’t believe he was pouting at a time like this. “Why would they not care?”
“Because they’re not looking for us here.” He stated calmly.
Ron’s statement hit Kim like a punch in the stomach. “Why would you say that?” She couldn’t begin to figure out where he had come up with that idea.
“Remember that warning light that Lt. Steeves told us was for the ELT?” Ron asked. She nodded; the warning light had indicated that the device was off-line. “You do know what an ELT is, don’t you?”
“No…” She had to admit she didn’t. After Steeves had reassured them it didn’t affect the plane’s flight she had dismissed it, then when the explosion occurred…
“An ELT is an emergency beacon that transmits a plane’s exact location when it crashes…it’s the only accurate method search crews have to locate the crash site.”
Kim’s face paled slightly. “I’m sure there are other methods.” She responded. It was more of a prayer than a statement.
“Yeah,” Ron replied, pulling a small tin from the survival kit and examining it before grunting and tossing it back into the case. “They can follow the pilot’s flight plan.”
“What’s a flight plan?”
Ron stepped away from the metal kit and turned to face his naive friend. On any other occasion he would find it funny that he was educating Kim on something other than video games. “Every pilot, military and civilian, who is going to be flying more than fifty miles is required to construct and file a flight plan before they leave the airport. It maps out the course they’re going to be flying. If they go down and don’t have a functioning ELT on board, the search crews use that path to coordinate their grid-search. Normally that would be no problem, but we weren’t following our flight plan.”
“How do you…” Kim began to question but was quickly interrupted as Ron continued speaking. His tone was becoming gradually harsher the longer he spoke.
“Before we left, I took a look at the plan…” The blond was no longer making eye contact with his friend as he spoke, instead focusing on the barren granite basin where they currently resided. “It had us flying north through Death Valley National Park before turning northeast and crossing Nevada.” He turned his gaze back to Kim. “I don’t know if you’ve noticed…” He waived his arm in the air absently. “But this is not the desert…”
“Well maybe…” Kim tried to reason with Ron, but the blond interrupted her once again.
“Don’t you get it Kim?” Ron yelled. His words shot into her like venom-tipped arrows and the teen felt as if her chest was tightening. Ron had never yelled at her, or anyone like this before. “They’re not going to find us here! They’re looking for us in the desert, not the mountains…” He reached down and palmed one of the circular tins from the survival kit: tossing it at the redhead as he continued to speak, his voice returning to its earlier depressing tone. “I wouldn’t expect to wait it out here either,” Kim caught the tin and looked down at its label. The words Meal, Combat Individual (C-ration) were printed across the top and side. “Those things expired in 1978, so they’re completely useless.”
“Well…” Kim tried to get a word in edgewise, but Ron was on the verge of a full-blown rant. Tossing two more expired C-Rations on the ground, the boy reached into the kit and pulled out what appeared to be a black rifle stock.
“Here’s another useful bit of equipment…” The blond held the object up for Kim to see. “They gave us a rifle stock…but no rifle! That pretty much rules out our options of hunting for food…not that either of us would know how to skin an animal anyway.” He tossed the stock on the ground next to the expired food and sat back down against the rotting log.
Kim watched silently as her normally goofy partner leaned his head back and closed his eyes, letting a prolonged sigh escape his lungs. She knew she had to say something to get him out of this funk and back into the game. It wasn’t Ron’s fault he was acting like this; it was just an emotional overload and, quite frankly, she was surprised she was remaining so calm herself. She also knew that, whether his findings were true or not, Team Possible stood no chance of survival unless both teammates were operating at the top of their game. She had to do or say something…but what?
“H-hey Ron?” The redhead nervously asked her friend.
“Hmm…” The boy merely grunted, refusing to look at her or even open his eyes.
“Where did you learn all that stuff about ELT’s and aircraft flight plans?” She really didn’t know where she was going with this…
“I read about it in a book…” Ron announced dismissively.
‘This is so lame,’ She told herself, but it was all she could think of at the moment. “You mean you, Ron Stoppable, actually learned something from a book?” She asked in the most innocent teasing voice she could manage.
The redhead prayed that her pathetic joke would somehow take hold on her partner and bring his ‘Ron-ness’ back into the hollow shell sitting before her. Ron opened his eyes and slowly turned his head toward Kim; a look of slight shock and confusion plastered on his face.
Kim was about to apologize for her rude and uncalled for ribbing when she saw a familiar grin began to spread across the blonde’s freckled face. Slowly the grin turned into a full smile as the boy broke out into uncontrollable laughter. Seeing the ‘old’ Ron returning, Kim broke into laughter as well: not from the joke, but from the relief of reuniting Team Possible back to its former functioning self.
Daniel ‘Danny’ Gordon had been a member of the National Parks Service for almost ten years. Of those ten years in the NPS, six of them had been working as a Park Ranger. Of those six years, the past four had been spent stationed in the Kings Canyon National Park near Fresno, California. He still loved his job and couldn’t see himself doing anything else in life, however in the past few years, Danny had been finding himself dealing with more and more ‘city’ problems than he wanted to.
Though he was considered by law to be a federal peace officer, he had never really considered himself a ‘cop’ like some of the guys he worked with. Danny chose his job because he wanted to help people and be in an outdoor environment. A native of Mendocino County in Northern California, he had grown up among sprawling redwood forests and, as a result, found himself ‘at home’ in the backcountry.
His love for the job, however, had begun to wane recently due to the influx of city crime that was staining his beloved park. Previous crimes that consisted of petty thefts, auto burglaries, and the occasional aggravated tourist were quickly turning much more deadly.
Around the turn of the millennium, the vast unoccupied backcountry and under-staffed personnel that made up America’s National Parks had begun to attract many big-time drug dealers who found the forests and isolated parking areas ideal for large acre narcotics harvests and mobile meth labs. There had been more Rangers murdered in the past five years than in the over one hundred year NPS history before that. In fact, according to a recent Justice Department study he had read, Federal Park Rangers were now fifteen percent more likely to be killed or injured on the job than agents from the Drug Enforcement Administration. Still, despite the added risks, Danny wouldn’t give it up for the world.
That morning he had just parked his truck and was preparing his gear for the thirty-five mile hike through Granite Pass to Simpson Meadows when he encountered the returning backpackers. He had been given the privilege of manning the isolated Simpson Meadow Ranger Station for two weeks while the seasonal backpackers began to arrive.
With the summer season quickly unfolding, it was once again becoming common to find adventurous backpackers venturing into the half-frozen backcountry for up to a week before turning around. It was because of this that Danny didn’t pay much attention to the couple and focused instead on his gear.
He checked that he had an appropriate amount of food for the trip there (The cabin was pre-stocked with enough food for two people to live off of for a month) as well as plenty of clothes, maps, and books. Hefting the pack onto his back, Danny took one last look into his Jeep and frowned slightly as his eyes met the cold black form of the patrol rifle mounted between the seats of his 4x4 patrol car.
In accordance with a recent memo passed down from Washington DC, all Park Rangers were supposed to carry their AR-15’s with them when they ventured into the backcountry, just as an added precaution. Danny, however, had despised the things ever since the NPS had adopted them from the US Army in the mid-ninety’s and felt it made him look too menacing to hikers he encountered.
‘Besides,’ He told himself. ‘There’s more than enough guns at Simpson Meadows.’ Not that he needed them, but they were there in case any of the higher-ups decided to drop by. Plus he had his Smith and Wesson .40 caliber pistol if anything happened along the way.
“Excuse me, officer?” Danny turned to find the couple from before had walked over to where he was currently securing his vehicle. They were both in their mid-thirties and had wire-frame backpacks strapped to them. It was the man who had spoken.
“Hi there,” Danny greeted the couple happily. “How can I help you today?” The man looked reluctantly at the woman beside him who, seeing the man’s hesitant look, elbowed him softly in the ribs.
With a sigh, the man turned back toward the ranger. “Look this is probably nothing,” The man apologized. “But my wife thinks she may have heard something like a plane having engine trouble yesterday evening near Granite Basin…” The man began, only to be interrupted by his wife.
“It sounded like a high pitched jet engine,” She seemed much more convinced of her story than her partner. “I heard it from inside our tent, and then suddenly, it just stopped.”
“It just stopped?” Danny asked, doing his best to humor the woman. He knew from experience that passing aircraft tended to sound different at altitude than they did elsewhere. As a result, they were often the subjects of false crash reports by novice hikers.
“Yes,” The woman nodded. “It didn’t fade away like they normally do. It was just there one second, and gone the next.” She snapped her fingers to illustrate the speed she was referring to.
“Did you hear an explosion, or see any smoke?” Danny asked. This time the man answered.
“No, she claims she saw something ‘small and white’ in the sky a few minutes after the sound stopped, but I didn’t see anything.” That comment earned him a dirty look from his wife.
“Well, thanks for the information,” Danny said as he tightened the straps on his own pack. “I’m going to be heading past Granite Basin on my way to Simpson Meadows so I’ll be sure to check it out for you.”
“Thank you so much….” The woman paused to read the brass nametag on Danny’s uniform shirt. “Officer Gordon.” She then gave her husband a triumphant glare, as if the ranger’s acknowledgement was somehow a major victory for her.
“Don’t mention it.” Danny said. As the couple continued on their way, Danny took one last look around before starting up the trail.
As he approached the trailhead, his attention was drawn to two red and white rescue helicopters that were visible in the distance; their pilots keeping the crafts in close formation as they passed over Granite Pass on their way to who knows where.
