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“That’s no way to go.”
“We can speculate later. Let’s keep going.”
After securing the rigging so it would hang off the end of the gondola and not get wedged against the crevasse wall, Sam and Remi took up stations on either end of the gondola and pushed in unison until the wicker bottom began sliding over the ice. As they neared the crevasse, they picked up speed, then gave the gondola a final shove. It slid the last few feet, bumped over the edge, and disappeared from view. Sam and Remi ran forward.
“Always trust your instincts,” Remi said with a smile.
The gondola sat wedged between the crevasse’s walls about a foot below the edge.
Sam climbed in and, careful to avoid the mummies, walked the length of the gondola. He proclaimed it solid. Remi helped him back up.
“Every home needs a roof,” she said.
They walked the plateau together collecting pieces of the Bell’s aluminum exterior large enough to bridge the crevasse, then began layering them over the gondola until only a narrow slot remained.
“You’ve got a flair for this,” Sam told her.
“I know. One last touch: camouflage.”
Using a bowl-like chunk of the Bell’s windshield, they collected about five gallons of water from the runnel, which they poured over the gondola’s aluminum roof, followed by several layers of snow.
They stepped back to admire their handiwork.
Sam said, “ “Once it freezes, it’ll look like part of the ice sheet.”
“One question: why the water?”
“So the snow would stick to the aluminum. If our hunch is correct and we’re visited by another Z-9 tonight, we don’t want the rotor downwash exposing our shingles.”
“Sam Fargo, you’re a brilliant man.”
“That’s the illusion I like to create.”
Sam looked up at the sky. The sun’s lower rim was dropping behind a jagged line of peaks to the west.
“Time to hunker down and see what the night brings.”
With their supplies either stuffed into the duffel or buried in the snow, Sam and Remi retreated to their shelter. In the quickly dwindling twilight, they took inventory of the duffel’s contents.
“What’s this?” Remi asked, pulling out the lumbar pack Sam had snagged just before leaping from the Z-9.
“That’s a—” He stopped, frowned, then smiled. “That, my dear, is an emergency parachute. But to you and me, it’s about a hundred fifty square feet of blanket.”
They extracted the chute from the pack and soon they were huddled tightly inside a white fabric cocoon. Relatively warm and so far safe, they chatted quietly, watching the light fade into complete darkness.
They slowly drifted off to sleep.
Some time later Sam’s eyes sprung open. The blackness around them was complete. Wrapped in his arms, Remi whispered, “Do you hear it?”
“Yes.”
In the distance came the chopping thud of helicopter rotors.
“What are the chances it’s a rescue party?” Remi asked.
“Virtually none.”
“Thanks for playing along.”
