She listened for the distinctive whap-whap sound of a helicopter or the distant drone of a plane, looked for smoke that might indicate a campsite, but…there was nothing. Shouldn’t someone be searching for them by now? Justice had sent out that Mayday call, surely someone had heard it and contacted the FAA, or whatever agency needed to be contacted. She didn’t care if the ASPCA was contacted, so long as someone was searching for them.
The utter silence was unnerving. She didn’t expect car horns or flares arching overhead, but some indication there were other human beings on the planet would be welcome.
The lack of sound and movement, of activity that would have given her hope, only reinforced her profound sense of isolation. How would they survive the night up here, with no water, no way of making a fire?
By continuing to do what she was doing, that was how. She had a ton of clothes they could use as cover, they had at least a little food to eat, and there was moisture in the snow. She also had Justice’s knife—
Oh, crap. Where was the knife?
Still in her pocket, she thought, relieved. With it, she could manage to rig together some sort of shelter for them, enough, at least, to keep them out of the wind. The first item on her to-do list, though, was to feed Justice.
Climbing back into the plane, she finished removing all of her clothing from the suitcases, setting aside the candy bars when she finally found them, as well as the packs of wet wipes she’d packed. When her suitcases were finally empty and the trash bags containing her clothes were on the ground, by flipping the lids back she had enough clearance to drag the opened cases over the tops of the seats. The bags could be put to some use; she’d figure out later exactly what that use would be.
Going back to Justice, she knelt beside him and thoroughly examined the contents of the first-aid kit. Besides the space blanket there were scissors, which would come in handy; lots of gauze pads and adhesive bandages; a roll of tape; cotton balls and cotton tips; a tube of antibacterial salve; both alcohol and iodine wipes; antiseptic towelettes; plastic gloves; OTC painkillers; and—oh, joy—sutures. There was a bunch of other stuff, like finger splints and a twelve-hour lightstick, but her immediate concern was that the kit contained the basics to treat the cut on Justice’s head. It did, which meant she had no excuse if she chickened out. To further seal her fate, there was a First Aid Guide.
She flipped through the guide, looking for any instruction on setting stitches. There was, complete with illustrations. Unfortunately, the first line said “Thoroughly flush wound with water for five minutes, then gently wash with soap.”
Yeah, right; she didn’t even have water to half-ass flush the wound with, much less “thoroughly.” She’d have to do the best she could, and pray there was no debris in the cut.
Wait a minute. She had mouthwash!
Quickly she pulled open the trash bag containing her toiletries and pulled out the zipped plastic bag in which she’d put her shampoo and mouthwash. Taking out the mouthwash, she turned it over and read what was in it, from which she learned nothing because she wasn’t a chemist. On the front, however, it said it killed germs. It was wet, it killed germs, and she had almost a pint of it.
She also had the plastic bag in her hand. Quickly she filled the bag with snow, zipped it closed, and placed it on a rock. If she was lucky, while she was dealing with Justice’s injury, the sun would warm the rock enough to melt the snow, and they would have water. Not much of it, true, but every little bit counted.
With everything she needed laid out on one of the trash bags, she was about to wake Justice when she realized that he probably had mouthwash, too. Going to his bag, she unzipped it and found his shaving kit stuffed on top of, as she had expected, a single change of clothing and underwear. The kit had two zippers; the one on the left opened to reveal a hairbrush, a travel-size bottle of shampoo, and about a dozen condoms. Men. The right side held a toothbrush, a tiny tube of toothpaste, a disposable razor, and a travel-size bottle of mouthwash.
“Damn it,” she said, sighing. He’d already used the mouthwash at least once; about half of it was gone, and there hadn’t been much to start with. Half an ounce wasn’t going to make any real difference, so she left the little bottle in place, zipped up the shaving kit, and replaced it in his bag.
She’d have to do the job with what she had. She just hoped what she had was sufficient to keep him from developing a raging infection.
First, though, she needed to get some sugar into his system, and then, well, a couple of preemptive painkillers were probably called for.
Carefully she removed the shirt that covered his face; even though she knew what he looked like, she almost flinched when confronted by the reality. His entire face was covered with dried blood, caked in his eyes, his ears, his nostrils, the corners of his mouth. Even worse, his forehead was swelling, pulling the edges of the cut wide. She hadn’t anticipated the swelling, and winced at the idea of stitching him now. The swelling would probably get worse, though, so waiting wasn’t an option either.
“Justice,” she said, reaching under the layers of clothes to touch him. “Wake up. It’s showtime.”
He inhaled, a quick, deep breath. “I’m awake.”
His voice was stronger, so maybe she’d made the right choice to get him warm before she tried to do something about that cut.
“I have a candy bar here. I want you to eat a couple of bites, okay? In a little while, if we’re lucky, we’ll each be able to have a swallow or two of water. Then I want you to take two ibuprofen. Can you swallow them without water? If you can’t, I’ll put some snow in your mouth, but we can’t eat much snow because it’ll lower our body temps. Uh, on second thought, maybe you should take the ibuprofen first, let it get started working.”