Alaskan Crash

~~ Kobuk, Alaska, 2075 ~~

The woods were quiet, still except for a gentle breeze from the Northeast that caused the pine trees to rustle and sway slightly. It was getting late in the season, but Kevin knew it would be all right. He'd been laying up meat for several months already. It helped that he'd spent an absurd amount of his accumulated Marine Corps salary on upgrades to the cabin - solar cells to power extensive battery networks that kept key appliances running, a satellite dish that would allow a little communication with the outside world even though it was rarely used, and a piece of equipment he would be using today.

Sighting down the barrel of his rifle with the scope, he brought the unsuspecting deer into his sights. He watched it for several moments, then took a breath and let it halfway out as his finger found the trigger of the rifle. Slowly he squeezed the trigger, the custom mechanism something he'd modified himself. When it hit the required force there was a crack and the deer went down. Smiling to himself, he slowly got down out of his portable tree stand, then dismantled it. Walking away from the deer about thirty more feet, he came across one of the more useful tools that he'd purchased - a solar-powered, battery-operated, semi-tracked wagon. Tucking the tree stand into a slot he'd made on the side just for it, he started the wagon and it followed him with the remote control as he walked out to the deer.

He gutted the deer efficiently, having done so several hundred times in his life, then hefted it into the wagon before slowly walking with the wagon following back toward his cabin. The sun was getting lower in the sky. It was almost nighttime, and it would be getting cold soon. Cold, he chuckled to himself. It was fucking Alaska. It was cold all the time. Cold, barren, and hardly anyone was stupid enough to live here. Perfect for a soldier that didn't have any business being around people anymore.

It was a forty-five-minute walk back to his cabin and it was almost dark by the time he got there, a single, photosensory light beckoning him home. Leading the wagon out behind the cabin to his dead shed, he unhooked the meat hook that was attached to a pulley hanging from an I-beam connecting two poles that had been sunken into cement. He hooked the head of the deer and used the pulley to lift it until it was hanging free. Then, sliding a massive metal bucket underneath the carcass, he moved the wagon out to the back of the house again where he locked it up, closed and locked the dead shed, and went inside. He quickly built a fire in his cast-iron stove and the house warmed up easily. Leftover bear stew was the order of the day and he fixed himself a small pot on the stove.

The cabin wasn't much. A small living area that had a single small couch with one of those pull-out beds and an end table with an LED lamp. That area had a kitchen off of it with a small breakfast table, the two areas sandwiching the cast iron stove. There was a single bedroom with a small bathroom and that was all there was above ground. Only a single other door was in the cabin with a set of stairs leading down. Below was where he kept all of his freezers and storage of supplies. His other useful purchase was a small smelter to make his own ammunition and save some cost that way. He had gunpowder flown in once a year in the summer and scrap lead and he used them to refill his food-generating supplies - bullets.

Two weeks later, his radio beeped, "KL7BQV, Kevin Billings. This is Dead Goose Launch flying H170 Black Drop Mesa. I'll be landing in about thirty minutes with your monthly delivery. Come back." The voice was not the normal grumpy male he expected. Instead, it was a cheerful female.

He walked over, his head cocked to the side slightly and picked up the microphone for his Yaesu HF Civilian radio. "Dead Goose Launch, KL7BQV. I read you five by five. Thirty minutes out. The landing area is clear and winds are currently West at 5 miles. How copy?"

"Loud and clear, Landing area spiffy and the wind is West at 5. See you soon."

That was most definitely not Denny. But, supplies were supplies and so he slid on his overalls and boots and coat and then trudged out back to get the wagon, making sure it was charged up. In addition to its own small solar charging pad, it plugged into the main batteries that drew from the heated cells on the top of the house. With a full battery, he set the remote to follow and he began the walk to the area that he had cleared away for such deliveries. That had not been a fun month. There are not many things Kevin enjoyed less than pulling tree stumps, but he'd gotten it done and filled in with dirt taken from elsewhere. Now he had a decent little, mostly-level spot for a chopper to land in where it didn't have to worry about its rotors hitting vegetation. The only other adornment: a tall pole with an orange wind-sock.

He arrived ten minutes earlier than schedule and sat down on the rim of the wagon to rest. Through his thick beard and black stocking cap, he stared up at the sky. The clouds were thick. It was starting to get colder. Of course, September was like that here. He'd see snow by the first of October again, he was sure of it.

Caitlan eased into the clearing, she circled the spot as she had been directed, then put the helicopter down without a hop. She killed the rotors and hopped out, pulling the back open to climb inside. "My my, cherry pie, cool drink of water such a sweet surprise." She moved behind the crate, dropped her shoulder, and started shoving it forward. It rolled slowly out of the back of the helicopter and then onto the ground, she pushed it further forward. "And final delivery is done, next up, home for brews. Hidey Ho Neighbor!" She greeted enthusiastically when she caught sight of him.

He blinked several times, then got up and walked toward the chopper and the crate. "You're looking a bit strange, Denny. You feeling all right?" he asked in an even voice, neither upset nor 'flirty'.

"Ah well, you know, sometimes you get older, then bam, everything changes, and poof you're a chick." She flashed him a peace sign, "I'm Caitlan. I'll be your delivery pilot for a bit. Dennis the Menace has regretfully retired to the sunny swamps of Florida."

Kevin pondered that for a moment, then grunted, "Bastard." Leading the wagon over to the crate, he bent, flexed, and lifted it smoothly, dropping it into the wagon. "Thank you, Caitlan, the new Denny. I guess I'll see you next month then? You flown one of these in the snow before?" he asked, pointing at the chopper.

"Yes, sir," she said with a snappy salute, "I can fly in wind, rain, sun, and snow." She smiled, then turned to start locking the back of the chopper up once more. "And yeah, you'll be seeing me, every month for at least the next..." she trailed off, "Two years maybe? Dunno yet depends on the old man."

He nodded. "Well then," he paused, "I'm nobody's sir anymore. It's just Kevin now."

"Alright, whatever your pleasure be," she said, then pulled out a tablet from her leg pouch, "Old man said for me to make sure you got everything, so... I'll wait here while you check the goods and can sign off."

He unlatched the crate and peeked in, glancing at the items inside. Everything looked about right, so he relatched it and then took the tablet to sign it. "Thank you, Caitlan," he said, carefully handing the tablet back.

"Happy to serve," she smiled, checking it, then tucking the tablet back in her pouch. "Have a good month." She climbed back into the helicopter as he led the powered wagon away, and waited for him to be well clear before she fired it back up and headed back to town.

Every month, she was right on time, bright, cheerful, and happy. She landed and unloaded, he checked the cargo and hauled it away and she left. Then January came, and he got a call, "KL7BQV, Kevin Billings. I'm coming in a couple of days early. There's a nasty white-out snowstorm kicking up and I'm going to need to drop my load and skedaddle. How copy?"

"KL7BQV, Caitlan I copy. HAM traffic's been talking about the storm for the last couple of days. You all right?"

"Peachy keen with a hankering for some pie," came the quick response, "Oh for fucks sake. Hang on, I'm going to come in hot." She dropped the radio and he heard the sound of clattering and then the howl of the wind. When he looked out the window, he could see the helicopter almost dancing, then it dropped into the cleared space with a thud. "SON OF A MULE-SOAKED CAMEL!"

He got the wagon and raced out there, the wagon struggling to keep up. "CAITLAN!" he called in a low, booming voice as he ran. "Are you all right?!"

She had killed the rotors and hopped out of the helicopter. She turned and slammed her shoulder into the side of the helicopter with a grunt, "Peachy, just fucking peachy." When he got closer he could see where a large branch had slammed through the passenger glass of the helicopter. She had a scratch on one cheek that was oozing blood when he got closer. "Hi, Kevin!"

He sized up the situation, looking her over, then moved quickly to her side, feeling along her limp arm. "This is going to hurt. A lot," he warned.

She took a deep breath, closed her eyes, and nodded, "Do it." He straightened out her arm, before gripping tightly and giving it a quick jerk and slight twist, rolling it back into its socket with a loud pop. "FUCK!" She dropped her head, breathing in through her nose and out through her mouth, "That stung."

He looked at the chopper. "You aren't going anywhere in that," he said. "I'll get the crate, and we'll go back to my place. We've got maybe...," he trailed off looking up at the sky and squinting, "thirty minutes before this area's a total white-out."

"Sorry," she offered softly. "Didn't mean to crash your bachelor pad." She unlocked the back of the helicopter so they could get the crate. She dropped the rollers so the crate could be slid out, then walked further up to grab a backpack. "Thanks."

"Of course. Sorry about your chopper," he said softly as he picked up the crate and put it on the wagon.

"Shit happens. I'll need to call my Dad so he can get insurance done. I'll probably be able to limp it back down to the station after the storm passes. I've limped worse."

He nodded, taking her bag and putting it in the wagon as well. "Come on. It's about a fifteen-minute walk to the cabin."

"On your six," she responded, moving to follow them, not wanting to take a chance on falling, her shoulder hurt like a bitch but she wasn't going to complain.

With her walking slower, it was just over fifteen minutes. He opened the door for her and set the bag inside, then the crate. "Go on in and make yourself at home. I'm going to put the wagon away and I'll be right behind you."

"Yes, sir," she murmured, easing into the house. She waited a few minutes then dropped to a knee to rest her forehead on the other one to breathe through the pain.

He was back in about five minutes and closed the door. Looking at her and then the couch, he murmured, "You do realize that there's a fully functional couch right there. You don't have to kneel on the floor..."

"Need a minute," she grunted out. "If I sit, I won't be able to get back up. If I can't get up, I can't get shit done."

"What exactly are you planning on getting done?" he asked. "You're not fixing the chopper today. If they're right, you're looking at three days minimum on this storm. You might as well rest. I can take care of things well enough. Been doing it a few years now..."

"Need to call my Dad so he doesn't worry," she explained, "Need to strip out of the jacket and make sure the branch didn't hit anything vital on me."

He looked at her for a moment, then nodded slowly. "All right. Get up," He held out his arm to her.

She used her good arm to brace herself as she stood. He helped her up and then gently eased her coat off of her. It was shredded at her lower back and when he looked, she had glass puncturing her clothes. "Looks like side window rupture. Shards in your back. Nothing too deep. Wait here." He went to his bedroom and pulled out a large toolbox, bringing it back out. Inside it was all kinds of medical equipment. He looked at her for a moment. "Pull them out. Clean the wounds. Stitch if necessary. Want some painkillers?" he asked.

"No thank you," she stated then unbuttoned her shirt, she turned away so he had easy access to her back and side. "Here or in the kitchen?"

He pondered that, then nodded, "Kitchen's probably easier. Give you a counter to rest on too..."

"Alright," she took slow deep breaths, then walked to the kitchen, she managed to get the shirt off, "Cut the tank top if you need to. I've got another."

He nodded, washing his hands quickly and drying them before he began picking glass out of her back. He was at it for about ten minutes, though he did not have to cut her tank top to do it. He pulled a bottle of isopropyl alcohol out and got some gauze wet with it. "This is going to sting," he murmured, then started cleaning the wound. She grunted and hissed, leaning forward as her body shook from the pain. She breathed out slowly through clenched teeth and closed her eyes. "Sorry," he murmured as he worked, concentrating. Finally, the wound was cleaned and he sat back and looked at it. There was only one section, about two inches long, that would need stitches and he told her so.

She took slow deep breaths, then reached down and pulled off her belt, she folded it in half and put it between her teeth. "Go for it," she muffled out.

He had to admire the woman. She had balls. He got a sterile needle and medical floss and slowly began stitching up the wound, trying to keep the stitches tight and even so that the scarring wouldn't be as bad. He worked at it for about the next fifteen minutes before he finished, finally covering and taping the wound with gauze. "There you go," he murmured. "Would you like to call your father?" he asked. "Sat phone won't work in the storm, but the HF will."

She straightened up slowly, breathing out her nose, then removed the belt. It had distinct teeth marks on it. "Yeah, otherwise he'll start worrying."

He pointed to the Yaesu. "Have at it. You've got plenty of power. Even if the storm lasts a couple of days. I got the good batteries for up here."

"Thank you," she picked up the mic, closed her eyes for a moment, and wiped her face. She took a moment to adjust the frequency, then pressed the button. "Dead Goose Launch, this is Caitlan Morgan using station KL7BQV, Kevin Billings. Calling the old man. How copy?"

"Cait? What's going on?"

"Dead bird on the land. Storm inbound. Everything's five by five here. Will do an exam and see if I can limp her home after the storm. How copy?"

"Loud and clear, are you OK?" the older man's voice sounded worried, "Do I need to come to get you? Were you injured?"

"Negative on all counts, Kevin Billings is providing berth and hearth until after the storm passes. Hunker down there and stay warm."

"Copy that, KL7BQV. The storm is moving over your location now. Be safe, daughter."

"Will do, Papa." She set the mic down, then slumped slightly, a soft whimper of pain escaping.

He looked at her for a long moment. "OK. Let's try this again. Painkillers?" he asked.

"Yeah, that'd probably be good," she murmured. "Didn't want to take anything before I talked to him. I get... weird."

"You want the OK stuff or the good shit?" he asked.

"The OK stuff," she murmured. "The good shit will have me dancing around the cabin naked singing Christmas carols."

He nodded, turning toward the toolbox again. "Good shit it is," he murmured, pulling out a bottle of over-the-counter ibuprofen. Turning back to her, he sized her up and then said, "Take three of these," handing her the bottle and getting down a glass to fill it with water from the sink. "Yes, I know they're two hundred each and the bottle says two. The hospital will give you a thousand emm-gee capsule coming in with wounds like these. Take three and then in forty-five minutes, tell me how you feel, we can give you up to two more in four hours," he stated, handing her the water.

She popped them back and drained the glass of water, "Thank you," she murmured. "I appreciate the help."

"Not going to leave you stranded. Not up here for sure. You don't leave...," he paused, then murmured, "people behind." For a brief moment, his eyes looked haunted. Then it passed and he began cleaning up the toolbox, putting everything back in its place. "Let's get you laying down and I'll put the crate away. He finished and took it into the bedroom. "Come on... You're in here."

"You're cute and all, but we just met, and I don't think I'd be giving a five-star performance right now."

He sniffed. "I said you... were in here," he looked back at her shaking his head, but there was a small smile at the corner of his lips through the beard and mustache.

"I'm not taking your bed," she held up her good hand, "Yes, before you state that you're giving it to me I comprehend that, but then I would have to 'take' it. Or if you want to make it pretty, 'accept' it. That's not fair to you."

His jaw tightened. He'd almost forgotten the myriad reasons he no longer spent time around other people. This was one of them. "All right. The couch folds out. It's a harder mattress, you're going to be a lot more uncomfortable, especially wounded like you are. You'll likely tear your stitches so that we have to do this all over again tomorrow, and you'll almost certainly sleep for shit." He paused, then gestured. "Or the bed here is quite a bit more comfortable and the bathroom is right there. Your body will relax and heal better and you can get back to your dad sooner so he doesn't worry." He looked back at her with a raised eyebrow. "Your call."

She opened her mouth to argue, then closed it, "Thank you for giving me your bed," she finally said softly. Then her nose crinkled, "I don't like your logic."

He barked out a laugh, shaking his head. "Neither did the eighty-three Marines that served under me over fifteen years or so," he scoffed. "They got over it. You will too."

She stuck her tongue out at him, "Well, then since the bed on the couch is so horrible, maybe you should just share the bed with me." She turned and walked to her backpack, to grab it with her good hand.

He walked out and started pulling the cushions from the couch. "That's OK. The word is that the performance is sub-par. I only bother with five-star performances for my... entertainment. I'm picky in my old age," he snarked.

She rolled her eyes, then walked into the bedroom without responding. She headed for the small bathroom and cleaned up, changing into a long-sleeved t-shirt before crawling into bed. She lay on her stomach and closed her eyes. Deep breaths in, deep breaths out, and sleep.

She felt a lightweight next to her on the bed and shifted her head. It was a thick, folded-up blanket. "In case you get cold in here tonight. If this thing doesn't keep you warm, nothing will." He turned to the door and mostly closed it before turning his head back. "Caitlan?"

"Mmm?" she hummed quietly in question, not lifting her head.

"I'm glad you weren't hurt worse, and...," he trailed off for a long moment. "I'm sorry. I don't... do people very well anymore. If I wake you up in the night, I'm sorry. Just... shut the door."

"You've nothing to apologize for," she responded simply. "You're doing just fine, and if you wake me up I'll just go back to sleep."

He nodded, closing the door further, but not all the way, that way the stove could still send heat into the room, but she had some privacy. He took out another one of those blankets and set it by the fold-out bed, then got under a much lighter one and closed his eyes. Maybe this would be the night he had peace. Maybe.