Title: Mayday! (1/4)
Date Written: 7/01/02
Author: JanetD
Rating: PG (language)
Summary: Nick's plane experiences serious mechanical difficulties.
Author's Notes: 1) For the purposes of this tale I have assumed that Nick is allowed to travel out of state as long as he receives permission from his probation officer first (which is how I think it really works, anyhow). 2) As I was finishing this story, I decided to do a little research on corporate jets. In doing so, I realized that these planes probably are required to carry a co-pilot, whereas in my story there is only a pilot. But I decided to just ignore that revelation. BTW, if you would like to see a picture of the jet I used in the story (and a sample interior - mine is a little different), check out
http://www.aircraft-charter-world.com/jets/lear45.htm
Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. The characters in this story are borrowed from the TV show "The Guardian". No money is being made from this story. Any resemblance of a character in this story to any real person living or dead is purely coincidental. Likewise, any resemblance between an organization depicted in this story and any such actual organization is purely coincidental.

The LearJet 45 cut cleanly through the air as it descended through the white puffy clouds. Its flight seemed effortless. The sleek twin-engine aircraft with the distinctive up-tilted wingtips was a beautiful sight against the pure blue of the sky. The eight passenger windows on the side of the long, narrow aircraft glinted brightly in the sunshine. It was a beautiful day for flying.

Nick Fallin's head was bent over the paperwork in front of him. He was deep in concentration despite the fact that the pilot had called back a few minutes before that they would be landing in Atlanta in about 20 minutes. Putting down his pen, Nick raised his head, and rubbed at the back of his neck. A couple seats ahead of him, on the other side of the aisle, he could see that one of his clients, Pete Reynolds, appeared to be dozing. Nick didn't know what Pete's partner, Ned, might be doing at the moment, as he was sitting in the rear of the plane. From what Nick had gathered, Ned was something of a nervous flyer. He chose to sit in the rear of the aircraft for safety's sake, and preferred not to converse during the flight. Otherwise, Nick knew he would be sitting up front with Pete. Peter Reynolds and Neddrick Barton had founded R & B Manufacturing back in the seventies. From what Nick had observed in the three years he had handled their account, they were good friends, as well as business partners.

Nick and the other two men were headed to Atlanta this Monday morning to start talks with Precision, Inc., a company that R & B was interested in acquiring. This would be the first meeting between the representatives of the two companies, but Nick thought chances were good that they would be able to work out a deal that was acceptable to both parties. Precision, Inc. was in the market for a buyer, and its acquisition would allow R & B to expand into a portion of the manufacturing sector that it didn't currently occupy. He believed it was a good fit all around.

Suddenly, Nick heard a loud thunk, and the whole aircraft shuddered. Almost immediately he felt the plane going into a steep dive. Oh, my God! he thought. He knew something had to be seriously wrong, and he felt his heart begin to race as adrenalin flooded his system. Are we going to crash? Oh God-Oh God! He fought to stay calm. He looked forward, and saw that Pete was now wide awake. He was calling up to the pilot to ask what was going on. Nick heard the pilot call back through the open curtain, Everybody stay in your seats. Fasten your seat belts! Nick quickly checked his lap belt, and found it was already buckled. As he was sitting on the right side of the plane he had a partial view of the pilot. He could see the man struggling to regain control of the aircraft. Then he heard him calling for help over the radio, Mayday, Mayday! This is Hamilton Charters 21. We are experiencing an emergency. Be advised we are in a steep dive. Mayday! This was followed by some technical jargon that Nick couldn't really follow, but there was no question that their situation was critical. Nick met Pete eyes then, and saw that the other man appeared to be just as frightened as he was. Glancing back over his shoulder, he saw that Ned was white as a sheet. He appeared to be almost in shock. Nick felt an impulse to comfort the other man, and said loudly, I-I-I think it's going to be okay. Just, just hang on. Ned acted as if he didn't even hear him. Nick turned back around, and peered out the window on his right. It seemed that the ground was approaching awfully quickly. He gulped and closed his eyes. Leaning his head back on the headrest, he began to pray.

Somewhere in the midst of his second or third prayer, Nick found himself thinking about his father. He should try to call him. If this was really it, he wanted a chance to say goodbye. He retrieved his cell phone from his pocket, and punched the speed dial sequence for his father's direct line. Nothing happened. He looked at the phone. It was dead. Damn! He had seen the battery was low last night, and had intended to switch it for a fresh one, but then had gotten distracted. He'd totally forgotten about it this morning in his rush to get to the airport. Shit! Well maybe one of the other two men had a cell phone he could use, but then...that was kind of selfish, wasn't it? They'd want to be making calls to their own family, if that was the case. Still, it couldn't hurt to ask. Has anybody got a cell phone? he said loudly. Pete immediately turned around, and said, No. Sorry, son. There was no response from Ned in the back of the plane, but Nick hadn't really expected one. Okay, thanks, he said to Pete. Dammit! That was that then.

Since he couldn't speak to his father, Nick found himself trying to picture what he might be doing right now. Probably sitting at his desk with his head buried in a brief or contract, he thought. If he hadn't been in such a perilous situation, he would have smiled at the thought. If there was one thing Burton Aloysius Fallin was, it was a hard worker. That had always been the case. With a mental shake of his head, Nick's thoughts turned back to his current predicament. He wondered how Dad would feel if he...if he didn't make it through this. He felt his eyes grow wet, envisioning his dad getting the news that he was dead. He knew it would break him up. Despite everything, he knew his father loved him...had always loved him. There had been times he didn't believe that. Or at least, didn't want to believe it, but now he knew it had always been true.

As Nick was completing that thought, he felt the airplane begin to level out. He opened his eyes, and looked out the window. Yes, he was right. They were still going down, but at a much, much slower rate of descent. After another moment had passed with no new signs of trouble, Nick's heart stopped pounding and his breathing rate slowed. He was just beginning to think that maybe they were out of the woods when the pilot yelled back, We're going down! I'm sorry. We're not going to be able to make it to the airport. Brace yourselves!

If Nick had thought his pulse was racing earlier, it went into triple time now. His heart was in his mouth, and tears began to fill his eyes. He didn't want to die. Not yet. It was too soon. He rechecked his seat belt again, and then took firm hold of the table in front of him. He saw that Pete was doing the same thing. Glancing back over his shoulder, he saw that Ned was still sitting as if in a stupor. Nick yelled at him to brace himself, but it did no good. The man did not move. Facing forward Nick looked out the window again. He couldn't really judge how far up they were, maybe a thousand feet, but they were descending into a large wooded area. That didn't seem good. And he couldn't see any sign of a town or houses. It looked like wilderness.

As he watched the ground approaching closer and closer, Nick began to see events from his life flash before his eyes. He saw his father at about forty years of age standing in their swimming pool, his arms open wide. He was saying, Come on, son. Go ahead. Jump! I'll catch you. Nick had been about four years old then, and had recently had a fright about the water. His dad was trying to get him back into the pool, and was trying to encourage him with one of their favorite games. Dad would stand in about four feet of water, and catch Nick as he jumped in from the side of the pool. Normally, Nick just loved this, but after his scare, he'd been reluctant to get back in the water. Burton had been trying for some time now to coax him in, without success. But this time Nick had finally gathered up his courage, and jumped. Dad had caught him, and then began to bob gently up and down in the water with him. Nick held on tightly at first, but gradually began to loosen his death grip on his father's neck. That's it. That's it, Dad had said with quiet encouragement. See? It's fine. You're fine, son.

That image was replaced by one of his mother bending down to hug his five-year-old self before leaving him at the classroom door on his first day of kindergarten. His mother had had tears in her eyes, but smiled at him tenderly before taking her leave.

From there he flashed forward another three years. He had just hit his first home run in Little League. He had been so proud. It was a bona fide homer too, not one that just skipped past the outfielder's legs. His ball had sailed clear over the kid's head. After he crossed home plate, Nick turned to look up at the bleachers, and found his mother. She was jumping up and down, and waving madly. His father wasn't next to her, though. Dad wasn't there. He had promised Nick he would try to make the game, but as usually happened, `business` had gotten in the way. Nick had felt himself deflate a little after that. He would have liked his dad to have seen his homer. Oh, well.

The scene changed again, and Nick was at his mother's bedside as she lay dying. She had been so thin by that point, so weak. Watching her draw each agonized breath had been torture. And then, she'd stop breathing, and she was gone. Between one second and the next - she was there, and then she was gone. He had been devastated, had thought he'd never get over the hurt, and he'd been right.

After that, the pictures came in even faster succession. It was a kaleidoscope of the people and places that had been important in his life. Nick felt tears rolling down his checks now. Please, God, I don't want to die! was his last thought before they hit the ground.

----+----

It was 11:30 in the morning, and bright sunlight was streaming into Burton Fallin's office at Fallin & Associates. Burton and senior associate Jake Straka were seated at the conference table discussing a new client that Jake had just brought into the firm. The client, Richard Merker--a big player in the Pittsburgh business community--was someone who had been on the F&A radar for some time now, so Burton was pleased with Jake's coup. The two men were talking about how best to meet Mr. Merker's immediate legal needs when a knock came at the door. Come in, Burton said, and looked up to see his assistant Sheila sticking her head in the door.

Mr. Fallin, I'm sorry to disturb you, but there's a Mr. Shelton from R & B Manufacturing on the phone. He says it's urgent that he speak with you.

Burton nodded. Okay, Sheila, put him through. He got up from the conference table, and circled around behind his desk. A look of concern appeared on his face as he reached to pick up the phone. Nick and the two owners of R & B had left that very morning to fly down to Atlanta. R & B was considering making an acquisition of a company based there, and this afternoon was the kick-off for those talks.

Jake had stayed seated at the table after Sheila's announcement, but looked on with interest as Burton put the phone to his ear.

In just a moment, Burton heard an unfamiliar voice come over the line. He had never met Bradley Shelton, but knew he had recently become a vice-president at R & B. He had been recruited from an out-of-state competitor.

Hello, Mr. Fallin?

Burton thought he detected strain in the man's voice, and answered uneasily, Yes, this is Burton Fallin.

Mr. Fallin, we haven't met. I'm Bradley Shelton, a vice president here at R & B.... Mr. Fallin, I'm afraid I have some very bad news. We were just informed that the plane that your son and Mr. Reynolds and Mr. Barton were taking to Atlanta dropped off the radar about half an hour ago. There's been no contact with the plane since. I'm afraid.... They think the plane must have crashed. I'm very sorry.

As he had heard the words dropped off the radar all the blood had drained from Burton's face. As Mr. Shelton finished speaking, the senior Fallin groped behind him with one hand, and located the arm of his chair. He dropped down into it abruptly.

Mr. Fallin? Shelton was saying. Burton couldn't reply at first. His mind was whirling. The plane has crashed? he thought. Oh my God, Nicholas!

When Jake had seen Burton turn pale and seek his chair, he had gotten up, and walked over to stand in front of the desk. Now he watched Burton with deep concern.

Mr. Fallin? Are you there? Shelton said.

Yes, yes, I'm here, Burton managed to get out. His vision was blurred by the tears that were filling his eyes. Do they know what happened?

We were told that the pilot had issued a distress signal shortly before the crash. Some kind of catastrophic mechanical failure, apparently. The plane had gone into a rapid descent, but the pilot was able to regain partial control shortly before they disappeared off radar. He had told the tower he was going to have to ground the plane.

Burton closed his eyes for a moment. When he opened them again, he said in a stricken voice, When will we know something more?

They have aircraft up now to search for...for any signs of wreckage. The plane was about 60 miles out of Atlanta when it went down. So I imagine it won't take the search planes too long to reach the area.... Do you have a pen? I can give you the direct number for the Head of Operations at the Atlanta airport. That's who contacted us.

Burton fumbled on his desk for a pen and a piece of paper. Go ahead, he said, and wrote down the number that Shelton read off.

Shelton continued, I'm, I'm really sorry to have to be the one to give you this news, Mr. Fallin. I pray that they will all come through this in one piece.

Thank you, Burton said slowly. Thank you for calling and letting me know, Mr. Shelton.

Well...goodbye, Mr. Fallin.

As Burton hung up the phone, he placed one elbow on the desk, and lowered his forehead into his open palm.

Jake said urgently. What is it? What's wrong?

A visible shudder ran through Burton's frame. He didn't look up as he answered in a pain-filled voice, It's Nick... They think the plane he was on.... They think it crashed.

Oh my God. Jake was dumbfounded. After a second he added, They think it crashed?

Uh-huh. The pilot radioed the tower that there was trouble, and that he was having to...to put the plane down. They've got search planes looking for them now.

Jake's shock and distress were clearly visible on his face. I'm so sorry, Burton.... Nick...my God. I'm so sorry.... Is there anything I can do?

Burton raised his head, and studied the younger man. Jake could see tears trailing down Burton's cheek. Drawing in a deep breath, Burton said, Thank you, Jake. I, uh, I have to call down to the Atlanta airport to see if I can, if I can get any more information. I'd appreciate it if you...if you could let Sheila know what's happened.

Sure. Anything else?

No. No. Thank you, Jake.

Jake said, nodding. He seemed reluctant to leave the room, but at last repeated again quietly, and slowly walked out of the office.

As the door closed, Burton rested his head in both his hands. Nick...Nick. Oh my God, Nick, he said softly, as his tears began to flow in earnest.

----+----

Nick Fallin opened his eyes. He was alive. He couldn't believe it. The plane had crashed, and he was still alive. It was a miracle. He raised his head slowly from where it rested on the table before him. , he said, as he felt a stabbing pain in his chest. He brought his right hand up and gently felt for the source of the pain. There was a three inch swath across the right side of his chest that was sore to the touch. He thought maybe he'd broken some ribs. Sitting up the rest of the way with care, he realized that his left arm was throbbing. It was lying on the table in front of him. Moving it experimentally, he let out another cry as pain jolted through his arm. Well that was a mistake, he thought to himself ruefully. Glancing out the window to try to determine their situation, he saw nothing but a tree-covered hillside. Suddenly he realized that the wing was not blocking his view. It was gone, apparently sheared off in the crash. Nick turned then to look around the cabin. He grimaced as the movement elicited another stab of pain from his injured ribs. He immediately saw that both Pete and Ned were slumped over in their seats. Soft moans were issuing from Pete's mouth.

Moving carefully, Nick used his right hand to unfasten his seat belt, and then slowly stood up. He had to hold on to the table to maintain his balance, as the floor of the cabin was now sloping sharply downward and to the right. The fuselage of the plane had come to rest partly on its side with the nose considerably downhill from the aft-section. This caused the floor of the cabin to slope steeply toward the front of the plane and, more moderately, from left to right.

Standing where he was for a moment, Nick realized that the pain in his chest was still there, but it wasn't the sharp agony it had been a moment ago. He found that it was painful to breathe, however. He then became aware of wetness on his right temple and cheek. He brought up his right hand, and felt tentatively around his brow. He quickly located a 3/4 inch gash where the eye ridge ended. Bringing his hand down, he saw blood on his fingers. He stared at the blood for a few seconds, then retrieved his handkerchief from inside his jacket. He held it to his head briefly, and then started over to Pete who was sitting two seats forward. Nick held on to the tops of the seats with his right hand as he walked, trying to maintain his balance on the sharply inclined floor. His left arm he held protectively in front of him, bent at the elbow, and resting lightly against his stomach. His arms and ribs still hurt like a son-of-a-bitch, but he knew there was nothing he could do about that now, and the other men in the plane needed his help.

The aisle between the seats was so narrow (probably no more than nine inches), that Nick had to turn sideways as he passed each set of chairs. Reaching Pete, Nick turned to face him, spreading his legs apart to brace himself against the angle of the floor. Realizing that his bloody handkerchief was still in his hand, Nick stuffed it into his outside coat pocket before reaching out his good arm to Pete. He touched him gently on the shoulder while simultaneously calling his name. Pete looked up, and attempted to focus on Nick. he said. Wha-what? We crashed didn't we? We crashed.

Nick said. We did. Are you hurt?

I, uh...yeah, my belly hurts...hurts something fierce.

Nick nodded. Sit back, he said gently. Let me see. Pete sat back with a groan. Nick looked down at Pete's shirt front, but couldn't see any sign of blood. He did see that Pete's seat belt was riding up around his middle, rather than in his lap, as it should be. Keeping his left arm tight against his body, Nick reached forward, and unbuckled the seat belt with his right hand, his ribs protesting as he did so. He gritted his teeth against the pain, and said to Pete, Can you unbutton your shirt? Pete groaned again, but complied. Nick saw there was a large red band across Pete's stomach where the seat belt had been. He thought it was possible that the misplaced seat belt might have caused some internal injuries, but he didn't speak this thought aloud.

Your head's bleeding, Pete observed. At his words, Nick realized that he could feel blood trickling down his check and neck. He pulled his handkerchief from his pocket, and wiped at the streak of blood, then held the wadded-up handkerchief against the gash, applying pressure to try to stop the bleeding. While he held the cloth in position, he asked, Are you hurt anywhere else?

My arm is sore. I think I must have banged it on something.

Can you move it?

Pete picked up his left arm, and flexed it. Then rotated it at the wrist, and wriggled his fingers. Yeah, it seems okay. Guess I just bruised it. Then he noticed how Nick was holding his own left arm cradled against his stomach. What about you? he asked. You break that arm?

Yeah, I think so, Nick replied. It's okay. Pete, I'm going to go check on the pilot. Then I'll come back and take a look at Ned. I think he's unconscious. You just sit tight, okay?

Okay, son.... Ahh! Dammit! Don't think I could get too far anyway. My gut feels like it's on fire.

Nick gave him a sympathetic look. I'm sorry. I'm sure help will be here soon. I'll be right back. With that, Nick tucked the handkerchief back in his pocket, then turned to face the front of the cabin. But before starting forward, he looked out Pete's window, and saw that the left wing had also been torn off the plane. It suddenly occurred to him to wonder whether they should be concerned about the possibility of fire. If the wings were gone, the fuel tanks might be breached as well, although Nick realized he had no idea where the fuel tanks were located on a small jet like this. Aviation was not a hobby of his. He sniffed the air, and couldn't detect any scent of smoke, but he might not be able to smell it from inside the cabin anyway. Nick decided the first thing to do was check on the other two men in the plane, and then worry about everything else. He knew they'd been about 20 minutes out of Atlanta when the trouble had begun. Hopefully it wouldn't take too long for help to arrive, but first things first.

Nick gripped the seat in front of him, and started down the sloping aisle toward the cockpit. As he approached he could tell that the windshield was gone. Stepping past the curtain that divided the cockpit from the cabin, he could see that the whole nose of the plane was smashed-in. The instrument panel had been shoved backwards so that it pinned the pilot in his seat. Turning to face the pilot fully, Nick blanched, and felt his stomach heave. The left side of the pilot's head had been crushed. There was blood and gray matter visible on the man's shattered skull. Breathing rapidly, Nick fought to control his churning stomach, and reached out his good hand to the pilot's wrist to feel for a pulse. There was no pulse. The pilot was dead.

Nick stood there for a moment in shock. He realized he hadn't even known the man's name. Barney, was that it? He thought maybe he had heard Pete call the pilot Barney. He looked to be in his forties. God, that was young to die. Glancing at the pilot's left hand, Nick saw there was a wedding ring there. So he had a wife. Maybe some kids. Nick felt a deep sadness fill him as he continued to stare at the man's wedding band. At last, running his right hand down his face, he pulled his thoughts away from the dead man. He still had to check on Ned.

Stepping back out of the cockpit, he winced at the pain in his arm and chest. Well there was nothing he could do about that. They'd all just have to hope that the rescue team got here soon.

As Nick approached, Pete looked up. Seeing the expression on Nick's face he asked quickly, What is it? How's Barney?

Nick hesitated, and then said, He's dead, Pete.... I'm sorry.



Nick nodded, his face reflecting his extreme distress. Something must have come through the windshield. I don't know.... There wasn't anything there now, but his head...his head had been crushed.

Pete nodded, then grimaced in pain, and clutched at his stomach. When he was able to speak again he said sadly, He was a good man, Barney. You know, he has a wife and a couple of kids. He shook his head regretfully.

Nick nodded again, frowning. He glanced back at Ned, and saw he was still motionless. Pete, I'm going to go on back and check on Ned now.



Nick walked back the four seats to reach Ned. Walking uphill was not as treacherous as the downhill descent had been, and he found he didn't have to hold on to the seat backs to maintain his balance. However, he found himself grabbing them despite that in order to help pull himself up the steep incline. When Nick reached Ned he observed him closely. He was still slumped over in the same position Nick had seen him in earlier, his head resting at an awkward angle against the wall of the cabin.

Nick said loudly. Ned, can you hear me? There was no response so he reached out a hand to Ned's chin, and lifted up his head. The man was clearly unconscious. Leaning the older man back in his seat, Nick gave him a light slap on the cheek, but there was still no response. He reached up, and raised Ned's right eyelid. The pupil contracted normally. Letting the right eyelid drop, Nick raised the left lid. The pupil was dilated. He knew that wasn't good. It was a sign of a serious head injury. He let out a large sigh, and then brought his index finger up to rest on his compressed lips. There wasn't anything he could do to help Ned either. It was extremely frustrating.

Nick walked back up to Pete, and told him that Ned appeared to have a serious head injury. Pete was visibly upset by this news. He and Ned Barton had formed R & B Manufacturing some twenty-five years ago. In all that time they'd never had a serious disagreement. People often said the two of them were thick as thieves. Pete found himself offering a pray that his good friend and partner would be all right.

Pete, I'm going to go forward, and see if I can get the door open. Get a better idea of what our situation is.

Okay. Good idea, Nick. You do that.

Reaching the door, Nick examined the ten-inch handle. He was sure you pulled the handle to the right to open the door, but quickly glanced at the diagram affixed to the door panel to be sure. Yes, he was correct. He was thankful that the handle did open to the right, as it would have been much more difficult to turn the handle to the left using only his right hand.

Moving closer to the door, and turning his torso to the left, Nick grasped the handle, and pulled. He let out an involuntary gasp of pain as the bruised muscles in his chest protested the action. Holding his broken left arm closer to his body, he bent over, absorbing the pain. After a moment, he straightened, and looked at the door again. The handle was now pointing straight up. Nick reached his good hand out toward the door, and pushed. The door moved, but it was heavy, and due to the angle in which the fuselage had come to rest, Nick was having to push the door uphill. He moved forward, placed his right shoulder against the door, and shoved hard. The door moved outward, and came to rest in a fully open position.

Grasping the door frame with his right hand, Nick leaned out as far as he could to get a look at the surrounding area (this caused the pain in his chest to intensify, but he ignored it). There was nothing but trees as far as the eye could see. The plane appeared to have come down in a fairly young grove, as most of the trees looked to be no more than eight or ten inches in diameter. The path that the plane had plowed through the stand of trees was clearly visible. It made an ugly scar across the landscape. Nick sniffed the air, and couldn't catch any hint of smoke, but there was a strong gassy odor that he knew must be aviation fuel.

Deciding there was nothing else to see, Nick pulled his body back into the plane, and walked back to where Pete still sat motionless. The older man's eyes were closed, but he opened them as Nick began to speak.

Looks like we're in the woods, Nick said. There are trees all around us.... I can't see anything but trees.

Pete nodded, but didn't speak. By the strained look on his face, Nick knew that the pain must be getting worse. He wished again that there was something he could do for the other man, but there wasn't. Stepping across the narrow aisle, Nick attempted to lower himself carefully into the seat. But with the angle of the plane and his broken arm complicating things, he lost his balance at the last moment, and sat down hard. His injured ribs and left arm both objected to this rough treatment, and Nick let out a sharp cry of pain.

Pete asked, concerned.

Nick answered, with a grimace. I think I may have a couple cracked ribs. But I'm okay. Leaning back in his seat, he closed his eyes, and tried his best to ignore the pain in his ribs and the renewed throbbing in his broken arm. He was not too successful.

For the first time since they'd come down, Nick found his thoughts turning to his father. He wondered how long it would be until Dad learned of the accident. He supposed that someone at the airport in Atlanta must have been in contact with the charter company by now, and that they would notify the people at R & B. He was sure someone at R & B would then call his dad. He knew the news would shake him up. After all, he'd have to assume the worst. How many people survive airplane crashes? Dad would have to know that the odds were overwhelming that he was dead. Nick felt his eyes becoming moist at that thought. He knew his father loved him. He had proved that on more than one occasion. And he loved his father, despite their often stormy relationship. He didn't want his dad to have to endure the crushing blow of thinking that his only child was dead, however temporary. Well, there was nothing he could do about it. He would just have to hope that the interval between Dad being notified of the crash and being told that he was alive was a short one. That led him back to wondering how long it would be before help arrived. He thought Pete must be wondering this too. On impulse, he decided to try to give him some reassurance on that front. Opening his eyes and looking in Pete's direction, Nick said aloud, I'm sure somebody will be finding us anytime now, Pete. But his companion didn't reply. Examining the older man more closely, Nick found that he had gone quite pale, his face twisted in pain. Help had to come soon, Nick thought. He knew if Pete was bleeding internally he could be dead before the emergency personnel had a chance to get him to the hospital.

----+----

About thirty minutes had passed since Burton had gotten the call about the plane going down. He had divided his time between pacing around the office and sitting with his head in his hands. His ashtray was filled with the butts of the four or five cigarettes he had smoked since receiving that ghastly call. Burton was going crazy waiting for more news. He knew that normally the chances of surviving a plane crash were slim, but he couldn't give up hope until he'd heard a definitive report that Nick was gone.

His boy gone? God, he couldn't bear the thought of that! As he had off and on for the past thirty minutes, Burton sent up a prayer that Nick would be found alive--alive and not critically injured. Please, God, he prayed, Please bring my boy back to me safely. Please.

After finishing the prayer, Burton found his thoughts bouncing back to the other thing that had been occupying his mind during this painful interlude--his regret that he hadn't been a better father to Nick, that he hadn't been able to be there for him after his mother's death in the way he should have been. He knew he could never have taken Anne's place in Nick's life; that would have been impossible. But maybe if he had tried to get closer to the boy, tried harder to get past the hurt and resentment Nicholas had felt over his parents' divorce, things would have been different. Maybe he and Nick could have had a real father/son relationship all these years, instead of being trapped in this stilted dance of awkward courtship. It was incredible when you thought about it, but in some ways, Burton felt he didn't know his son at all, and he imagined Nick felt the same way about him. They'd never been able to reestablish the bond that had been ruthlessly severed by the divorce. It was the biggest regret in Burton's life, this semi-estrangement from his own son.

He was abruptly brought back to the moment by the ringing of the telephone. His heart began to pound as he picked up the receiver. he said.

Mr. Fallin, it's the Atlanta airport, Sheila said. Before Burton could say anything, she had transferred the call to his line.

Burton said breathlessly.

Mr. Fallin, this is Bret Connors again. We've located your son's plane in the Chattahoochee Nat'l Forest about 60 miles north of Atlanta. The fuselage is intact. That's all I can tell you at this point, but we've already got a chopper with a medical team in route to the location, and they should arrive in another 10 or 15 minutes. We'll let you know what they find as soon as they get on the ground.

Burton was nodding as fresh tears flowed down his cheeks. Thank you, he said quietly. I'll be waiting for your call. Thank you, Mr. Connors.

I'll call the second we know anything, Mr. Fallin. I promise you that. Goodbye.

Burton replied. Hanging up the phone he leaned back in his chair, and put a hand over his eyes. In a few seconds there was a knock at the door, and Sheila appeared. Her eyes were as red-rimmed as he knew his own must be. Did they.... What did they say? she asked quietly.

Burton let out a long, weary breath, and rubbed at his face. They said they found the plane. The fuselage is intact, but they don't know if there are any,.any survivors yet. Connors said they should have people at the site in about fifteen minutes. So...we should know in another fifteen minutes, either, uh, either way.

Sheila nodded, and backed quietly out of the door, closing it softly behind her.

Fifteen minutes, Burton thought. Fifteen minutes, and his life might be turned upside down forever. Fifteen minutes, and he might lose a part of himself that he had never fully possessed. Fifteen minutes.

----+----

Nick heard the sound of an approaching helicopter, and sat up abruptly. He regretted it immediately, as it resulted in a sharp, stabbing pain in his ribcage. After the pain had passed, he said eagerly, Hear that? It's a helicopter. They're here, Pete. Nick peered out his window, but nothing was in view. He stood up slowly. As he did so, he realized that Pete had not responded to his announcement. Nick had glanced briefly at the other man prior to speaking, and had seen his eyes were closed, but he had just assumed he was dozing. Now Nick reached across the aisle, and took Pete's arm. He shook it gently while calling his name. But still he did not respond. Nick realized then that he must have lost consciousness sometime since they had last spoken. he said aloud. Come onnn! Hang in there, Pete. Don't quit on me now. Sighing in frustration, and forgetting his injured ribs, Nick brought his right hand up as if to run it down the back of his head. He stopped short of his goal, wincing in pain. In his anxiety over the older man's condition, he had forgotten that any significant movement of his right arm was likely to cause him pain.

Cursing silently, Nick turned his attention to trying to determine if anything was visible outside Pete's window. He couldn't see anything, but the chopper noise was louder now. Carefully, Nick began to make his way to the open door, praying that there would be medical people on board the chopper that could help his injured companions.

----+----

Burton started when the phone rang. Grabbing for the receiver, he said, , and when the male voice came on the line he realized that Sheila had just transferred the call through without notifying him beforehand. He blessed her silently while focusing on what Connors was now saying.

Mr. Fallin, wonderful news! Your son's alive. He's hurt, but apparently not critically. They tell me he walked off the plane under his own power.

Burton was overcome with emotion, a smile breaking out on his face while tears streamed anew down his cheeks. Nicholas was all right! Thank you, God! Thank you! Burton struggled to force words past the lump in his throat while still marveling at the news. His boy was all right! He could barely believe it. Thank you, Mr. Connors, he got out at last. What about the others?

The pilot was killed, unfortunately--head trauma. The other two passengers survived, but appear to have pretty serious injuries. We won't really know their status till they get them to the hospital.

I see. What hospital are they taking them to?

Grady Memorial, here in Atlanta.

Can you give me the number?

Just a minute.

In the background, Burton could hear Connors calling out to someone to look up the number for Grady Memorial. In a moment, he was back on the line. Here it is. 404-616-4307. Got that?

Yes, thank you, Mr. Connors. How, uh, how long before they get them there?

I can't say for certain. It's about half an hour flight time, but they were still at the crash site when I last talked to them. You see, there was no proper place close by to land the chopper, so the helicopter hovered over the area while the rescue personnel were let down by rope. Now they're having to lift the victims up to the chopper in a wire gurney. I'm sure you've seen that done on television.... It's perfectly safe, just a little time consuming. I imagine they should be finishing up that operation very soon now. I would say your son should be at the hospital in forty minutes, or less.

Burton was nodding his understanding, and now said, All right. Well, thank you, Mr. Connors. You've been very helpful through this whole ordeal. I want you to know that I appreciate it. Very much so.

You're welcome, Mr. Fallin. I'm glad that your son was able to walk away from this one. That's a real rarity in the aviation industry, you know.

I know. Believe me I know. Burton let out a nervous laugh. Well, thank you again, Mr. Connors. I'm sure you have other calls to make.

I do. Good luck, Mr. Fallin...to you, and your son.

Thank you. Goodbye, Mr. Connors.



As Burton hung up the phone, he wiped at the remnants of his tears with one hand. He stood up. He could barely believe the news. Nick had survived. It was a miracle. Thank you, God, he said below his breath. Thank you for saving my son. At those words, his tears started afresh, but he ignored them. Coming out from behind his desk, Burton crossed quickly to the door, and flung it wide open in his haste to tell Sheila the good news. Sheila looked up with a sad, apprehensive expression, but when she saw the smile on her boss' face, she smiled in grateful relief, and stood up. Burton rounded the desk, and grabbed Sheila in a big bear hug. Nick's all right! he said joyfully to his startled assistant. He's all right. He has some injuries, but they said he walked off the plane. Burton released Sheila, and stepped back. So he can't be hurt too badly, can he? he said, seeking reassurance.

I, I wouldn't think so, no.... What about Mr. Reynolds and Mr. Barton? How are they?

Burton's expression grew serious as he ran a hand across the top of his head. The news isn't so good there. They're alive, but their injuries were a lot more serious than Nick's. They said they won't really know what their condition is until they get them to, to the hospital.

I see, Sheila said. That's a shame. I hope they'll be all right.

Burton said. Then added regretfully, The pilot died.

Ahh, that's too bad, Sheila said sadly. Did he have a family?

I have no idea, Burton replied. Look, Sheila, I've got to go out for a little fresh air. Can you spread the news about Nick?



And, oh, make sure you tell Jake, okay?

I will.

Burton smiled at his assistant with genuine appreciation. Thank you, Sheila. You've been a rock through all this.

Sheila smiled in turn, but didn't say anything, fearing she'd get too emotional. So she only nodded.

Okay, then. Burton felt at his pocket, and realized that he'd left his cigarettes on his desk. He'd want a smoke when he got downstairs. I'll just grab my cigarettes. Ducking back into his office, he emerged seconds later with the pack in his hand. I'll, uh, I'll be back in five or ten minutes. I won't go far. If for some reason we hear anything else about Nick, you send someone to find me, all right?

All right. Sheila smiled again. I'm very glad that Nick is going to be okay, Mr. Fallin, very, very glad.

Burton nodded. I know you are, Sheila. Thank you. Exhaling a large breath, and running a hand over his scalp, he added, Well, I'll see you in a little while. Sheila nodded, and Burton turned and headed for the exit. Sitting back down at her desk, Sheila contemplated what a narrow escape both Fallins had had.

----+----

Burton stood on the sidewalk, smoking in long drags. It was really a beautiful day. Bright sunshine and 75 degrees. To think that Nick could have died on a day like this.... He shook his head, as if to banish the thought. He wished that man Connors had been able to give him more information on Nick's condition. He'd walked away from the plane, yes, but he could still have significant injuries. Broken bones, maybe. Possibly a concussion. He hoped whatever injuries Nicholas had he wasn't in too much pain. He didn't like to think of Nick being in pain.... But his son was alive, that was the important thing. He was alive, and in another (Burton glanced at his watch) thirty minutes, or so, he ought to be landing at the hospital. Then he'd call, and try to find out what Nick's condition really was, hopefully get to talk to his son. After that, he'd finally be able to put his mind to rest.

Burton walked back over to the building entryway, and stubbed his cigarette out in the ashtray above the trash can. In another couple minutes he would head back upstairs, but for now he just wanted to absorb the beauty of this day when God had answered his prayers, and spared his son.

----+----

Nick lay in a gurney inside the rescue helicopter with his eyes closed. His suit jacket and tie were gone. He still wore his shirt, but it had been unbuttoned to allow the paramedics to examine his ribs. His right sleeve was pushed up, and an IV dripped into his arm there now. Nick had a dressing on the gash at the edge of his right eyebrow, and a plastic splint on his left arm. The arm still ached, but the throbbing had pretty much subsided. His ribs, however, still hurt each time he took a breath. Pete and Ned lay not far away, several paramedics huddled around them. Nick could tell from their conversation that the two men were not doing so well. That worried him. But at least they were on their way to the hospital now. One of the paramedics had said they would be arriving in about 30 minutes, and that they were being taken to Grady Memorial, but that name didn't mean anything to Nick. Not counting the pilot, there had been six men that had come out with the chopper. Two firemen and four paramedics.

It had certainly been a one-of-a-kind experience being lifted into the helicopter on that wire-frame gurney. Nick knew it had to be safe, but he had still felt a thrill of fear as they had started the winch that brought him up the forty feet, or so, to where the helicopter was hovering. Once they had the gurney securely inside the chopper, one of the paramedics had undone the straps from around Nick's upper chest, waist, and calves, and then helped him to sit up. As he pulled himself up into a sitting position, Nick had felt a sharp stab of pain in his chest. It was the worst pain he had experienced yet. The blood had drained from his face, and the paramedic had quickly asked him if he was okay. Nick had told the man he just needed a second. After about 10 seconds, and with the paramedic's assistance, Nick had been able to stand up and step out of the gurney. With the paramedic walking beside him, he had made his way across to the empty gurney that sat on the other side of the cabin. This was a conventional gurney with wheels and retractable legs. As he walked, Nick located the gurneys that already held Pete and Ned. The other three paramedics were working over the two men. Reaching his destination, his paramedic helped him first to sit, and then to lay down on the gurney. After that, Nick had breathed a sigh of relief. There were just the two firemen left on the ground to retrieve, and then they would be on their way. The firemen would not be coming up in the gurney, however, but in a pair of britches'. A contraption of strong canvas that resembled an over-sized pair of shorts attached to a giant pair of suspenders' which were connected, in turn, to the winch on the helicopter. A person stepped into the britches', tightened them around himself with industrial-strength velcro straps, and then held onto the suspenders' as he was lifted into the air. It looked rather comical, but was very effective.

They had left for the hospital some ten minutes ago now, so Nick judged there was about twenty minutes left in their flight. He had felt a growing discomfort for the last several minutes, but hadn't been able to figure out what the source was. Now he realized it was because he felt this strange pressure in his chest, and he was having trouble catching his breath. He was breathing rapidly, but he still felt like he wasn't getting enough oxygen. It was like the way he felt sometimes at the end of particularly strenuous run. He tried taking a couple of deep breaths, but found he couldn't. He could only draw in maybe half the air he normally would when inhaling deeply. He knew something must be wrong, and he started to get scared. At the moment, all four paramedics were gathered around the two critically-injured men. No one was with Nick. He decided he had to get someone's attention. Lifting himself up on his right elbow, and drawing the biggest breath he could manage, he said as loudly as he could (to be heard over the noise of the chopper blades), I, I think I need some...help over here. He had to stop halfway through for another breath. I can't breathe right.

Luckily the paramedic closest to Nick heard him, and came quickly over to his side. What's the matter, he asked, taking Nick's wrist to measure his pulse.

I can't.... I can't catch my breath.... Something, something's wrong. Nick was grasping for breath at the end of each sentence.

Okay, okay, just try to relax, Nick. Let's find out what's going on here, the paramedic said reassuringly. From his name tag, Nick saw that the man's name was Frank Whitley. Whitley laid his hand gently on Nick's chest and began to count his respirations. Nick tried to relax, but it was impossible. After the paramedic was finished he said, Draw in a deep breath for me, as deep as you can. Nick complied, and once again was stopped far short of filling his lungs.

Turning and reaching behind him, the paramedic brought forward an oxygen tank and mask. Here, let's put this on you, he said. It'll help. Nick brought his head up, and Whitley slipped the elastic strap of the mask behind Nick's head, being careful not to come in contact with the dressing next to his eyebrow.

That better? Whitley said. Nick nodded. He still felt short of breath, but it was much better. The paramedic started taking his blood pressure. When he was through, he pulled over the radio, and put a call into the hospital. Nick listened as Whitley described his current situation and vitals. He heard Whitley say he suspected a punctured lung. Nick's heart rate sped up at that. That couldn't be good. After a couple minutes, the paramedic turned back to Nick.

Okay, let me tell you what the doctor thinks is going on here, Nick. He thinks one of your broken ribs has punctured your lung. That means every time you breathe, a little air is being expelled out of your lung, and into your chest cavity. That air has built up so that your lungs are having a harder time inflating. You understand what I'm saying? Nick nodded. Okay. Now what we need to do is insert a needle catheter, a very narrow tube, into your chest so that we can allow the trapped, pressurized air to escape. Once that's in place, it should keep any additional air from building up. That way, you should be okay until we get you to the ER.

Nick didn't like the sound of this needle catheter, but kept silent. Whitley began to dig in his supplies, while at the same time calling over a second paramedic to assist with the procedure. In a moment, the two men were ready. Whitley said in a reassuring manner. We're going to sterilize the area, and then insert the needle, all right? Nick nodded. The second paramedic began wiping at his chest with a soaked cotton swab. In another moment, Nick saw the syringe in Whitley's gloved hand. This is going to hurt, Nick, but it will be over quick. Ready? Nick nodded, closed his eyes, and gritted his teeth. He was wishing he was anywhere else right now. He felt the puncture as the needle entered his chest, and the paramedic was right. It hurt like hell.

Okay, that's it, Nick heard Whitley say. He opened his eyes, and saw a tiny white tube protruding from his chest. There was something sitting on the end of the tube, but Nick didn't know what it was. The other paramedic, Pochek, was still wiping at the blood around the puncture sight. Whitley looked closely at Nick. Does that feel better? he asked, as he laid a hand on Nick's chest to count his respirations. Nick realized that it was somewhat easier to breath now. Not that his breathing was back to normal, by any means, but he didn't feel the same pressure in his chest. He nodded, and said behind the mask. Whitley finished counting his breaths, and rechecked his blood pressure and pulse. He relayed these statistics to Pochek who was now on the radio with the hospital. In another few seconds, Pochek passed along some additional instructions from the doctor, and then got off the radio.

Okay, Nick, Whitley said. I'm going to sit right here with you until we get to the hospital. You let me know if you start having problems again. All right?

Nick nodded, and closed his eyes. He wanted to try to get his mind on something other than his breathing, and he thought that might be easier to do with his eyes closed. He thought briefly about his dad. Shortly after the rescue crew had arrived, Nick had asked how soon they could let his father know he was okay. Pochek had said that someone at the Atlanta airport was in touch with their relatives, and they would be notified of the condition of their respective family members as soon as the paramedics could finish their initial assessment, and relay the information back up to the chopper pilot. Nick had been relieved to learn that in just a little while his dad would know he was okay.

Nick's mind wandered from one topic to another during their remaining time in the air, although each thing was connected to the accident in some way. He wondered whether Pete and Ned were going to pull through, and couldn't help but speculate what impact it would have on R & B Manufacturing if one, or both, did not survive. He wondered whether the pilot, Barney, had had a good life insurance policy, and how old his kids were. He hoped they were at least in their teens. He wondered how long he'd have to be in the hospital here, and how long it would take for his injured ribs and broken arm to heal. He'd never broken a bone before, but he thought for things like a broken arm or leg, people generally had to wear a cast for 6 to 8 weeks. He wasn't looking forward to that. What a nuisance it would be. Would the sleeves on his suits fit over a cast, or not? He thought not. He wondered what kind of damage had caused the plane to crash, and how long it would take the NTSB to make that determination. It occurred to him that if the pilot's family wanted to sue they would probably have a very strong case for wrongful death against either the charter company or the airplane manufacturer, depending on what the accident investigation revealed.

Other thoughts flickered through Nick's mind in rapid succession, until at last he was interrupted from his musings by the touchdown of the chopper on the roof of the hospital. As the door was opened, and the paramedics set about the task of getting the injured men out of the helicopter, Nick realized that, despite his present circumstances, it was really very good to be alive.