Bond heard the snow crunch under his feet as stepped out of the wreckage. Trying to ignore the sharp pain in his abdomen, he sighed quietly and glanced around him. A preliminary scan of his surroundings registered a quiet sort of chaos. Debris had flown everywhere. Flames snaked out of the windows of tipped cars, providing a violent contrast to the would-be peaceful landscape. Working purely off of excess adrenaline from the chase that had concluded only seconds before, Bond tiredly picked up a jog towards one of the cars. Looking inside, he expected to see a familiar face. But he was only met with disappointment and frustration when he found the car empty and blood coating the leather of the backseat.
"Shit," Bond whispered, "There goes my only lead."
Slowly picking himself up from where he had been leaning against the car door, he decided to take a longer, more attentive look at his environment. There wasn't much to see; excluding the broken remains and the plane, of course. Without its wings or its tail, it looked more like a glorified bobsled been a military-grade BN 2 Islander.
Bond took a deep breath, feeling the adrenaline finally leave him. The cold air around him seemed to chill him to the bone, and he began to wish he had brought a bigger coat. His thin fleece jacket just wasn't doing the job anymore, and he knew he should get to a place with, at most, a decent heater. Immediately, Q came to mind. He was probably sitting at the desk in his hotel room, warm and comfortable. Everything Bond was not.
He decided that meeting up with Q in his probably toasty hotel room was in his best interest at that moment, because getting hypothermia while trying to save the world is quite an inconvenience. So, taking one last look at the mess he left behind (and saying a mental sorry to the person who's barn he had left a strangely plane-shaped hole in), He shoved his hands in his pocket and prepared for the long walk back to civilization.
