Title: Chaos Theory, Chapter 4

Author: Stepf

Disclaimers and the like can be found on the first chapter.

Thanks to everyone at Maple Street, you guys ARE the BEST. So many review for so few chapters, you guys rock, it really inspires me to try and write faster. Of course to my Beta, M, she rocks my world and Dev, who asked, I provided.

AN: Again, everything is factual here, except I'm really not sure the proper NTSB procedure for small plane crashes, just pretend there. I just hope the FBI doesn't come knocking on my door wondering why I was searching how black boxes work. And you know, they really don't work like I thought.

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Chapter 4: Detour

A loud howling noise rips her from the confines of sleep and she sits straight up, pulling herself out of Jack's warm embrace. She's certainly heard animal noises before in New York, but this is something she's never heard before. It's a deep growl-like howl of an animal on the hunt.

Her movements awaken the man behind her, and she stands up slowly, allowing him space to stretch. She then takes in the scenery around them in the light of dawn. Not much to see..trees and then more trees, with a plane in the middle of it all. Taking a few steps out, she investigates their position; they seem to be in some kind of clearing, surrounded by pine trees and other assorted local flora. She doesn't see anything resembling a trail marker near them. Sighing, she returns to the plane to find Jack folding the blankets back up into the bag.

"How are you feeling?" she asks, touching his upper arm. He didn't look as pale as the day before.

"Better.what time is it?" he asks, and moves out into the open with her.

"Seven AM."

"Good -- plenty of time before dark. Any idea where we are?" he asks and moves closer to her, peering over her shoulder at the map open in her hand.

"Well..no. There are several rangers' stations, but only two have emergency services: Windigo and Rock Harbor on the west and east sides, respectively." She points at a spot on the map. "Rock Harbor has a boat service too. But since I'm not sure where we are, I don't know which direction we should be heading."

Sighing, he looks around them. "Well, that's east, obviously." He points to the sun. "Since we don't know which side is closer, let's head south until we hit one of these trails that run the outside of the island. Hopefully that will give us a better idea."

She nods and pulls out the compass that was in the survival pack she had been fortunate enough to find. It contains the compass, another map, flares, and waterproof matches in the leather bound case. She points and they look one last time at the plane before heading out.

They haven't gotten 100 yards from the plane when Sam takes in a deep breath and starts coughing violently as the ice cold air hits her lungs, causing a slight spasm. Jack immediately stops and rushes back to her, placing one hand on her back lightly.

"You ok?"

"Yeah...Lesson one. Don't breath deeply -- it hurts." She smiles slightly at the end of the statement so he knows she is fine.

"Noted."

He gently grabs her arm and they start slogging through the snow. Sam takes the time to observe the environment around her as they walk. The snow, while abundant, is luckily mostly packed down and not too difficult to walk on. She can see what looks like a large ridge- maybe a small mountain- somewhere to their slight right. Other than that, it's mostly snow and trees and then more of the same. She can see how easily it would be to get lost out here; there's not much to keep you from walking in circles.

"It's beautiful out here," she finally comments.

"Yes, but dangerous. Don't forget that."

" I won't. I'm not a child, Jack." Instantly, she regrets her harsh tone.

He seems to ignore it though. "I know. I just don't want anything to happen. We shouldn't split up, no matter what. Ok?"

"Agreed."

Again Sam ventures another glance at the mountain to her right. Pursing her lips, she stops and pulls the map out of the bag, unfolding it quickly. She is so engrossed in her reading that she doesn't realize that Jack hasn't stopped walking until she hears him let out a loud grunt followed by a whiffing sound.

Snapping her head up, she looks around alarmed when she realizes Jack is no longer in her sight. "Shit"

Quickly, but cautiously, she follows Jack's footsteps and finds him starting to sit up in the snow. "You ok?"

"Yeah, I tripped over something."

Turning her head, she sees an orange box sticking out from the snow. Approaching carefully, she looks at the object, instantly recognizing it. "It's the black box!"

"Seriously?" He stands and brushes snow off him.

"Has to be. Right color, right size.damn, how the hell did it get all the way over here? We've been walking for two hours. That's.close to 5 miles. I wonder if it's transmitting," she says with a hopeful expression.

He easily reads her expression. "No, probably not. Sam, we need to assume we are on our own here and find a way out. We'll starve to death if we try and wait, or the animals will get to us."

"Yeah, I know." Quietly, she abandons the bright orange box and stands back up, following him again to the south.

Houghton County Memorial Airport 10 am

"Anything from the black box?"

"Nothing, sir."

"Keep looking."

"Yes, sir."

Captain John Spade turns around and runs a hand through his graying hair. This isn't going to be easy. He had been dispatched by NTSB HQ the night before from Selfridge National Guard base to Houghton County in search of a small plane presumed down. He had quickly taken control of the small airport -- the NTSB had a habit of doing that -- and had his own command post in one of conference rooms. Normally he wasn't dispatched so quickly to a small plane crash, but considering the occupants, someone in Washington had decided to send him up earlier than usual. He had been in the small town since 5 pm the previous evening and was already running out of ideas.

They had already reviewed the flight path and the radar of the plane. It had swung north per the traffic controller's instructions to wait for the clear to come into Houghton from the north. But something had happened shortly after it turned towards Canada. The pilot managed to get out a mayday and one last lat and long before radio communications ended and the plane disappeared without a trace into the great north.

"The great north of what though?" he mutters to himself, staring intently at the map of northern Michigan that included Lake Superior and Canada. They could be anywhere, and there were no reports of a plane down in or near Houghton. Which left the lake, a 31,000 square mile expanse of water and miles of wilderness on the peninsula.

Noise outside the office catches his attention and he walks out to see two new people standing in the control center. One is a shorter black woman who just radiates control and calmness, the other a tall man with short brown hair, his expression somewhere between angry and concerned. Approaching them, he holds out a hand to the woman first.

"Captain Jack Spade. Can I help you folks?"

Both the newcomers give him a strange expression before the woman takes his hand and speaks in a light New York accent.

"Special Agent Vivian Johnson, this is Special Agent Danny Taylor." They take turns showing him their IDs.

Now it's his turn to look confused at the agents. "I'm sorry -- I wasn't aware the FBI was assisting on this case."

"We aren't.exactly, Captain. I'm sure you are aware of the occupants of the plane."

"Of course. Agents Jack Malone and Samantha Spade." As soon as he says her name, he understands the strange expressions from earlier. "Just a coincidence."

"I'm sure."

He tilts his head at them; they hadn't answered his question. "Well, if you aren't 'exactly' assisting on the case, then why is the FBI here?"

Danny finally decides to speak up. "Agents Malone and Spade are in our unit."

"Ohhh, I see. So you flew out here from New York to make sure us hicks in the Midwest weren't dropping the ball?" He is annoyed.

"No, we flew out here because we are worried about our colleagues. And thought if you needed a hand, we could help. We specialize in missing persons; Washington cleared us."

"Obviously," he sighs, all the while thinking, 'well you don't specialize in downed planes'. This is not what he needs, but there is something about these people that makes him want to help them. Maybe it's because under Agent Johnson's cool exterior, he sees the pain.

"Can you tell us what you have?" Vivian asks.

Sighing again, he eyes them warily before filling them in on the past 18 hours.

"Black boxes?" wonders Danny.

"Haven't located them yet."

"Haven't located? Isn't there a beacon--"

"Yes, but the underwater locator beacon hasn't gone off yet."

"What does that mean?"

"Let me explain...the ULB only goes off when the submergence sensor is set off by water. When it is, an ultrasonic pulse is emitted from the beacon every second for 30 days. It can't be heard, but can be detected by acoustical locating devices."

Danny looks at him with an exasperated expression. "Which means what exactly?"

"One of three things: they landed on ground, they landed in the water and are still floating, or.." he pauses for a moment at the most unpleasant scenario. ".or they are at the bottom of Lake Superior and we just can't hear them."

tbc.............