Chapter Four – We can't give up hope
By: recon228

It was a little after sunrise the following morning when Kim woke up, or rather was woken up by a distant thumping sound. She had been half-awake for a few minutes already––just long enough to become aware of the fact that Ron was awake next to her, digging through the contents of the survival kit––but the distant beating of rotor blades quickly snapped her to full attention.

"Helicopter…" she mumbled, sitting upright and scanning the horizon for the approaching rescue helicopter that was, no doubt, coming to pick them up.

Hearing his friend stir, Ron turned away from what he was doing and glanced over at Kim. He still looked a bit pale, but the weakness and delirium from the night before seemed to have passed during the night.

Kim turned her attention away from the looming mountain peaks and gave Ron an excited grin. "It's a helicopter, do you hear it?"

With the increasing echo of rotor blades bouncing off the surrounding mountains, it was hard not to hear it.

"Yeah, it's over there," the freckled-blond replied in a monotone voice, pointing off toward the south.

Sure enough, on the other side of the granite-strewn basin, Kim could just barely make out the form of a large olive-drab military helicopter cruising over the distant mountain ridge.

Kim was about to grab the rescue blanket and began waving it frantically when Ron spoke up. "Don't bother trying to signal them, Kim," he announced. His voice was ominously hollow, like that of a person who had given up hope. "I already tried that with the last two… and they were much closer." He turned to face his friend and Kim could clearly see the despair in his eyes.

Watching helplessly as their rescuers disappeared behind the mountains, Kim turned back to Ron. "There were others earlier?" she asked, as her despair began transforming into aggravation which, unfortunately, was quickly directed toward her partner.

"Yeah, about fifteen minutes ago two red-and-white Hueys flew by in formation a little north of that last one. They all seem to be heading in the same direction."

"And you just let them go by!" Kim's eyes were beginning to burn with anger.

"No, Kim!" Ron snapped as his temper quickly began loosing its fuse as well. "I tried to signal them with that!" He gestured toward a small signal-mirror lying at his feet. "But they either didn't see it…" his voice dropped several octaves, "or they didn't care."

"Ron, don't talk like that," Kim said with a frustrated sigh. She couldn't believe he was pouting at a time like this. "Why would they not care?"

"Because they're not looking for us here," he stated calmly.

Ron's statement hit Kim like a punch in the stomach. "Why would you say that?" she asked, unable to figure out where he had come up with an idea like that.

"Remember the warning light that Lieutenant Steeves told us was for the ELT?" Ron asked.

Kim nodded, remembering the warning light that had indicated the device was off-line.

"You do know what an ELT is, don't you?"

Kim shook her head. She hated to admit it, but she had no idea what an ELT was. After Steeves had reassured them it didn't affect the plane's flight she had dismissed it. Then when the explosion occurred…

"An ELT is an emergency beacon that transmits a plane's exact location when it crashes. It's the only accurate method search crews have to locate the crash site."

Kim's face paled slightly. "I'm sure there are other methods," she responded. It was more of a prayer than a statement.

"Yeah," replied Ron, pulling a small tin from the survival kit and examining it before grunting and tossing it back into the case. "They can follow the pilot's flight plan."

"What's a flight plan?"

Ron stepped away from the metal kit and turned to face his naive friend. "Every pilot, military and civilian, who's going to be flying more than fifty miles, is required to construct and file a flight plan before they leave the airport. It maps out the course they're going to be flying, and if they go down and don't have a functioning ELT on board, the search crews use that path to coordinate their grid-search.

"Normally that wouldn't be a problem… but we weren't following our flight plan when we crashed," he added quietly.

"How do you–" Kim began to question, but was quickly interrupted as Ron continued speaking. His tone was becoming gradually harsher the longer he spoke.

"Before we left I took a look at the plan," the blond explained, no longer making eye contact with his friend as he spoke, instead focusing on the barren granite basin where they currently resided. "It had us flying north through Death Valley National Park before turning northeast and crossing Nevada." He turned his gaze back to Kim. "I don't know if you've noticed," he added, waving his arm in the air absently, "but this is not the desert…"

"Well maybe–"

"Don't you get it Kim?" yelled Ron. "They're not gonna find us here! They're looking for us in the desert, not in the mountains!"

His words shot into Kim like venom-tipped arrows and the teen felt as if her chest was tightening. Ron had never yelled at her––or anyone––like this before!

With another dejected sigh, he reached down and palmed one of the circular tins from the survival kit; tossing it at the redhead as he continued to speak. Kim caught the tin and looked down at its label. The words Meal, Combat Individual (C-ration) were printed across the top and side of the antique can.

"I wouldn't expect to wait it out here either," he said as his voice started returning to its earlier depressing tone. "Those things expired in 1978, so they're completely useless."

Kim tried to get a word in edgewise, but Ron was on the verge of a full-blown rant. Tossing two more expired C-Rations on the ground, the teen reached into the kit and pulled out what appeared to be a black plastic rifle stock.

"Here's another useful bit of equipment." He held the object up for Kim to see. "They gave us a rifle stock, but no rifle! I guess that pretty much rules out our options of hunting for food… not that either of us would know how to skin an animal anyway." He tossed the stock on the ground next to the expired food and sat back down against the rotting log.

Kim watched silently as her normally up-beat partner leaned his head back and closed his eyes, letting a prolonged sigh escape his lungs. She knew she had to say something to get him out of his funk and back into the game. It wasn't Ron's fault he was acting like this; it was just an emotional overload and, quite frankly, she was surprised she was remaining so calm herself. She also knew that, whether his findings were true or not, Team Possible stood no chance of survival unless both members were operating at the top of their game. She had to do or say something…

…she just didn't know what.

"H-hey Ron?" Kim asked nervously after almost a minute of silence.

"Hmm…" the teen grunted, refusing to look at her or even open his eyes.

"Where did you learn all that stuff about ELTs and aircraft flight plans?"

"I read about it in a book," Ron announced dismissively.

'This is so lame,' she told herself, but it was all she could think of at the moment. "You mean you, Ron Stoppable, actually read a book?" she asked in the most innocently teasing voice she could manage.

The redhead prayed that her pathetic joke would somehow take hold on her partner and bring his 'Ron-ness' back into the hollow shell sitting before her.

Ron opened his eyes and slowly turned his head toward Kim with a look of slight shock and confusion plastered on his face.

Kim was about to apologize for her rude and uncalled-for ribbing when she saw a familiar grin began to spread across the blonde's freckled face. Slowly the grin turned into a full smile as the boy broke out into uncontrollable laughter.

Seeing the 'old' Ron returning, Kim broke into laughter as well; not from the joke, but from the relief of reuniting Team Possible back to its former functioning self.

---

Daniel 'Danny' Gordon had been a member of the National Parks Service for almost ten years. Of those ten years in the NPS, six of them had been working as a Park Ranger and of those six years, the past four had been spent stationed in the Kings Canyon National Park near Fresno, California.

He still loved his job and couldn't see himself doing anything else in life, however in the past few years, Danny had been finding himself dealing with more and more 'city' problems than he wanted to.

Though he was considered by law to be a federal peace officer, thus giving him the authority to carry a firearm and effect arrests, he had never really considered himself a 'cop' like some of the guys he worked with. Danny chose his job because he wanted to help people and be in an outdoor environment, not bust criminals.

As a native of Mendocino County in Northern California, he had grown up among sprawling redwood forests and, as a result, found himself 'at home' in the mountainous backcountry. His love for the job, however, had begun to wane in recent months due to the influx of city crime that was staining his beloved park. Previous crimes that consisted of petty thefts, auto burglaries, and the occasional aggravated tourist were quickly turning much more deadly.

Around the turn of the millennium, the vast unoccupied backcountry and under-staffed personnel that made up America's National Parks had begun to attract many big-time drug dealers who found the forests and isolated parking areas ideal for large acre narcotics harvests and mobile meth labs. There had been more Park Rangers murdered since 1999 than in the over one hundred year NPS history preceding it. In fact, according to a recent Justice Department study he had read, Federal Park Rangers were fifteen percent more likely to be killed or injured on the job than agents from the Drug Enforcement Administration. Still, despite the added risks, Danny wouldn't give it up for the world.

One of the things that he loved most about the job was being given the privilege of manning the isolated Simpson Meadow Ranger Station for two weeks at the beginning of every spring while the seasonal backpackers began to arrive.

That morning he had just parked his truck and was preparing his gear for the thirty-five mile hike through Granite Pass to Simpson Meadows when he encountered a pair of returning backpackers.

With the summer season quickly unfolding, it was once again becoming common to find adventurous backpackers venturing into the half-frozen backcountry for up to a week at a time before turning around. It was because of this that Danny didn't pay much attention to the couple and focused instead on his gear.

He checked that he had an appropriate amount of food for the trip there––The cabin was pre-stocked with enough food for two people to live off of for a month––as well as plenty of clothes, maps, and books to pass the down-time. Hefting the pack onto his back, Danny took one last look into his Jeep and frowned as his eyes fell upon the cold black form of the patrol rifle mounted between the seats of his 4x4 patrol car.

In accordance with a recent memo passed down from Washington DC, all Park Rangers were supposed to carry their AR-15 assault rifles with them when they ventured into the backcountry; just as an added precaution should they encounter any drug growers. Danny, however, had despised the guns ever since the NPS purchased them from the US Army in the mid-90's and felt it made him look too menacing to hikers he encountered. People tended not to stop and chat when the park ranger had a machine gun slung over his shoulder.

'Besides,' he told himself, 'there are more than enough guns at Simpson Meadows.' It wasn't like he would need them anyway, but they were still there in case any of the higher-ups decided to drop by and conduct a spot check. Plus, he had his service-issue Smith and Wesson .40 caliber pistol if anything actually happened along the way.

"Excuse me, officer?"

Danny was just getting ready to lock-up his Jeep when a voice behind him attracted his attention. He turned to find the couple from before had walked over to where he was currently securing his vehicle. They were both in their mid-thirties and had wire-frame backpacks strapped to them. It was the man who had spoken.

"Hi there," Danny greeted the couple happily. "How can I help you today?"

The man looked reluctantly at the woman beside him who, seeing the man's hesitant look, elbowed him softly in the ribs. With a sigh, he turned back toward the ranger. "Look this is probably nothing," he said apologetically, "but my wife thinks she may have heard something like a plane having engine trouble yesterday evening near Granite Basin–"

"It sounded like a high pitched jet engine," his wife interrupted. She seemed much more convinced of her story than her husband. "I heard it from inside our tent, and then suddenly, it just stopped."

"It just stopped?" repeated Danny, doing his best to humor the woman. He knew from experience that passing aircraft tended to sound different at high altitude than they did at a lower elevation. As a result, they were often the subjects of false crash reports by novice hikers.

"Yeah," the woman nodded. "It didn't fade away like they normally do. It was just there one second, and gone the next." She snapped her fingers to illustrate the speed she was referring to.

"Did you hear an explosion, or see any smoke?" asked Danny.

"No," the man answered, "she claims she saw something 'small and white' in the sky a few minutes after the sound stopped, but I didn't see anything."

That comment earned him a dirty look from his wife.

"Well, thanks for the information," Danny said as he tightened the straps on his own pack. "I'm going to be heading past Granite Basin on my way to Simpson Meadows so I'll be sure to check it out for you."

"Thank you so much," the woman paused to read the brass nametag on Danny's uniform shirt, "Officer Gordon." She then gave her husband a triumphant glare, as if the ranger's acknowledgement was somehow a major victory for her.

"Don't mention it," replied Danny.

As the couple continued on their way, Danny took one last look around before starting up the trail. Approaching the trailhead, his attention was drawn to two red-and-white rescue helicopters that were visible in the distance. Their pilots were keeping the crafts in close formation as they passed over Granite Pass on their way to who knows where.

To be continued...