Chapter 6
One plus to staying at Ian's house was the fact that it was quiet at night. David imagined in the summer there would be sounds of crickets and critters moving about in the dark, but in late winter/early spring, with the windows closed, it was eerily serene. He lay awake listening to the house crack and the central heat kick on. The air pushed out of the heat register in a soft whoosh with a slight whistling. As he focused on the sound, the whistling increased, accompanied by a distinct sound of an engine, a jet engine if he wasn't mistaken. He sat up straight and cocked an ear. Whatever it was, it sounded as if it were nearly overhead.
David pushed the covers off his legs and rushed to the window. As he looked up, a large shape slipped over the house. Red lights blinked on the wings. It was flying way too low, enough to shake the house with its jet wash as it passed overhead. It was a small plane, probably no more than ten seats in the cabin, but it could have been a two seater and it wouldn't have made any difference. The plane was going down quickly. He turned to the other side of the bed where Rick should have been sleeping, but it didn't look as if he'd occupied it yet. The hands of his watch glowed 12:30. He shoved his feet into slippers, shuffled off to Ian and Leesa's room, and pounded on the door.
"Ian! Wake up, man!"
He heard a dull thud, and the door flew open. "Dave, did you hear that?"
"Yeah, I saw it. It was a small plane, about the size of a Lear jet, I think."
"It went down."
"Yeah."
"It didn't blow up, though." Rick stopped at the top of the stairs. "I was out stargazing when it went over, and I watched it. It's over that..." He turned until he faced the right direction and pointed. "That way."
"But it didn't burst into flames or anything?" Ian slipped into a pair of jeans behind the half closed door.
"No. I say we go out there and see what we can do."
"I'm with you, Rick. Dave?"
"Yeah...hang on, I just gotta get some clothes on." David hurried to his room and took very little time getting himself prepared for hiking through the mud and snow. He trotted downstairs and found Leesa and Jackie dressed and waiting with Rick, Tony, and Ian.
"Okay, let's do it, but I think the girls should stay here." Rick declared as the men took flashlights from Ian.
"Why?"
"Jackie, Rick's got a point. There are bears out there and other wild animals. They start to come out of hibernation about this time of year." Ian crossed the room and opened up a cabinet, pulled out a rifle, and loaded it. "This is for just in case."
"Hey, what about us, don't we get any hardware?"
David was always a little concerned about his actors when they worked with fake firearms on the set, but they were all trained in their use and how to handle them safely. Tony seemed a little too eager to get the real thing in his hands, especially a rifle that, in this case, was loaded for bear.
"Sorry, I've only got the one. I don't hunt with it, it's just for...well, times like these. Come on, let's go." They went through the French doors to the deck, and Ian spoke to Leesa, "Lock up and call if you see anything." She nodded, and they went out into the night.
"How far away did it crash," David asked as he swept a flashlight beam around the trees.
"Just beyond the timberline over there," Rick answered and pointed to the grouping of evergreens in the valley. They slipped through the mud that hadn't frozen yet and kept walking. It was strange that there was no smoke or fire to act as a flare. The fact that it was quiet, too quiet, also got their attention. As they neared the trees, they noticed the tips of some of the evergreens were broken.
"We're on the right track," Ian said and pushed forward into the woods.
It didn't take long for them to find wreckage. Pieces of it led them to the fuselage. A mangled wing hung precariously in an oak tree, and the other stuck out of a gash it created in the dirt while clipping off some smaller trees at the soil line. Metal pieces, parts of seats, cargo, and interior trim lay scattered around the final resting place.
"Wow, what a mess." Tony exclaimed, slightly out of breath. He still wasn't used to the higher altitude. While Ian's property wasn't extremely high in the mountains, compared to Miami, it was enough to cause someone used to sea level to huff a little while exerting himself.
"The cockpit is crushed." Rick reported as he picked his way through the debris. "The pilots are dead."
"Jeez. Could anyone have survived this," David questioned as he swept the side of the plane with the light, looking for a way to get into the cabin. "Hey, the fuselage is cracked over there, right about where the wing used to be."
They moved forward to the fissure in the hull. Ian pushed his flashlight through and swung it around. "Okay, we've got one, two, three, four...four passengers in there."
"Are they alive?"
"Not sure yet." Ian tried to squeeze through the narrow space, but it was impossible. "We need something to widen this."
"I've got an idea," Rick replied as he found a branch so thick, it took all of them to pick it up. They pushed it through the crack half way. "Okay, now everybody push on this end. If we can bend the metal, maybe we can get inside."
They tried, but even with the four of them it was no use. "I have a better idea," Rick said as he glanced at David. "Dave can fit through there while we press on the opening and try to give him a little more room, and then he can open the emergency exit from inside he plane."
"Sounds like a plan," Tony agreed. "Let's do it." They pushed as hard as they could and when the metal gave way a little more, David was able to slide inside. Within seconds he had the emergency exit open and they entered the destroyed cabin.
"This guy's alive," Ian announced as he checked the pulse point on a man about his age. "He's got a head injury, and this side of the plane is crushed in on these guys. Can someone give me a hand here?"
"These two are alive, a man and a woman," David announced from the row ahead on the right side of the plane that was less damaged, and close to where they entered it. "Hey!" He snatched his hand back from the hand that grabbed him. "He's conscious!" He flashed his light at them, and they both raised their hands against the glare.
"Do you mind?"
"Sorry! I...I just didn't expect anybody someone grabbing me, that's all." He eyed the two. "What are your names?"
"Michael." The dark haired man blinked. "Michael Westen." He turned his head and glanced at his companion. "This is Fiona Glenanne. Hey, Sam...Jesse... are they okay?"
The actors' and creator's jaws dropped as they stared at the couple and glanced at each other. Finally, Rick spoke with a tone of disbelief. "You're Michael Westen."
"Yes." He dabbed at a trail of blood rolling down his temple with his fingertips. David passed Michael a clean handkerchief, which he lightly pressed to the cut on his forehead. "Thanks."
"Wait, don't tell me, you used to be a spy..."
Michael gaped at Rick. "H-how did you know that? I don't know you."
"This has got to be somebody's idea of a sick joke," Rick exclaimed. "I've heard of crashing a set, but this...this beats all!"
"Rick, I don't get what's going on but I know one thing. These two guys back here need some attention." Ian declared with a serious tone.
"Sam? Jesse?" Michael stood a little too quickly and his knees buckled. David and Tony caught him.
"Woah, take it easy there, man." Tony kept a grip on Michael as he passed between them and up the aisle to the crushed area of the plane. Fiona followed unsteadily, but she appeared to be unharmed.
"I think we should call for help," David said as he pulled out his cell phone.
No one expected Michael to reach out, grab the phone from him and hold it with an iron grip. "Nobody's calling anyone for help. We can do this alone."
"What? Are you crazy?" Tony questioned the guy.
"If he's really a former spy, it makes sense that he wouldn't want any attention," David replied calmly. The whole scene was so surreal, he was having a hard time believing that he wasn't dreaming. It would certainly make an interesting episode of Burned. In the morning, he'd have to call the writers and bring it up to them, see what they thought of it.
The men worked to free the two that Michael referred to as Jesse and Sam. With all their brute strength, and some wrenches that Ian ran to get from his garage, they were able to pry the jagged metal away enough to loosen the seats and pull them out from under the debris. Through it all they were still unconscious.
Fiona stood with Michael, fiddling nervously with her necklace and shivering in the cold. None of them wore winter jackets. Wherever they were before this happened, it was a lot warmer, judging by the light clothing they wore.
"Where were you all headed?" David asked as he put a blanket that he found in the cabin over Fiona's shoulders.
"Thank you. We...we were headed to Seattle. One minute we were dozing, and the next, the plane dropped out of the sky like a stone." She turned toward the cockpit. "The pilots..."
"They're dead," Rick answered.
"Oh." Fiona's one word was filled with sadness for the two who didn't survive.
Rick asked, "Okay, we've got them free. How are we going to take them to the house?"
"I'll get the truck." Ian pushed through the exit and called back, "You guys work on stabilizing them and getting them out to the clearing."
"Stabilizing them. What's he mean by that," Tony asked, shrugging his shoulders.
Michael knelt beside his friends crammed into the aisle. He checked their vitals and replied coolly, "Find some blankets. We'll bundle 'em up against this cold. Jesse's going into shock, and Sam isn't far behind."
By the time Ian returned with the pickup truck, they waited in the clearing. Under Michael's direction, using some branches and parts of an inflatable raft, they constructed two stretchers to carry Jesse and Sam out of the woods. Michael and Rick took Sam, Tony and David carried Jesse, and Fiona brought up the rear, carrying their luggage that she salvaged from the wreckage. The men loaded up the truck, and there was barely enough room in the large bed for everyone, so Michael and Fiona sat in the cab with Ian. As soon as everyone settled into the bed, Ian put the truck into gear and carefully drove over the uneven ground. He took the path that the construction crew cut into the woods because it was easier on the injured. Worried that the truck might get stuck in the mire, he kept his speed slow and steady, and they made it out without incident, but once the truck was on the road, he kicked it up a little to get back to the house quickly. It was a cold night, and the two injured men would not be helped by suffering from exposure.
Michael sat with his head back on the couch and waited patiently while Fiona applied a couple of butterfly bandages to the cut on his forehead. The warmth of the blazing fire felt good on the outside, and the hot coffee warmed him down to his core. He was glad that Fiona came out of this with nothing more than a bruise on her elbow where she hit the bulkhead when the plane impacted with the ground. Sam and Jesse...he worried about them. Neither had come to yet, which was not good. He glanced at his watch and noted the time. With the three hour time difference discounted from the hands on the dial, it was only a couple hours since they crashed. But that was two hours too long for his friends to be unresponsive.
Ian came down the stairs and stood before Michael and Fiona, blocking the fire's warmth. "Your friends...they've got some serious head injuries. They really belong in a hospital. If you'd just..."
"No, no hospital," Michael interrupted and sat up straight, ignoring the temporary blurry vision the abrupt action caused.
"What have you got against the hospital?" Ian narrowed his eyes at them. "Are you guys on the run or something?"
"Ian, that's the stupidest thing I've ever heard! Who runs from the cops in a jet that must have cost a quarter of a million dollars," Tony asked with hands on hips. "Jeez, you're on a spy show, you should have learned to think like one by now."
"I think it's completely plausible that they stole it as part of their escape. Our characters steal stuff on the show all the time. Do you really think it would be beyond Michael Westen's ability to steal a plane? If he's the real Michael Westen, that is."
Everyone noted the resemblance between themselves and the strangers. Yet no one would admit outright that they could really be who they said they were. David turned to Michael and Fiona, and his gaze bored into them. "We wanna know the truth. Who are you really, and what brought you out here?"
"We are who we say we are, and we were just on vacation," Michael interjected and stood carefully. " A friend let us borrow his jet, and we were flying from LA to Seattle."
"And we were going to take a train back home," Fiona chimed in as she wrapped her arms around one of Michael's to help steady him. "Only our plane..." She shook her head, throwing off the memory of the crash. "Michael, I think someone tried to kill us."
"Now why would anybody want to do that? You seem like nice enough people," Leesa scoffed.
"It's...complicated." Michael grimaced and sat down again.
"Well, we're all wide awake thanks to this high-octane java Leesa made," David raised his cup to her and smirked. "You might as well spill it all, the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth."
"You'd never believe it."
"Hey, I'm David Fox, creator of Burned. You wanna talk tall tales, I don't think there's a whole lot that could surprise me." He smiled. "We've got a former intelligence officer on staff to consult when we need help with a plot twist or two. I've heard all his stories. Now I want to hear yours. If you're really Michael Westen."
Michael reached into his back pocket, slowly pulled out his wallet, and flipped it open to reveal his drivers license and CIA key badge. "Is that proof enough?"