Let Us Be Brave Read online

  “What do you think? With the blanket, we can sit as long as we like and not get too wet in the rain. The wind isn’t bad here either because of all the spruce trees.”

  Lillian looked at the spot and held her pants zipper.

  “You want to be the first to try it?”

  Lillian only smiled, but that was enough for Marie to know to leave. She ran as fast as she could to the shelter, trying not to get any wetter than she already was.

  After Lillian and Nicholi had christened the new latrine, the boys carried Patrick over there to sit down. They had to hold him, but Patrick felt pretty safe with the branches to hold on to. He focused on relaxing, something that was very hard for his body to do.

  After they got Patrick back on the floor of the shelter, Lillian and Marie helped Helen over. It was rough going because Helen kept thinking she was going to throw up, though she never did. They stopped in the rain several times, which seemed to help with her spinning.

  “Okay, you can leave me now. I’ll call when I’m done,” said Helen.

  Sam and Lillian returned, but Marie refused to leave. “No, I’ll stay and help you. You might need me.”

  “You sure are a good sis.”

  A few minutes later Marie called Sam.

  He was quickly at their side. He grasped Helen’s arm, and the three slowly returned to the tent. Helen’s head was hanging low, and her eyes were closed in the hope of stabilizing her world as she walked down the path.

  Once the five were all back under the tent, Nicholi returned. He had gone to the creek to fill up the plastic water jug.

  “Remember the water pill,” said Patrick.

  Nicholi popped in a water purifier pill and started his jiggle dance while sitting, humming a song that no one recognized. Everyone avoided the thrashing elbows and feet. The rest lay quietly under the constantly flapping tent, watching the weather and hoping to stay dry.

  “Hey, let’s play War. I brought cards.” Marie dug out her duffle, scurried back under the tarp out of the rain and found the deck. The mood was happy as Patrick and Helen watched the rest battle for the most cards. Then they played Crazy Eights, and Patrick joined in. His cards were a mess, but at least he could be involved. Helen kept her head on her shirt pillow and ate her granola bar while everyone enjoyed chunks of chocolate. Her eyes were heavy and she struggled to stay awake. The dangerous situation the group was in seemed to melt away as everyone smiled and had a good time.

  “Maybe we should be quiet. Helen’s gone back to sleep again,” said Patrick.

  “Let’s play Kings Corners,” said Marie.

  “I’d love to, but someone will have to move the cards the way I say to. I’ll just mess them up,” he said.

  Lillian leaned next to Patrick, indicating she would help him. Soon Marie was passing out cards and setting up the game. Sam just watched because he didn’t understand how to play. Nicholi went back to entertaining himself with the mirror.

  The hours passed by relatively quickly and soon it was time for bed. Their clothes were all damp, but the space blankets helped to ward off the chill. With the long day of no exercise, it was hard to fall asleep, but eventually all were still and quiet.

  The tide had gone in and out, but no matter where it was, the water was a seething mass of white caps and huge waves. The smell of salt water, seaweed and sea life was pungent. The ceiling was still too low for planes to fly, and the wind was back, blowing erratically between fifty and seventy knots. It wasn’t bothering them like it had, because the stick was holding the tarp up, though it was starting to lean since no one was there to hold it. When it finally fell and the tarp dropped during the night, no one knew it.

  Chapter 9

  Mark

  When Mark Wenger unlocked the FAA door to Homer Radio the following morning, a gust of wind blew him right through it. He shook the drenching rain off his coat and hung it up for the day. Half awake, he filled up his coffee pot and turned on the computer. Sleeping was starting to get a little easier now that it was somewhat dark each night. Summertime was always tough on him, because after work he didn’t want to go to bed. His body was always tired, but his mind wanted to enjoy every minute of daylight before the long winter darkness returned.

  He sat down in front of his computer and read the Search and Rescue notice. It was about the plane that had called in the day before: Helen Baranoff’s plane. He had met her before at a concert and had watched her at the contra dances in Homer. He knew all about her, though as far as he knew she had no idea that he even existed. He was a wallflower at social events, though he hadn’t always been that way. He worked alone all the time and only spoke to people using strictly-required FAA radio codes for aircraft communication. He was a sensitive, observant man, and he wanted to get to know her better, but how, was the question. He certainly couldn’t ask her for a date on the radio where everyone would hear him. She was in and out of Homer often during his shifts, but he couldn’t leave his post to try to rendezvous with her. Not only was she a commercial pilot, but she was also independent, hardworking and, best of all, hot.

  His radio buzzed, alerting him to call signs coming in. There were two large Alaska National Guard planes coming in to Homer Airport to practice touchdowns and takeoffs. He recorded the information. The ceiling was low, so they were on instruments, not visual. Wind was blowing hard, forty- to sixty-knot gusts. It would be bumpy, but a good pilot would do fine.

  After they landed, he called Kenai on his cell phone for privacy.

  “Kenai Radio.”

  “This is Mark at Homer Radio. I just came on board for the day and noticed the Search and Rescue report. What’s the latest about the Cessna, November 2-0-7 Lima Tango?”

  “Didn’t you look out the window?” the voice said, joking. “Honestly, we’re hoping it will turn safer for all the search and rescue planes that are on the deck waiting. No one is going to risk it with the low ceiling and strong winds. It’s been too choppy for boats, and we’re not sure where the plane went down anyway. For whatever reason, no one heard a Mayday call, plus there’s a lot of territory to search.”

  “Thanks for the info. I’ve got another plane on the radio. Talk later.”

  He hung up and spoke quickly on the radio to a pilot that was hoping for good news on the weather in Homer. Mark warned him of wind shears, strong gusts of forty to sixty knots. He hoped the guy could put his tiny Piper Cub safely down on the runway without rolling it. What was the crazy guy doing out in this weather? Any smart pilot would know better. Even if he did get the large kite down, it could fly off before he got it tied safely.

  Later when all was quiet on the radio again, he called the Rescue Communication Center at Elmendorf Air Force Base, to see about helping to coordinate a local search for the downed plane. He informed them that his last known contact with 2-0-7 Lima Tango was on the day before at about 3:20 p.m. The pilot had been a few minutes out of Pebble Lake at the time, or basically still in the Shelikof Strait region. The pilot had asked for the weather to Anchorage.

  “I read on the computer that Augustine is burping again. There was one sudden eruption that threw some ash in the air yesterday,” said David.

  “Yes, it did,” said Mark. “I’m looking on line right now at the Alaska Volcanic Observatory website and Mount Augustine’s activity in the past twenty-four hours. According to the chart, there was a small blip of blue and red activity at just about the time that, according to my estimates; she might have been flying by. Maybe that’s why she disappeared.”

  “Yeah, and the Alaska Volcanic Observatory is on alert for stronger activity now. It’s upgraded Augustine from yellow to orange. It could go to red status at any time. She might have gotten into some ash, not a great thing for a single-engine plane of any type.”

  “Wherever they are today, I hope they’re okay.”

  “Just think about it,” said David. “I wouldn’t want to be so lucky as to go down with a bunch of retarded people. I’d have to do everything. No o
ne to help me.”

  “If she’s a Special Olympics Coach, I doubt she looks at it that way,” said Mark, a little hot under the collar. “Got to go. Keep me informed if you hear anything.”

  “Will do, and vice versa.”

  Mark fumed for a bit. He had observed Helen with her younger sister. She always treated Marie with dignity and respect. He admired that aspect of Helen because he had an uncle with Down syndrome and knew what life was like with a special family member. Helen cared for others and wasn’t self-centered. It was a characteristic that he admired.

  Chapter 10

  Cruise Ship

  The day was grey and rainy but calm with a ceiling of about fifty feet as the ship sailed north by Victoria Island on its way to Ketchikan. This was to be Irene’s first time to set foot on Alaska soil. She was so excited to finally be fulfilling her dreams.

  “Grandma, I have your rain gear all ready for when we get to port,” said Danielle.

  “Thank you. I look forward to walking around town a little. It should be interesting.”

  “Is there anything you particularly want to see? We can explore the town and pick up the latest Anchorage Daily News to find out if they found that Special Olympics team.”

  “I’d like to go shopping,” said Irene. “As long as I can sit down once in a while, I think we’ll have a fun time.” With coats, hats, and boots on, off they went out the door headed for the gangplank.

  Later, back on the boat, Irene drummed her fingers on the arm of the deck chair in frustration. This getting old stuff just wasn’t for her—too limiting. Walking was a problem. Balance too. She didn’t have the stamina she had had in the past. She wanted to see everything, but had to rest all the time. She had had a good time in town with Danielle, but she’d exhausted herself. Ketchikan was wet, pretty, and full of interesting, scruffy fishermen and gift shops, and now here she was back on the boat headed for the next town.

  “Have you noticed there are no Alaskans on this ship, Danielle?” She hadn’t met a single Alaskan on the trip except when she got to port. The crew were all from other countries like the Philippines or China. Even the captain had a strong accent and was difficult to understand. Almost everyone was speaking another language. Some spoke English. There were tourists from other countries, but most were from the States. She wanted to meet a tall, good-looking Alaskan man wearing a plaid shirt and a beautiful parka with a wolf ruff, even though she knew people didn’t wear their furs until winter.

  She didn’t want to go eat with six tourists in the fancy dining room aboard ship. If she couldn’t meet Alaskans, there were things she wanted to do, like read a good book, walk on the decks, or just sit on her balcony and look out at the water and the beautiful scenery passing by outside. Why did people always insist that she meet people she didn’t care about meeting and act like she enjoyed it? Social life certainly wasn’t why she wanted to come to Alaska. Why had she waited so long to go on her dream trip, she wondered. She wanted adventure. A cruise ship was okay, but not much more than that.

  Chapter 11

  Day Three

  By the third day, everything was damp and cold. The shelter was littered with clothing. They were using all their dry clothes to sleep on and get off the cold, hard ground. Helen and Patrick were the most protected by the tarp, but they also moved around the least. He was stiff and sore. She was mostly sleeping. Sometimes she was restless, but she hadn’t woken up enough to have a conversation in almost twenty hours.

  The tent was flapping hard on Nicholi’s head and driving him crazy. He kicked the flexible roof over and over as if trying to punish it for irritating him. Eventually he decided he needed to figure out a way to fix it. He propped himself up on his elbow and looked at it for about ten minutes. He crawled out and found the tent stake that they had hand held the day before and propped it in place while looking around.

  Patrick watched him, relieved the flapping tent was off his head. “Thanks, Nicholi. It’s nice to be dry, but that tarp is—” He shook his head. “You know, if we tied two stakes to the sides and ropes to the trees it would at least be higher. It also might help if holes were dug to put the stakes into so they wouldn’t slide around at the bottom.”

  Nicholi took the little shovel and dug a hole on one side just outside of the tarp and put the end of the stake in the hole. Then he took a piece of rope and tied the rope through the grommet and around the other end of the stake. It kept falling over, so he tied the other end of the rope to a tree. The tarp still had a bit of up and down movement because of the wind moving the tree, but that side of the tent stayed off Sam and Patrick.

  “Much better. You’re so smart, Nicholi,” said Marie. “That stick over there looks like it could work on our side.” She pointed to a water-soaked old stick that was a little longer but fairly straight and bark free.

  Nicholi cut the excess rope off with the knife Marie had found in the survival bag. Then he dashed out into the rain again and grabbed the stick she suggested. It was about six feet long, and after he had it securely in place, it held the tent up nicely. The wind still made it seem like they were living in a vibrating drum, but at least it was above their heads. The rainwater drained differently—down the tarp with less pooling on top of their bodies.

  “Should have thought about that yesterday,” said Nicholi.

  “We might have slept better last night,” said Marie.

  “Better late than never,” said Patrick.

  Sam and Lillian started to move around now that the tent wasn’t so irritating. Everyone was tired and a little grumpy. They wanted to go home but . . . .

  “Guys, we need to build a fire,” said Patrick. Patrick’s body normally was very tight and physically tense. He had rock-hard muscles and absolutely no fat, so the dampness and fifty-degree temperatures were hard on him. He was shivering. He had been stretching, kicking, and moving as much as possible in the confines of the shelter, but it wasn’t ever enough to get him warmed up. Even when he did move around, he found it painful. His bony, hard knees kept forcefully hitting each other, and it was painful when they rubbed each other so hard.

  “Not me. I’m not getting near a fire,” said Marie. “When is someone going to come get us? I want my mama!” she whined as tears rolled down her cheeks. “I want Helen to stop sleeping all the time!”

  Patrick knew her mama was dead, but he didn’t know what to say to help her. He looked to the others for help, but no one said a word.

  Lillian was back in her tight squat position with her arms wrapped around her knees, looking down at the ground. She wasn’t communicating with anyone. It dawned on Patrick that she had been in that shut-down position since she had woken up that morning.

  Sam was taking a couple of pieces of wood and was driving them around the tarp like they were cars. “Frun Frunnn,” he said, racing them. He figured out a way to entertain himself while he was trapped by the rain. He drove his sticks up the sides of duffles, over the orange survival bag, then over to Patrick, over his legs and back to the middle of the tent. “Rrrruuut!” he said as the cars suddenly came to a screeching halt. He fiddled with his “cars” and then tried to build a garage out of items around the floor. He seemed relatively happy.

  Nicholi was mentally in another world now that the tent wasn’t bothering him. He was rapidly rocking in place, talking to his hand, making funny faces while jerking his head from side to side. He seemed unaware of anything. Once in a while he said a few words, but they were unintelligible.

  “Can . . . can any of you help get wood? Helen and I need help. We’re cold,” said Patrick.

  Marie sniffled, Lillian looked slightly up, Sam continued to drive his cars, and Nicholi didn’t hear a word of the request for help.

  Finally Patrick heard a big sniffle and a faint “Sure” from Marie. With a louder voice to catch everyone’s attention, he said, “Will all of you help get wood? I can watch Helen. If we need help, I’ll yell for you.”

  Lillian got up slowly and stif
fly. She did everything slowly. Hurry wasn’t part of her vocabulary or lifestyle. She bunched up the end of her blanket and tied it with a chunk of string. She put her head in the bundled-up end and crawled out from under the tarp. She stood around for a minute, searching and looking at the spruce trees near their camp. The rest sat in amazement. None of them wanted to go out and get wet. She was soon out of sight, and the rest started to feel guilty, especially Sam.

  “Someone else do it. Not me. We’ll all get wet,” said Marie.

  “Ya, ’ut ’am” (Yeah, but you’ll be warm). Sam sat up and decided to rig up his blanket like Lillian had. He took the string, wadded up the end of the blanket, and wrapped the string around it, but it wouldn’t stay tied together. Marie took it from him and tied a knot she had learned in her sewing class at school. She smiled and plopped the knotted mess on his head. He saw the ax by the survival bag and grabbed it before going out into the rain. He walked straight over to a downed spruce tree and started chopping branches. Once he had them severed from the trunk, he looked around for a place to put them.

  “Put them in here, Sam. Maybe they can dry a little,” said Marie guiltily. She sighed. “Okay, I’ll get wet. Come on, Nicholi. Let’s go look for firewood. Anything’s better than sitting under this tarp for another long, boring day.” She took her blanket and tied it like Lillian’s and Sam’s.

  Nicholi stood beside her, watching her, but then instead chose to look at his image in the mirror tied around his neck. He made contorted faces and started crawling around under the tarp with his back hunched over and limping like he was the hunchback of Notre Dame on the prowl. He was in another world, out of reality.

  “Go ahead and leave him. I’ll see what I can do with him,” said Patrick.

  Marie stepped out into the rain and headed for a tall, upright spruce tree with lower branches that were dead. To her amazement she found it pretty dry next to the trunk. She broke off twigs and small branches. She hung from the large ones with all her weight, and some very dead ones broke off easily. Tucking them under her arm, she returned to the shelter and dropped them in the slowly rising pile.