False Horizon

“I can’t see!” she shouted.

Mike banked the plane now. They’d climbed in altitude and he swung the plane to the left. “We should have an angle on them in a second,” he said.

But as they came around again, Annja saw nothing to cause concern. “I don’t see anything.”

“Neither do I, but someone very obviously shot a missile at us.” Mike keyed the microphone and cleared his throat to speak to air traffic control. Annja listened as he relayed what had happened and notified the tower that they were returning to Jomsom. He switched off and turned to Annja. “It’s too risky for us to be out here. If someone’s got missiles and they’re shooting at us—”

“But why would they?” she asked.

Mike shook his head. “Damned if I know. But we can’t risk our lives trying to figure it out. The best thing to do is land and see if we can get some information from somewhere about this. Maybe Tsing can help us.”

“Tsing? Why would he—?”

“Because he wants to find this place as badly as we do. And if someone is causing us problems, then they’re causing Tsing problems, too. He won’t tolerate that. And I’m sure he can bring some muscle to bear on it.”

Annja frowned. “Seems like we’re getting deeper into debt with him if we do that.”

“You’ve got a better suggestion?”

Annja sighed. “I guess not.”

Mike nodded. “I know it’s not ideal. But we’ve got to use what we have. And if Tsing is desperate to find Shangri-La and can figure out who wants to blow us out of the sky, then that’s all the better. Like you said, we can handle Tsing later on. What I don’t want to handle right now is a missile while I’m flying over one of the largest mountains in the world.”

“I understand,” Annja said. “And you’re right. We should land and get out of danger. I just don’t understand why anyone would want to shoot at us.”

“It’s worthless trying to figure it out now. We don’t know anything about who it might be. We’re wasting time up here.”

He banked the plane again and brought them on a course away from Dhaulagiri, back toward Jomsom. “Won’t be long now,” he said.

In the next moment, Annja heard a sudden explosion off the right side of the plane. The plane jumped from the impact of the rocket as it struck the right wing. Alarms sounded from the cockpit instrumentation. Mike shouted for Annja to hold on.

They were already rapidly losing altitude. The plane started spinning and plummeting toward the earth. Annja looked at what was left of the right wing and saw it was on fire. Black smoke poured out, swirling about them as they spun and fell through the sky.

“I can’t control it!” Mike shouted. “We’re going down!”

Annja grabbed the microphone and switched it on. “Mayday, mayday, mayday, this is—”

She could barely hear herself talking. The alarms were so loud. Looking out of the cockpit through the dense black smoke she caught brief glimpses of white snow. And then of Dhaulagiri looming in front of them again. The plane almost seemed to be climbing, but that couldn’t be possible. She glanced at Mike and saw him straining to pull the stick this way and that, trying to fight the plane to a softer landing than the one Annja expected them to receive.

The plane toppled through the sky; the altimeter needle spun like a pinwheel and the numbers shot past. Annja tore her eyes away and braced for impact.

When it came, the plane slammed into the side of the mountain with a deafening sound of metal being crushed and torn apart. The cockpit window shattered and cold snow and ice filled the plane.

The plane seemed to keep sliding for a distance and then, at last, it came to a merciful halt.

Annja heard herself screaming.

And then saw nothing but blackness.

WHEN ANNJA CAME TO, daylight had already started to dip below the horizon and night was rushing back to claim its birthright. Annja groaned and twisted in her seat. She was wet from the snow and ice that had surrounded her and melted from her body heat. She fought to release the harness around her, scrabbling to dig through the snow to reach the release.

As she shifted, she felt a sharp punch of pain in her side and took a gasping breath.

She felt her ribs gingerly. One, maybe two, on her left side felt badly bruised or broken. She ignored the pain and struggled to release the harness.

She looked at Mike. His head was thrown back against the pilot’s seat. His eyes were closed. Annja reached out for his neck and put her fingers against his throat. She felt a thready pulse there and exhaled in a rush.

They were alive.

But they both needed help in a bad way. Annja reached for the microphone, but as soon as she tried to key it, she heard nothing. The plane had lost communications in the impact.

Annja took stock. She could move her legs and arms. Aside from the ribs, she seemed okay. Her head had a lump near her temple. She’d probably bashed it on the cockpit as the plane hit and that’s what caused her to black out.

But otherwise, she was fine.

She brushed some of the snow away from her window and peered out. From what she could see, the plane had hit the side of Dhaulagiri and then slid across and came to rest on a fairly level piece of ground. The right wing, which had been shot off by the second missile, no longer smoked and she saw why. It lay covered in snow and that had helped extinguish any remaining smoldering wires.

Annja frowned. That also meant that there’d be no smoke trail to help rescuers find them.

I need to get out of here, she thought. It was the only way she could get an accurate perspective on their situation.

Annja braced herself for the pain and then grunted as she clambered out of her seat. The pain in her side was tremendous, but she steeled herself and then clawed her way outside of the plane.

As she took her first step, she fell into waist-deep snow. Instantly, she felt the cold smack her hard. Wind whipped around her and bits of snow and ice stung her skin.

She remembered that Mike had seemingly put some more altitude on even as the plane sank toward the earth. Annja looked around and reasoned that if Dhaulagiri was eight thousand meters high, then they were at least halfway up the mountain.

The air was thin and Annja’s lungs struggled to fill themselves with oxygen. Each gasping breath brought more pain in Annja’s side.

Then her ears caught a sound.

It was coming from the plane.

She frowned and started back toward it. Maybe Mike had regained consciousness.

But as she neared the cockpit, she could see that Mike was still out. She’d need to get a fire going soon if they had any hope of lasting the night.

She heard another sound. It was a moan. But it didn’t come from Mike.

Annja steeled herself. Was the person who had shot them out of the sky coming back to finish the job he’d started?

If so, they were going to meet with a very unpleasant Annja Creed. She summoned the mystical sword she’d inherited from Joan of Arc. The sword gleamed in her hands.

“Who’s there?” she demanded. “Show yourself!”

The wind whipped up around her. Annja fought off the icy sting and glared toward the plane.

She heard another moan. She struggled to get closer to the plane. As she did, the plane seemed to rock. Again, Annja glanced at Mike to make sure it wasn’t him causing the motion.