"If it twern't for baad luck," Blair sang quietly with a bad southern accent. "I'd have no luck at allll."

Jim kicked the snow from his street shoe, using the crumbled wing of the Cessna as a handy post. He ducked, turned sideways and carefully slipped into the plane's cabin. "Hee Haw? You were, what, a year old when that aired?" He moved forward to where Blair lay curled on the broken seats Jim had formed into a bed.

"Reruns. Naomi was good, man. But even she couldn't keep me from watching TV twenty-four seven." He weakly fought Jim's goal of lifting the corner of the blanket tucked around his shoulders as he talked. "One summer - Ow, ow! Do you have to do that?" He sucked in a breath before continuing with a decidedly shaky voice. " I... ah... had a friend whose dad watched Hee Haw. I'd sit with him, happy for anything."

Gently probing Blair's stomach with a grim expression, Jim breathed a cautious sigh of relief. Blair's gut was still soft. If the kid did have internal injuries, they were seeping. "Never could stand that show."

"Some of the songs were okay." Blair ground his teeth, jaw muscles standing out against his pale completion as Jim fiddled with the splint on his leg. "Jim, please."

Pinch and release, blood returned timely. Good.

Jim kept his eyes fixed on the pink toe sticking out from the sock. It was enough that he could hear the tears in Blair's plea, he just didn't want to see them. He tucked the blanket back in. "At least the women were real." Puffs of white vapor appeared with each word, like Indian smoke signals, rising to the top of the cabin to be caught in the eddies and air currents. Cold air slipped into their makeshift shelter by way of the rent and out the broken windshield, past sharp edges stained with the blood of the deceased pilot.

"Of course they were real, what do you expect back in the sixties? Muppets?"

"I meant it was pre-cosmetic surgery. Back then when you saw a nice set of melons, it was the real deal." Jim blew on his near frozen hands as he noticed the fading light in the cabin. If it was cold now, what was midnight going to feel like?

Blair bounced between chuckles and pain-filled gasps. "D-don't make m-me laugh... h-hurts."

Jim smiled. As desperate as the situation seemed, what with them lost in the high Cascades with two dead bodies a hundred feet away, stashed in the snow like a pair of popsicles, Blair still showed spunk.

Jim wished he'd passed this prisoner transfer job off to some other detective. He wished he'd insisted Blair remain back in Cascade. He wished for once the two of them could actually catch a break.

"Sorry."

"J-jerk." Blair drew in a steady breath and tried to curl into a tighter ball.

"Better be nice to me," Jim warned as he started shifting some of the loose debris around. He had inventoried all resources available: the pilots log books, a plastic tool box, the first aid kit and blanket (that now covered Blair) and even bits and pieces of the broken plane. Now he repositioned some of the larger pieces of sheet metal to block the tear he'd been using as a doorway. Extra seat cushions were stuffed into the windshield, casting a darker shadow into the cabin. Experience had taught him not to waste anything. Jim worked carefully, not jostling his friend.

"Why?" Blair asked after watching Jim work a while.

"Because I'm your bed warmer tonight," Jim answered when he was satisfied he'd done everything to keep the cabin as warm as possible. He wasn't fooled though. The temperatures would plummet tonight.

Blair's teeth began chattering. "Nah, you'll just end up stealing my body heat."

Jim helped Blair straighten out. Badly repressed gasps of pain caused him to catch his own lower lip between his teeth. He took off his jacket, laid it over Bliar, lifted the edge of the OD green army blanket and slid in. Only by wrapping his arm around Blair's torso could he keep from slipping off the impromptu bed.

"You think your skinny little frame can produce more body heat then this masculine he-temple that women have traveled far and wide to worship?"

"Ow, ow, ow." Blair gasped. "I said... d-don't make me laugh."

Jim pressed close, fighting his own shivers. "Damn, Chief. I'm changing the first part of your name from `Sand' to `Ice'."

Blair had stiffened at the close proximity of his sentinel. He now relaxed with a heartfelt sigh. "Won't work unless you change the `u' to an `e', Jim." He hummed happily for a minute and Jim recognized the same Hee Haw theme. His friend had a one track mind. Hands as cold as Alaska worked under his coat and shirt to press against his bare back.

"Shee-it! You could warn a guy," Jim blurted out, proud he hadn't reacted by accidentally kicking Blair's broken leg. That would send his injured guide into shock for sure.

"Can't help it," Blair answered apologetically. "You're warm... warm, warm, warm." He started humming again.

"Blair?" Jim shifted to get a look at Blair' face. "You okay?"

"Am now," Blair answered, his vocal cords so close to Jim's chest he could pick up the vibration of each syllable.

"You know what day it is?"

"Friday."

"Where are we?"

"In a plane that just crashed. Don't ask me where it crashed, coz I don't know."

"Who's the president?"

"It's still that idiot."

Jim grinned. Blair still showed normal levels of consciousness, for him anyway.

Jim's shoulder threatened to slip off the seat cushion again and he hugged Blair closer. All around them the thin metal of the plane's skin tightened against the rivets with groans and creaks. The smell of the spilt fuel, long ago leached into the snow and soil, still stung Jim's nostrils. Even in the darkness he could see every individual hair on the crown of Blair's head. He could feel the extra heat rising from Blair's gut, more proof that something inside his abdomen was bruised or bleeding.

"Jim?"

"Yeah?"

"We're going to be okay, right?"

"Right."

"Just checking."

Jim listened to the nocturnal sounds awaken around them as twilight settled in for a visit. The wind ran its icy fingers like a comb through the stubby pines surrounding the broken plane. A few more feet and they would have plummeted over a cliff to a seven hundred foot drop. It was a miracle they were alive.

Jim hadn't told Blair.

"He-temple?"

"Go to sleep."

Blair snickered comfortably. "I can't believe you said he-temple. Wait till I tell Brown."

"Did I mention we're very close to a cliff? I could toss you."

"He'll stop calling me `Hairboy'."

"And I'll tell everyone I was the only survivor."

Blair released a happy sigh.

Jim grinned, some of the worry slipping away.

The air-beater sound of the chopper woke Jim from his sleep. Blair was till pressed close to his side, nose buried into his throat. He used his senses and found Blair's medical condition no worse than last night. With military precision, he slipped out without waking his friend and went outside. The morning sky was freshly blue with white, feathery high clouds.

The Chinook helicopter rose like a fat bumble bee up the mountain side. Jim raised both hands above his head, moving them with scissor-like motions. The pilot's head turned, experienced eyes zeroed in and Jim's heart lifted, free from the burden he'd been carrying for the last sixteen hours.

They were going home.

the end (though I'm thinking about Blair's POV...)

If you enjoyed this story, please send feedback to LKY

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