Crashed in Oasis Read online

  "NO! NO!" she screamed and pressed herself to run faster. It seemed an eternity before she reached the wreckage. The fire had grown.

  She circled the cockpit frantically praying the pilot was still alive. He was slumped forward, perfectly still. Reaching for his door, she tried to pry it open, but it only moved slightly. She tugged again. Nothing.

  Trying not to panic, she glanced quickly around and saw a piece of metal that had detached from the plane. Grabbing it, she winced at the heat still retained in the metal and jerked her tank top over her head, using it to shield her hands. She continued her effort to free the driver. Placing the scrap of metal inside the slightly open door, she used it as a pry bar and pushed with all her strength. The door opened a little, but not enough for her to pull the pilot out.

  A quick spurt of fire scared Dottie more than she had ever been scared in her life and she knew there were only minutes, perhaps seconds, before the plane would be totally engulfed in flames. She repositioned the pry bar and screamed to the heavens for help as she pushed again. The door groaned as it shifted.

  She now had enough room to pull the man free and silently prayed that moving him would not injure him more, but she had to get him out of that plane. Grasping him under the arms, she tugged. He moaned but didn't become conscious. Now half of his body was hanging out of the cockpit. The heat of the fire terrified Dottie but she stayed with the pilot.

  In a burst of adrenal strength, she pulled him free and onto the ground. Taking only enough time to replenish her strength by inhaling deeply, she used what remained of that adrenaline to drag the injured man out into the desert.

  It seemed an impossible feat, but when she had him about thirty feet away, the entire plane went up in flames, which released a final spurt of adrenaline, and she got him another ten feet before collapsing beside him.

  Dottie had no strength remaining; she couldn't even move a finger. But her mind yelled at her to call for help. It took everything in her to remove her backpack. Somehow she retrieved her cell phone and placed a 9-1-1 call. After that, she fell back beside the man.

  A few long inhalations later, she again summoned her strength to find her water bottle. Rising above the pilot, she straightened his body out and then checked for bleeding. He had several cuts to his face, but none were bleeding profusely. She then noticed his leg had a displaced fracture in his calf and she wanted to cry.

  Using her T-shirt, she wet the fabric and gently sponged the cuts on his forehead and cheeks, all the while trying to comfort him with words. "You're going to be just fine. You didn't survive that crash not to be fine. I won't let you not be fine. You're going to get well and fly another plane. Well, maybe you won't want to fly again, but you look like the type who doesn't let setbacks hold you back, so I think you will fly again. Yes, you're going to be just fine."

  She kept up her nonsensical repetitive monologue while wiping dirt and blood off his face. For a second he regained consciousness and opened his eyes. They were blue like the sky and stared deeply into hers. She must have been crying because he said, "Angel…don't cry for me," before losing consciousness again.

  Shortly thereafter rescue vehicles began arriving, first the sheriff and then paramedics. While the pilot was being stabilized, other paramedics treated the minor burns on Dottie's hands.

  She was standing off to the side answering the sheriff's questions when a helicopter arrived. Within minutes the victim was being airlifted. As the ground paramedics were packing up, she asked which hospital he was being taken to.

  "He's on his way to Lifeline Hospital in Phoenix."

  The Sheriff added, "It's a good thing you were there to see the crash or that guy would be dead. He owes you his life."

  Dottie asked the Sheriff, "Do you know his identity?"

  "It seems there was a distress call placed, but the powers that be are still verifying the identity of the person."

  "If I call the station later, do you think you could tell me his name? I'd like to visit him in the hospital and see how he's doing."

  The Sheriff reached into his shirt pocket and handed her a business card. "Call this number in the morning. I'll let our desk officer know he can give you the info if we have it."

  All night Dottie tossed and turned with nightmares about the accident. Interspersed with horrific visions of the plane on fire were the pilot's blue eyes staring up into hers.

  Before dawn, she was out of bed replacing the bandage on one hand and then sipping a cup of coffee. She figured she'd have to wait until at least eight before calling the Sheriff's office, and if that was too early, she'd call back at nine after she opened her shop for business.

  At seven she turned on the television just to have something to do. She had already dressed and loaded the dishwasher, made her bed, and straightened up the house. She flipped to a news channel in Phoenix. Perhaps they had picked up on the story, although she didn't think it likely since Oasis was such a small dot on the map.

  She was wrong.

  The intro-teaser was about a plane crash outside of Oasis in which the treasure hunter Collin Banks had been injured and airlifted to Lifeline Hospital in Phoenix.

  Dottie gasped when her name was mentioned as the only witness to the crash and then her heroism in pulling Mr. Banks to safety.

  Collin Banks. Collin Banks. Dottie searched her mind for anything she had ever seen or heard about the man. Suddenly she remembered a documentary about a hoard of treasure he'd discovered in the Bermuda Triangle. The find was considered one of the most phenomenal ever and the value of the relics incalculable. Much of the find had been donated to museums.

  Dottie felt the backs of her legs touch the couch and she plopped down. All she could think was, Wow!

  Chapter 4: Red Tape

  After flipping through channels for other news stations carrying the same story, Dottie finally glanced at the clock. Startled, she realized she was fifteen minutes late in opening her store. She rushed to her garage. As soon as she entered, her phone rang and she glanced at the ID. It was Sally Sue who owned Sally Sue's Second Chance Clothing across the street from Dottie's store.

  "Hello, Sally Sue."

  Excitement practically sizzled from the phone as Sally Sue said, "I saw the news about you saving that treasure hunter guy. And you won't believe how many news vans are parked downtown. I think they're waiting for you!"

  Dottie groaned. "Oh, no. I don't want to talk to anyone."

  "Well, it's going to be hard to avoid them if you plan on opening your store today."

  "What should I do?"

  "Hell, girlfriend, I don't know. Looks like you're going to have your fifteen minutes of fame, maybe an hour."

  "I don't want fame."

  They were silent for several seconds and then Sally Sue said, "I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but these news people are dogs and it's only a matter of time until they locate your house."

  Dottie groaned again. Finally, she said, "Okay, here's what I've decided and I need your help."

  "Anything, hon."

  "I need for you to post a sign on my door saying the store is closed until further notice."

  "Are you sure? Maybe it's better to face everyone and get it over with."

  "You're probably right, but I'm a coward. I'm going to drive to Phoenix to try and see Mr. Banks. I want to know how he's doing, but also I want to ask if there's anything in particular he wants me to say to the media once they find me."

  "Hmm. That actually sounds like a good idea. Okay, I'll take care of the sign and keep your whereabouts secret."

  "Thanks, Sally Sue. You're my hero."

  "No dear, you're the hero, risking your life to save that poor man."

  After the phone call Dottie returned to her house, packed an overnight bag with enough clothing for a week, and navigated back roads leading out of Oasis. Her phone had started ringing incessantly after the call with Sally Sue, but she wasn't ready to speak with anyone, even friends. She ignored all the calls except the o
ne from her daughter.

  "Hi honey. Have you seen the news?"

  "Yes! Mom, what happened? Are you okay? Do you want me to come home?"

  "Lucy, I'm fine, and no, you don't need to come home. In fact, I'm on my way out of town headed for Phoenix."

  Dottie then described the crash and subsequent events to her daughter, reassuring her that she wasn't injured and everything was under control. Lucy finally mellowed and made her mother promise to keep her abreast of all developments.

  Dottie pulled onto the highway from the road leading to Oasis and within a mile, passed a couple of news vans speeding in the opposite direction. She prayed the media didn't know the make and model of her car. Before leaving her house, she'd donned a baseball cap and sunglasses as a meager disguise.

  During the hour long drive to Phoenix she replayed the crash in her mind and her thoughts lingered on blue eyes connecting with hers and Collin Banks calling her an angel.

  Finding a small motel not far from the hospital, she checked in, freshened up, and then gathered her courage to drive to the hospital. As she pulled into the parking lot, she almost turned around and sped away after seeing several media vehicles. She parked in the farthest parking lot.

  With her head down and her hands in her jean's pockets to hide her bandages, she walked through the hospital's main entrance. Inside, newsmen and women, and camera men and women, lounged in the large foyer.

  Dottie kept her head averted and approached the information desk. Quietly, she asked to see a hospital official. The elderly woman wearing a pink uniform gazed questioningly at her. "If it has anything to do with Mr. Banks, you need to wait for the PR announcement regarding his condition." She glanced at her watch. "And that will be in about an hour."

  Dottie took a deep breath and told a lie. "No, this is regarding something else."

  The friendly woman nodded and pointed, "Go to that window over there and tell the clerk you want to see an administrator."

  Relief flooded Dottie and she said a breathless, "Thank you."

  There was already someone at the window and Dottie found a chair. While she waited her turn, she surreptitiously kept an eye on the media and tried to talk herself into calmness. What she really wanted to do was assume a yoga position on the floor and meditate. She laughed quietly at the vision. She'd certainly call attention to herself doing that.

  The person at the window stepped away. Inhaling a calming breath, Dottie approached the young clerk and explained she needed to see an administrator about an important matter. The woman gave her a look that said her request was highly irregular, and said, "If it's about Mr. Banks–"

  Dottie interrupted. "It's not."

  The clerk shrugged and picked up her phone. While she was dialing, she asked, "What's your name?"

  Dottie lied again and gave her mother's name, "Doris Olivera."

  The clerk relayed Dottie's request and hung up. She told Dottie, "Please have a seat and someone will be with you shortly."

  "Thank you."

  Fifteen minutes later a tall, thin, fiftyish man wearing a wrinkled brown suit and tan colored tie, slightly askew, walked into the room from the hallway. He glanced at the media in the foyer beyond Dottie's chair, and frowned. His gaze returned to Dottie. He asked, "Are you Doris Olivera?"

  "I am."

  "I understand you want to see an administrator."

  "Yes, sir. Would that be you?"

  The man nodded. "I'm an assistant administrator. My name is Charles Watters. What can I do for you?"

  "Could we talk privately?"

  Mr. Watters nodded. "Of course. Please come with me."

  Dottie followed the tired looking man down the hallway he'd come from and to a door at the end. He held it open while she entered a standard, run-of-the-mill, office. A couple of pictures portrayed a younger and less tired version of Mr. Watters beside a woman and two teenage boys. He motioned for her to have a seat before moving behind his desk.

  "What can I do for you, Ms. Olivera?"

  Dottie cleared her throat. "I lied to you about my name. My name is Dottie Arnez."

  Mr. Watters frowned. "And why would you lie about your identity Ms. Arnez?"

  "Because–" she cleared her throat again and removed a bandaged hand from the pocket of her jeans to lift off her sunglasses, and said, "Because I want to avoid the news media. I'm the one who pulled Mr. Banks from the airplane."

  Understanding widened Mr. Watters' eyes as he glanced from her hand to her face. He sat straight up, alert.

  Dottie continued, "I would be happy to show you my ID or put you in touch with the sheriff who was at the scene." She hurried on. "The reason I'm here is because I'd like to visit with Mr. Banks if he's able to receive visitors. Sooner or later the media is going to locate me—they're already camped out at my store in Oasis—and I wanted to know if Mr. Banks has a preference about what I should say." She sucked a breath and waited for a response.

  Mr. Watters tapped his fingers on his blotter calendar with its numerous scrawled notations. "Please let me see your ID before we go any further."

  Dottie had already anticipated that request and removed her other hand from her pocket with her driver's license and the business card from Sheriff Mulvaney.

  Mr. Watters said, "May I take these to my supervisor and ask how she wants to handle this?"

  "Yes, of course."

  The assistant administrator stood to leave but paused in the doorway. Turning back around, he said, "Saving Mr. Banks was truly heroic." He then entered the hallway.

  Twenty minutes later the door opened again. Mr. Watters had returned with a short, stocky woman wearing a green suit with big black buttons down the front of the jacket. She grinned widely at Dottie and stretched out her hand. When she saw Dottie's bandages, she patted Dottie on the shoulder. The woman said, "My name is Mrs. Margaret Hinthorn and I'm the administrator of the hospital." She handed Dottie back her driver's license and sheriff's card. "Please follow me to my office."

  Dottie nodded and turned to thank Mr. Watters. He smiled and reiterated, "You did a very brave thing Ms. Arnez. Rest assured, we'll keep your presence in the hospital a secret."

  "Thank you, Mr. Watters."

  Dottie walked beside Mrs. Hinthorn to an elevator only a few steps down the hall. The woman said, "This elevator isn't used much by the public. It will take us to the third floor where my office is located."

  The doors slid open and they stepped inside. After the elevator closed, Mrs. Hinthorn said, "We verified your identity, of course, and as Mr. Watters said, you were very brave in rescuing Mr. Banks. I can only imagine the terror of a fiery aircraft." The elevator started upward and conversation halted. They exited into another hallway and followed it past several offices until Mrs. Hinthorn opened a door for Dottie to enter. She said, "Please have a seat, Ms. Arnez. I can call and have coffee, tea, water, or soda brought up." The woman sat behind her desk.

  "I'm fine. Thank you."

  Mrs. Hinthorn studied Dottie's face for a moment, seemingly pondering something, and then confided, "Before coming to get you, I asked for an update on Mr. Banks' condition. I was told he's awake now. He suffered a fractured leg and multiple abrasions and contusions. Thankfully, he doesn't appear to have a concussion or internal bleeding. His doctors want to keep him in the hospital for a few days under observation." She picked up a pencil and tapped it on a blotter identical to Mr. Watters, except her notations were neatly printed. "I'm not sure if he's up to having visitors, or even if he wants them, but, of course, we must let him know you're here. I already informed his primary doctor of your request and he gave me permission to visit Mr. Banks to let him know of your presence."

  Again, Dottie said, "Thank you."

  Mrs. Hinthorn stood and said, "Normally, for your own comfort, I would suggest that you wait in the cafeteria or one of our lovely outdoor patios, but considering your popularity at the moment, you may be discovered by the media. Would you mind staying in my office while I talk to Mr. Ba
nks?"

  "Not at all."

  "Okay, then I'll return as soon as possible." She pulled a drawer open and lifted a couple of magazines out. "I don't know if you like the rag mags, but in my line of work, I often need a diversion." She handed over two issues of The Hollywood Tattler and hurried from the room.

  Chapter 5: Collin Banks

  Dottie tried to concentrate on the tattletale magazines, but nervousness had her tapping her foot and often glancing at the door. A half hour later, Mrs. Hinthorn opened the door and grinned. She said, "I spoke with Mr. Banks personally and he very much wants to meet you."

  Dottie breathed a sigh of relief.

  The administrator motioned to Dottie. "Just follow me and we'll go by way of the stairs to the sixth floor."

  Dottie grabbed her purse and trailed after the very efficient woman, her heart hammering against her breast. Exiting onto the sixth floor, Mrs. Hinthorn led Dottie past the nurse's station and said as they passed, "Its okay, Pam, she's with me."

  Pam nodded and went back to looking at her computer screen.

  Mr. Banks hospital room was the last door at the end of the hallway and Mrs. Hinthorn paused to knock.

  A deep voice called, "Come in."

  The administrator stepped inside first and Dottie felt faint with apprehension as she followed. From the bed, the blue gaze she remembered stared steadily at her.

  Mrs. Hinthorn said, "Mr. Banks, this is Dottie Arnez. I'm sure you have a lot to talk about, so I'll leave you in privacy." She turned to Dottie. "When you're ready to leave, just press the call button. A nurse will answer via the intercom. Ask her to call me. I'll come immediately and escort you outside, away from the media." She grinned at them both and was suddenly gone.

  Mr. Banks said in a weary voice, "Please sit beside the bed so we can talk."

  Dottie didn't remember ever feeling so nervous. She kept drawing long breaths, hoping Mr. Banks didn't notice. Moving a chair into position, she inhaled again and met his gaze. His eyes are so blue.