Free Remember Me by Laura Browning Page A

frightened her more than the pain in her shoulder. She lifted her head, relieved to find she had room to move. Snow had flooded the cabin and the branch of a tree protruded through the window to her left.
    “Brandon? Mr. Hanson?” She heard nothing. Not even a groan. The pounding of her heart, so hard it rocked her, finally spurred her to action. Her fingers fumbled with the harness, making it difficult to get the latches unbuckled. Free at last, she inched forward. Her shoulder felt stiff and painful, but she ignored it, her heart slamming ever harder in her chest at the continued silence from the two front seats. From the amount of snow jamming the cockpit around them, it was almost impossible to see anything.
    “Brandon?” A note of hysteria crept into her voice, so she stopped and took a deep breath. She couldn’t help if she fell to pieces. Okay, the first thing she needed to do was make sure they weren’t dangling over the edge of a precipice or jammed in a tree. When she scooted to the right side, she could see what remained of the fuselage rested amidst a tangle of broken trees, but it did appear to be on the ground. She moved, relieved to find nothing shifted.
    Lucy blew a puff of air out. She needed to get out, but trees blocked the left side of the plane. On Brandon’s side, snow and no doubt his bulk blocked her access to the door. She searched, her gaze landing on the rear passenger window. It was broken, but not all the glass was gone. The way the window narrowed toward the back would make squeezing through hard, but it was her only option. Taking her wool scarf from around her neck, Lucy wrapped her hand and arm and began punching out the glass. Already weakened, the remaining shards broke beneath the pressure. Once the opening was clear, she brushed away the pieces. Much as she hated it, she was going to have to go through headfirst so she could get leverage to pull herself out.
    Breath puffing out in little clouds, Lucy wiggled through the window. Once her hips were through, she put her arms down to catch herself and kicked free. Her shoulder protested when she tucked and rolled. Several branches scratched her face and hands, but at last she sat in the snow a few feet away, able to take stock of herself and her surroundings. Other than some scratches and a shoulder she suspected was severely bruised, she was okay.
    Her gaze lifted to the plane. Brandon. She scrambled to the side and, balancing on the trunk of a tree, tried the door. It was jammed. She braced one foot against the fuselage and tried again, using the strength in her leg to add to her effort. With a lurch and a grinding of metal, the door cracked open about six inches.
    “Holy Mary, please,” she cried. “I need to help them!” She tried again, once more bracing her boot on the side. This time she leaned all of her weight into it, even knowing she was apt to fall backward when or if the door gave way. Another grind of metal on metal and this time it moved. Lucy’s innate sense of balance was the sole factor that kept her on her feet.
    Snow tumbled from inside, and now she saw the sleeve of Brandon’s blue jacket. Tempering her desire to get him out as fast as possible with the knowledge she needed to be cautious, Lucy began removing the snow with swift, careful movements. She freed his face first, and gasped when she saw a bump and a jagged cut near his hairline. It was bleeding, but sluggishly. As a rule, didn’t head wounds bleed a lot? Fingers shaking, she stripped off her glove and pressed two fingers next to his windpipe, sighing in relief at the pulse beating there. He was alive, his heartbeat regular, so maybe the lack of blood had to do with the snow.
    “Brandon?”
    He moaned. Scraping at the snow faster now, she uncovered more of him. When she reached his lower left leg, Lucy swallowed. His ankle was at an odd angle. She’d seen a broken ankle once when she was a teenager at her last foster home. One of the younger kids