In the air tonight-(Peter Parkman, Jersey)

[Anais (DELETED 9750)]

M U S I C

“Anais, this is your father.”

The sounds of the voice echoing from the answering machine in the apartment went unheard. She was supposed to be there to get the call but she was detained beyond her control. If only Fitz knew what was going on. The daughter he was calling about would have been the least of his concern and instead he would be doing everything he could to save the one who was falling. The one who wanted to fly and made she did. Years of service during the war had him prepared to deal with what had his daughter caught by surprise on a routine flight home. It happened too many times for him to ever count. He could land anything and everything with nothing left to work with. Now she was out of his hands, out of his reach and falling faster than she ever had before.

“Anais, I know it’s late but we said we would call you when we found out.” The rustling of papers in his hand caused some disturbance that blocked out her mother talking in the background. “Apparently your sister hasn’t been seen for the better part of the last two days. Last sighting of her was in some place in Washington using her ATM card. She is likely coming this way. “ He paused long enough to remind his wife, who was clearly distraught, that he was actively on the phone and leaving a message. “Sorry. Your mother is really upset and you not answering the phone is not helping.” Audible crying erupts in the background. Leave it to her mother to play the drama card. He whispers in the phone. “Anais, baby, she is crying can you please pick up. Her heart can’t take this much more.”

Meanwhile in the dead of night nearly five hundred feet up the gauges in the Airbus H130 were dropping in front of Anais eyes. She radioed the nearest tower and let them know the status. Engine failure and tail rotor failure were in full force leaving her no choice but to opt for the quick use of autorotation. Effective or not the very least would be some minor damage to her craft the worst case scenario would be a crash landing. Giving her last coordinates she tossed the clipboard that had been in her lap and prepared for the worst while doing what she had been trained to do in this scenario. It would be close enough to Harper Rock city limits that emergency response would arrive soon. The control tower assured her.

All the assurance in the world couldn't change what was taking place and how it sucked at her trying to shake her. Everything was spinning, the dark sky, the last signs of what had power flickered then faded. Sirens sounded in her head that she was too far from to see or hear. Hope within her was always strong. It would be okay. They would arrive soon. She told herself that as the last of what she counted on working ultimately failed.

Soon turned into not soon enough. What seemed like forever left to change the course of her current event was gone in the blink of her eyes. Not soon enough came painfully quick. Was there anyone to witness the helicopter under her limited control hitting the ground dangerously close to a rural residence? Perhaps she would never know.

The harsh sensation of hitting the ground was not spared for her. She was alert initially to appreciate the shock of what could be comparable to a free fall from a high dive and landing into a pool of solid cement. The pain started in her toes and then ricocheted upward into her brain. Heat spread around her and the last thing she remembered was the smell of fuel. Fresh fuel. Her heart painfully raced while her fingers frantically fumbled to extract her body from the seat she was strapped to. It would be another failure on her part. Then and there she felt weak, too weak. For Anais everything went black.

[Peter Parkman]

W E A R I N G

It was unlike Peter not to keep tabs on exactly how many days it was since he had left the house. It wasn’t a number that he kept count of for two reasons; one, it was never his intention to become a hermit. Two, he was ashamed. The latter was a repressed emotion, the former had become a habit that he’d not been able to shake. The more he got comfortable in his own abode, the worse the condition became. On top of his OCD and awkwardness, he now had to deal with a healthy dose of agoraphobia. It had a name. It was only a month or two back that he’d realised that’s exactly what it was, and only because Jersey had helped him to realise it.

He still took care of himself, however. He didn’t let himself go because he didn’t go out in public. If he lived by himself, he might have. But he didn’t. He still had a wife—and he was eternally thankful that she remained with him, despite how difficult he could be—and she deserved at least a clean and sane (as possible) husband. All he’d done, really, was grow a beard. And he kept it trimmed, and cleanly. The routine remained. He got up and he showered. He cleaned his teeth and brushed his hair. He got dressed, even if he wasn’t going to leave. He liked to be prepared. Just in case. Something might happen, eventually. He might end up on the street, on the highway, back in the city. If something happened to Jersey…

So he liked to be dressed. He liked to be prepared. Just in case. Mostly in comfortable things, now – jeans, a t-shirt, a cardigan, just to give the impression that he was warm, rather than cold as a body in the grave.

He spent half the night in the office, working on editing and articles for the journal; he spent some in the shed out the back, fixing the old books that were delivered to his doorstep, refurbishing antiques to keep them alive longer. The rest he spent taking care of their veritable zoo, and keeping the garden perfect and pristine. The last thing they wanted was long grass for snakes to live in, and thus putting the dogs in danger.

He was in the house when it happened, in his office surrounded by books. It sounded as if the sky were falling. At first it was a distant sound like thunder though they weren’t expecting any storms. It sounded like the end of the world, and it was beginning right on his doorstep. The ground shook and the chair fell over behind Peter as he launched to his feet. The dogs yelped, barked, and skittered. Through the window, there came violent flashes of light, before there settled a warm, orange glow. It was a calm glow, for now.

Peter was immediately in the hallway, headed for the back door. He opened it to see a scene of utter chaos—something out of a movie. Metal, wrecked and bent, twisted and broken. It had landed on the shed. The shed he spent part of his night in, most nights. If he’d been in there…

He shook his head, lifted his hands to his temples, fingers curling into his hair. It took a good ten seconds before he understood what it was. A helicopter. A helicopter had crashed in their back yard. What?! It took him another five seconds to gather his wits, mouth opening and closing and opening again.

”Jersey?!” he called over his shoulder. She was home. He’d heard her come home. She had no reason to go out to the shed, did she? He was torn between going back into the house or out into the yard. The helicopter was a behemoth, and as Peter stepped out over the threshold, he could see the damage. He could see the way the engines were positions, the way the tail of the helicopter was this close to the house.

”JERSEY?!” he called out for a second time. He could see into the cockpit. He could see movement. There was someone in there. Someone still alive.

[Jersey]

wearing no sunglasses

She had reconnected with a few friends - a few friends of her brothers, whom had known him in the city and her, as Marilee Evans. They hadn’t expected to hear from Jersey Parkman, the woman whom Marilee had become after an accident had stolen her memories of a past life growing up elsewhere. The memories of a small town called Woodstock, where the leaves changed beautifully and her grandmothers old house sitting on a hill. She didn’t remember the arguments the two had, the angry lectures from the old woman who had lectured her wild and free natures grandchild, not wanting her to make the same decisions that her son had made. Hunter’s friends helped paint her a picture of Marilee Evans - a young woman who hated her natural brown hair and preferred to never have the roots that Jersey didn’t care to dye back to blonde right away.

She had been as different to Jersey in relationships as night and day. Marilee had never been one to settle whereas the blonde couldn’t see herself with anyone else but her husband, even if the man had her pulling at her hair on occasion. While she’d never been fond of eating meat, Marilee did occasionally cheat. Jersey, on the other hand, had been a strict vegetarian right up until the moment where she had died in her sire’s arms. Despite the differences, she knew they were the same woman. She’d accepted it, but she also knew that she’d changed from the sweet, naive woman who had become Jersey Thompson. And in some ways, she thought it was for the better.

It gave her a clear mind, a more tender approach to the life that she’d been given. She loved her animals, she loved her husband, and she loved her job - although, it helped that her boss was also her husband. She was able to work the hours needed and keep business where it was needed. On the evenings where it was slow, she ran errands while letting the others do what they needed. That night, however, she’d been off. After drinking the blood Peter had delivered, she’d kissed him goodbye to check up on a pair of kittens donned Nedd and Tedd before returning home.

With a tablet in her hand, the woman had taken it upon herself to curl up on the old leather couch that she knew Peter was fond of. It was her usual seat when she scrolled aimlessly through emails, occasionally finding something worth saving. She checked the auction to gather gun parts, the new hobby of creating and selling the final product at reasonable products. It was on the couch when Jersey began to heard the faint noise growing louder. She didn’t pay it any mind, although it wasn’t the normal. The reason she liked the cabin was that it was away from the city.

It didn’t have many loud, obnoxious neighbors and they could keep to themselves. However, once it sounded as if it were right above them, growing closer, she got to her feet. At the crash, she hurried to a back-facing window, gripping the windowsill. The cat that had curled up beside her bolted for cover at the crunch that accompanied metal twisting. It was a sound that she recalled before, in her accident. But as she looked out the window to see the shed destroyed, she didn’t know what to think. She didn’t know what she was seeing. It was that time of night where Peter was in his office - she’d heard the clicking of claws on hardwood floors.

Her green eyes narrowed as she tried to concentrate on the helicopter, her attention breaking only when she saw brief movement and the sound of Peter’s shout caused her to start. ”Here!” The tail was a little too close for comfort, would it explode? The thought caused her to step away from the window and immediately move to the backdoor, the sound of Bear beginning to bark at the offending object in their yard until she shushed him. From the door, her hand pressing against Peter’s back, she could smell it. Fuel. ”We need to get them out of there, now.” Was the knot that appeared in her stomach only a ghost?

[Anais (DELETED 9750)]

Dripping sounds did little to soothe the dull, bone deep throbbing that filled the pilot’s head. A chirp of a warning that was far too late echoed in the compressed space beside the top of her head. Brief, sharp calls of fuel being lost riddled her eardrums with demands for rapid response which she could not answer. Small zaps of awareness in the darkness that otherwise held her connected with the part of her that would have been better off not knowing how much trouble she was in.

Seconds quickly bled into minutes after the fact. As they did Anais had yet to open her eyes. Given the force of the crash it was no surprise that she was held hostage by that part of her brain that had put her body unresponsive for self-preservation until help finally reached her. If that didn’t happen, or when she did wake and was left to her own fading options, she would find the disturbing closeness of the space in the helicopter where her feet normally would be saturated in fuel and crumbled into a metal serving plate mere inches from her face. The headset that had been tasked to keep her lines of communication open in the final seconds had shifted during the impact and was tightly twisted around her neck. It left her gasping in the fumes and struggling for air that was increasingly poor and next to nothing.The port that her communication set was attached to had been severed from its place and was tangled into what was left of the right side of her seat.

It wouldn’t take an expert in emergency medicine to come to the conclusion that her condition was deteriorating with every second that slipped away from her. A deep crevice revealing the layers of open flesh followed the length of her lower jaw showing the white bone exposed to the elements around her. Her right leg was behind her and folded in a way that said she would be fortunate to have it salvaged from the knee up depending on how fast the response and extraction was. Her chest rose and dropped with irregular respirations. Each time the fractured bone cage meant to protect her lungs moved the black cord constricted her more.

“This is important. You need to know this in case something happens.” Fitz was with her and so vivid she could smell the black licorice lingering on his breath as he spoke to her across the small cockpit of the helicopter he had been training her in. She was eleven but her eyes were wide and her mind open. A pint sized sponge absorbing all that he said like it was liquid gold. “If you are going to crash don’t panic. Even when you see the ground coming. You need to relax. I know this to be true. It will make all the difference in the world. People may still be there hoping to talk to you, you want to be ready to give them some sign you are there and how to help you.” He looked at her and there was an absence of his typical, reassuring smile that usually accompanied the serious topics he didn’t fail to cover with his daughters. “It is part of flying, Anais. If you fall I want you to wake up and I want you to respond. I want to hear you are okay, understand me? Anais? Anais…”

And with that her eyes opened and her working hand went immediately to her neck. The broken nails along with the dislocated index finger scraped and pulled at the constrictor at her throat. Sounds bubbled up from her lungs as she clawed with all the fight she had to break free.

“Help…” A raspy call from her lips was the first word to come out of her. “****!” Was a quick second as she broke free and found her leg in the worst shape imaginable.

[Peter Parkman]

There were those who called Peter cold. They said so in the past. They’d said he had no feelings; his heart was ice. He had no empathy. In many way they were right, and though it saddened him he couldn’t reasonably contradict them. It took a long time for Peter to grow fond of someone, longer still to recognise the feeling, and even longer to act on it. It was a process. They accused him of lacking empathy and he could logically have argued that he lacked feeling for those he didn’t know, but those that he held close were objects of his love. He could feel love, despite objections.

And so, when Jersey proclaimed that they had to get them out of there, he thought only of the pets. He’d seen the tail of the helicopter and had caught the scent of fuel. He knew the dangers. The cabin was wood, and if something was to be set alight, their home would not be safe. Panic surged in his gut, twisted and turned in ragged knots.

He turned his back on the wreck and looked into the house. The dogs would be easy. One wolf whistle and they would all come to him, regardless of chaos or noise. Most were already out on the lawn. The cats, however, would be hiding inside underneath a bed or behind a dresser, somewhere small and dark. Peter wished he could do the same, but knew that he could not.

And then he heard it, beyond the ticks and settling of the metal amongst the wood of broken trees and the remnants of his shed. Help. A single word uttered not by a dog or meowed by a cat but by a person. Someone within the metal behemoth that had destroyed their yard. Something twinged in Peter, but he was still torn. The house? If something should happen, what was inside of it that he should salvage? What else was important to him, beyond the pets?

If there was someone inside that helicopter that needed help, they would surely be bleeding. Blood. Could either of them handle it? Would either of them be much help? He looked to Jersey for answers, his fingers closing and opening in fists at his side. He went to the lawn then back again; the warmth of the house behind him, the coldness of the night in front.

There was a spark and then a low froomp. Fire, at the tail end of the helicopter.

”Ohgod…” he uttered. ”Jersey…” he gasped. He had no idea what to do. His senses were overwhelmed, his sense of right and wrong skewed and biased. He needed her guidance. He needed a push, one way or another.

”Did you mean the passengers or the animals?!” he shouted. The wood of the shed was happy fuel, now crackling beneath the flame. One leap, and it would reach the cabin. There’d be no hope of saving it. I know, he thought. He didn’t wait for Jersey’s answer before he raced into the house and to the kitchen where he’d had installed a fire extinguisher and blanket. He tore them both from the wall and raced back to the lawn. The fire had grown. The small extinguisher would hardly do a thing. But Peter was stuck on his course.

[Jersey]

All in all, Jersey was not too concerned about their beloved pets. They were not stupid, they knew what they needed to do to survive - the cats would not linger it came down to it. They would get out in a bad situation, likely even faster than she herself would. The dogs would listen without hesitation, trained perfectly by her husband. In truth, if something bad happened, she would be more concerned about Peter in the long run. His fears kept him from leaving the yard, his knowledge of the exact measurements keeping him too comfortable to a point that it made her contemplate knocking him out and dragging him out herself.

Her gaze was stuck past Peter and onto the crash, her gut twisting in an uncomfortable fashion. She was worried for the passenger, but she also knew in the end, it didn't matter. The cabin could be rebuilt, but the life inside? It could never be replaced. "The passenger." The word escaped her a moment too late as Peter rushed past her and into the house. It was in the same moment that she gave a sharp whistle - an order for the dogs to get out of the house as she lifted her hands to her head briefly. When he returned back to the lawn, she created a shield - it would make him faster. It would help. Jersey went inside momentarily, collecting one of her smaller knives and returned to the yard, following after Peter as she lingered behind him. "Try to contain the fire." She called, "And I'll try to get inside and help them." It was something she knew he'd worry about - he always worried about her. But, she knew she would heal. And she didn't think he'd do well in the new, unfamiliar mess that had come down in their yard, let alone with a stranger.

Green eyes looked for a better point of entry - something that would let her get in and out quickly. There was the windshield, cracked and damaged but she knew she wouldn't want to kick it inwards and risk hurting the passenger further. "Maybe as an exit." The thought lingered in her mind as she looked at the twisted metal, the taste of fuel in the air on her tongue as she drew closer. As she reached the metal beast, she called out, "Hello? Can you hear me?" It was a stupid question. She was almost sure of it, but she wanted to make sure the person inside was awake and conscious. "I know you're hurt, please don't try to move." She could taste it, the metallic hints as she spoke, breathing in despite her attempts. She felt dizzy, but forced herself to focus.

She stepped over one of the wings, torn off from the crash and sitting on some of the roses she'd planted a few months prior that were crashed under the weight of it. Her hands moved to grasp at the metal briefly as if she were looking for a way to hoist herself up - she could enter through the door.

Maybe.

A quick boost with her foot against the crushed metal, a grasping an opening at the top that she would later learn to be part of the door itself before she climbed up. What was once the door had been smashed, the landing having pulled the metal back at an awkward angle creating a hole large enough that she could squeeze through. A frown played across her lips as she looked inside, the smell of blood and fuel mixing, overpowering the telepath's senses momentarily. She gagged, but carefully adjusted herself so that she'd be able to slide right in. Her foot met a chair immediately, sideways from the position of the helicopter. Glass and metal snagged her sweater, the tug against flesh ignored as anything superficial would heal within minutes. Her boot nearly slipped once, causing the blonde to curse before she caught her balance as green eyes adapted to the mess within. The sight itself was enough to cause her heart to twist, Jersey visibly cringing as she took in the damage.

A broken leg, a severely wounded jaw. "****." There was more to it, she knew there had to be more. Mindful of where the woman was placed, she stepped down and held onto the dash for balance. She swallowed, keeping her focus on the fact the other was severely injured and that it would be bad for them both if she passed out. Life was much more precious than her fear of blood. The mantra was repeated silently in her mind as she forced a soft smile. "Let's try to get you out of here." Her hands went to the dashboard once again, but there seemed to be a second thought as she removed her sweater to reveal a simple gray tee and carefully draped it over the other woman - a barrier between her already banged up form and the impending glass. After making sure that it wasn't touching the wound on her jaw, Jersey's focus returned on the windshield once more and she looked for what to be the weakest point before kicking once, twice. There was a loud crunch, but no budging. It was as she shifted her weight and kicked with full force that it shattered.

Jersey | Other NPCs/Objects | Difficult | Physically demanding |Breaking windshield of helicopter| Succeeded
Jersey | Other | None | Luck | Finding a broken door of the helicopter | Succeeded

[Anais (DELETED 9750)]

“Anais, it’s your mother. Remember me? You didn’t get where you are in this world without a little help. Now your saint of a father and I need yours. Really…it is the least you can do by picking up the damn phone.”

The answering machine that was outdated by more than a decade, but in perfect condition, played out the active call to the otherwise empty apartment. This time it was Padget Reneau instead of Fitz making the request for some sort of response. It was impossible for them to know just how far their daughter was from the phone this time.

“Parciante has struck again. She seems to have picked up a new friend that has taught her the fine art of armed robbery.”

Fitz interjects in the background but is quickly dismissed by his wife of forty years.

“Fitz! This is not the time to baby her. She has seen enough of the world flying around without a care. It’s time she had her feet on the damn ground and her head out of the clouds! I told you this would happen when you gave her permission to quit ballet. Remember? And what about her piano teacher. Mrs…” The unmistakable sounds of her father grumbling in defeat echoed through the line. “Forget her name but she said she could be something but you gave into that too. We have a grand piano nobody plays and collects dust. Might as well sell the damn thing now that her sister has made it her mission to hook up with trash and make the evening news. How much is bail these days?” The rustle of the phone provides a brief interruption. “This is no longer acceptable Anais Reneau. Do you understand me young lady? We have your sister’s face on the news being sought along with some hooligan for armed robbery near the border. She is heading this way. Anais…”

The sound of a voice caught Anais as she felt the overwhelming pull to give in and pass out. Her joints throbbed, the burn of shattered bone piercing her flesh if she so much as twitched kept her from disappearing altogether.

“Yes.” The sound of the single word from her lips seemed to come from another source and foreign to her own ears. Fumes enveloped her and filled her lungs with her gasp for the air needed to speak. “Fuel.” She offered warning. “Everywhere.”

She made the mistake of reaching out as the blurred visual of a female appeared. A jolt of mind blowing pain ricocheted throughout her body. The panic in the voice offered proof that whatever they were taking in was bad. Really bad. Maybe this was actually it.

“Anais! Are you okay?” Fitz’s voice was loud and clear in her head.

The scent of something beyond fuel fell over her. It floated like a gentle shield taking away the damage wrapped around her. She took in the relief the material brought to her and used it to empower her in her darkest moment. Risk had her reaching glorious heights and now painful depths. Because of her it was bringing in another. The sudden banging on the barrier between them had her eyes snapping shut as if their lids could offer any sort of protection against further damage.

“Pull and run!” Anais cried out as soon as the sounds of shattering rang true. “It’s going to explode.” She knew it could happen at any second. “If it doesn’t work the first time run.”

[Peter Parkman]

At first Peter thought he was making a difference; he thought he was going to save the house.

He attacked the course of the fire, wanting to cut off its path to the flammable wood of the cabin. A mental note was made that next time they moved, if they ever moved, it would be into a house made of brick. Pure brick, and metal. No wood at all. Nothing that could catch fire. It would be safe from helicopters falling from the sky. What were the odds that a helicopter would fall from the sky and into their yard? Peter was already doing the math, or trying to -- he needed the statistics to help him out.

The shattering of glass coincided almost perfectly with a small boom; it was hard to describe, the sound that turned Peter’s blood to ice. It started somewhere inside the metal of the helicopter, the muffled explosion. The fuel reserves, maybe? Something that should not have been put anywhere near fire, anyway. Peter barely had time to duck and cover his face as fire billowed from its new source of fuel, raging and climbing and dancing and searching, like a beast escaped from chains and now free to wreak havoc. Whatever good Peter had done with the fire extinguisher was lost. Several fiery pieces of debris landed on the cabin’s roof, in the garden beside it, on the back patio. The fire delighted as it touched wood, growing and growling, crawling and leaping.

The cabin was on fire.

Their house was on fire.

Their home was on fire.

Peter took several steps back before turning, sprinting for the helicopter even as he watched the fire creep stealthily across the grass, as if it were racing him. It was all going to explode, the whole thing. And Jersey and the passenger she was determined to save were still inside. He clambered up and through the shattered glass. While Jersey had a hold of the woman’s shoulders, Peter moved around to grab hold of her legs -- regardless of what was broken. Where Jersey was gentle, Peter was not. Whatever was broken was already broken and if they were going to get out in time, one couldn’t get stuck trying to figure out how best to be gentle.They would move quicker this way.

”Our home is on fire, Jers,” he said, as if that were not immediately obvious.

”The cabin…” he sucked in the acrid air and tried to focus on what he was doing. He detested blood, too, but he could barely see it beyond the flames. He definitely couldn’t smell it beyond the fuel, and the scent of their home falling to ruin. They had to get away from the helicopter. They had to get into the safety of the trees. They had to get as far away from the fire as possible; way out here, how long would it take for the fire brigade to arrive? Too long. It would be too late. It would all be gone. He knew this, even as he helped Jersey carry their cargo to safety.

He at least had the common sense to wait until they were out of danger before fully breaking down completely.

[Anais (DELETED 9750)]

The sounds of engines in the distance were the only clue as to why the ground beneath the burning airbus helicopter was shaking with increased motion. The earth beneath took on a subtle motion that could not be ignored as a flood of flashing emergency lights and sirens wailed onto the scene. Doors to the cabs of the massive rigs opened and heavily padded bodies jumped out wrapped in protective gear grabbing for the massive hoses that took several to stretch out and position. As the motors and gears needed to activate what they were responsible for went to work shouting for clearing the way came from the head of the emergency team. Low grumbling came from the pumps pushing the water out towards the first spotted flames.

“Clear the front!” The gloved hand gave a sweep of pattern in the air then shot back over his shoulder waving in more of the crew stampeding towards the cabin. On the scene was a good fifty feet of heavy hose, one hundred feet of inch and three quarter flame retardant hose and a bag full of connections, a pressure gauge and a break-apart nozzle. All of which went together in record time. “And  put that out NOW!”

Anais felt the soft soothing blanket of mist falling from the  sky around her. The pain of her broken leg, her twisted joints and the fire along the line of her sliced jaw found minimal relief. It was enough to keep her alert, aware of the goings on around her. She was going to survive. A first sting to her eyes formed in the corners as a swell of saline overflowed at the rims of her eyelids. Tears of relief spilled over and traveled down her fuel soaked cheeks.

“Another on the northwest side!” The orders continued to bark as her body was floated forward. “The fuel contained?!” Shouts in the distance were drowned out by the loud rumble of the water let loose through the newly positioned hoses. “We got it! It’s good!” The clanking of metal, the jingling of bouncing keys and the station to engine radio communication over radios enveloped the smoke and fuel consumed air around her. “Pilot is out. Are you the homeowners?” The helmet perched on top of the head turned to assess those involved quickly before setting eyes back down to the downed pilot. “Anais Reneau? I know a man who is going to be glad to hear you are okay.” He waved over the medical crews running with their field bags. Each bouncing box held the promise to do something good once they were open. “Someone contact Fitz.” His face dripped in heat and water as he looked back down to her. “You are damn lucky your father was the one who taught you how to fly and land.” The rush of hands pushing at the torn fabric on her body and the unraveling of tubes become activity hard to ignore. While the sounds of packages of sterile supplies being torn apart littered the air around her the tears continued to stream down her face. “Make sure they are getting help too.” He nodded towards the two who owned a cabin that appeared to be spared any significant damage outside the water flooding that was to be expected with structural flames extinguished. “You two saved a life tonight. Once they get done taking care of you we will have some questions for you.” The shouts from the rigs came with the arrival of news crews. "Get them the **** out of here! Haul them out if you have to!"