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abdomen, narrow hips, and long, powerful-looking legs. There was something dark staining his shirt on his left side around his waist, she observed with a frown, and the stain seemed to be growing as she watched.
    Blood?
    Gina barely had time to register the possibility before another wave snatched them up.
    His eyes opened, and he grabbed on to the nearest strap as the water rose furiously under them.
    “Don’t move,” Gina cried, because the last thing they needed was for him to start flailing around and destabilizing the boat again. Throwing an arm over the seat, she hung on as they reached the crest of the wave amid a shower of spray, then bumped at what felt like warp speed down the rough spine into the trough.
    As soon as the boat leveled out she scrambled onto the seat and reclaimed the wheel and throttle.
    “We’re out of here,” she said to him with a palpable surge of relief. At least she once again had some degree of control. A quick glance at the approaching weather confirmed what she already knew—time was running out fast. The waves were coming in furious bunches now and seemed to be gathering size and speed by the minute. A harbinger of what was on the way, the wind blew relentlessly, driving heavy bursts of snow in angry gusts across the water. The bulk of the storm filled the horizon as far as the eye could see. Paler gray clouds mushroomed out of the billowing charcoal central mass in a way that made her pulse pound with alarm. Flickering glimmers of lightning deep inside the storm lit up various sections ominously. The whole thing seemed to be heading their way with the approximate speed of a runaway train.
    Gina came about, opened up the throttle, and started heading in. Forget trying to reach camp. They needed to get to shore now .
    A look around at her passenger made her frown. He still lay on his back. His head was near her seat; his feet touched the stern. Awash in the inch or so of icy water sloshing around in the bottom of the boat, he shivered violently. The front of her hair was damp, and water beaded on her coat and pants, but inside her clothes she was dry. Still she was cold to her marrow even in her insulated outfit. He had to be literally freezing to death.
    At the moment, though, the only thing she could do for him was get him off the water.
    “Are you badly hurt?” Her sharp question was prompted by the movement of his hand to press gingerly over what she was sure now was an injury to his side. Diffused by the saturation of his shirt, the stain was spreading steadily. It looked more brown than red, but still she didn’t think it could be anything but blood.
    He grimaced. His eyes opened a slit. “No.” He took a breath. “Where are we?”
    Since any except the most urgent, lifesaving treatment was going to have to wait until they were ashore anyway, she moved on from his physical condition to answer his question.
    “Just off the coast of Attu.”
    A frown creased his brow. “Attu.”
    “How many others were on the plane?” Her throat hurt from shouting to be heard over the wind, but she had to ask, just as she had to visually skim every piece of wreckage they passed in case there might be another survivor out there. Although she knew that there was no more time, that staying out any longer on the increasingly wild water would be little short of suicidal, she couldn’t not search, even as she sent the boat scudding across the waves.
    “Three. All dead.” His voice was rough and raw. His reply ended in a violent coughing spasm that brought up a gush of seawater and had her wincing for him.
    The memory of the severed leg she’d seen popped into her mind. Its owner was almost certainly dead. Even if her passenger was wrong, even if the other victims had wound up alive in the icy water, by now they would probably be beyond saving even if she could find them.
    “What’s your name? Where were you headed?” she asked. The sheer amount of debris was defeating her, Gina realized