Reclaiming Back My Empire

The Breath Of Life

The violent storm finally died down, leaving behind a terrible silence. The wind hummed a low, sad tune through the trees. Everything looked like nature seemed to be mourning the tragedy that had just happened on the mountain ridge.

Up on the isolated peak, the wreckage of the private jet looked like a graveyard. The beautiful, multi-million-dollar plane was completely destroyed. It was now just a carcass of metal, shattered glass, and torn wires.

Black smoke drifted slowly into the sky, leaving ugly stains on the pure, white snow.

Inside the crushed cockpit, his lifeless body still on the floor. Next to him, Derek Ashford was completely broken. He was still strapped to his seat, but his body was twisted at an unnatural angle.

A jagged piece of metal from the dashboard had pierced deep into his side. His blood poured out on the seat, turning dark and icy in the freezing arctic air. His face was covered in cuts, and dirt.

A single tear squeezed out of Derek’s closed eyes as he remembered Vanessa again, his bruised cheek rolled down.

His fingers twitched against the useless controls. The cold was trying to drag him into an endless sleep, but a tiny spark of anger flared up inside his chest.

With a faint, agonizing gasp, a puff of white mist escaped his blue lips.

A mile away, a thin line of smoke rose from a small wood cabin. This was the home of Earl Bone, a sixty-year-old retired forest ranger.

Earl lived in total isolation with his loyal hound dog, Buster.

The night before, Earl had heard the horrifying roar of a plane engine screaming through the storm, followed by a loud explosion. The sound had shaken his cabin windows and his heart. And since then, he hadn't slept a single wink all night.

As soon as daylight broke, Earl put on his heavy canvas coat and grabbed his medical kit.

"Come on, Buster," Earl whispered, his voice heavy with worry. "Let's check out what happened yesterday"

They walked through the deep, thick snow for over an hour. Old injuries made Earl’s legs and knees ache terribly, but he refused to slow down.

Suddenly, Buster stopped. The dog raised his heavy head, let out a sad, mourning howl, and ran toward a steep ridge.

Earl pushed through the heavy, frozen pine branches and stepped into the clearing. He stopped dead in his tracks. His eyes filled with sorrow at the sight of the smoking, shattered plane. It looked completely impossible for anyone to survive such an impact.

"Oh, no..." Earl whispered, his voice cracking with emotion.

Tears pricked his eyes as he rushed forward through the deep snow, praying to God for a miracle.

He walked carefully toward the plane, the thick smell of burning fuel and scorched metal hanging heavy in the air. Earl approached the shattered cockpit window and looked inside. He reached out to touch the pilot's neck only to discover that he's dead.

With a heavy sigh, Earl shook his head. Believing there was nothing more he could do, he turned to leave.

Then, a faint, wet groan broke the silence. It was barely louder than the wind, but Earl’s sharp ears caught it instantly.

He spun back around and leaned closer into the smashed cockpit. Brushing away a pile of snow and shattered glass from the passenger seat, he discovered Derek, clearly in pain.

"Hey! Can you hear me?" Earl shouted, his hands already moving quickly towards him.

Derek didn't answer, but his head rolled weakly to the side as another faint groan escaped his throat.

"Hang on, son," Earl urged. "Don't you dare close your eyes."

Pulling a heavy pair of metal cutters from his pack, Earl worked to cut through the jammed seatbelt harness crushing Derek’s chest. He strained against the metal until his muscles burned, forcing the strap to finally snap.

Grabbing him under the arms with a mighty heave, Earl dragged Derek's body out of the crumpled cockpit and laid him flat.

This forced a sharp scream of agony from Derek. His eyes flew open for a split second before he blacked out completely.

The cold wind howled loudly over the white snow. Earl Bone pulled the thick rope over his old shoulders, straining against the weight. The heavy canvas sled dragged slowly behind him on the rough mountain ice. Inside the sled, Derek Ashford lay completely frozen, his face blue and his breath very thin.

Buster, the big hound dog, ran ahead into the deep snow drifts. The dog let out a sharp bark to show the safest path down the ridge. Earl panted heavily, his breath forming a thick cloud in the arctic air. He looked back at Derek’s bleeding body and shook his head in disbelief.

"Keep moving, Buster," Earl muttered, his voice cracking from the cold. "We need to get this boy to the cabin fast or else he will die. It makes no sense how he is still breathing. That private plane was completely torn to pieces on the high ridge."

The sled hit a large rock hidden under the snow, causing a hard jolt. Derek let out a soft, wet groan from his chest but did not open his eyes. Earl gripped the rope tighter and pulled with all his remaining strength.

"Hang on, son!" Earl yelled over the wild wind. "The cabin is just over this hill. You survived the crash, so do not give up now”.

Buster barked again, running toward a thin line of gray smoke in the distance. The small wooden cabin finally came into view against the white landscape. Earl pushed the heavy door open with his boot, letting the warm air rush out to meet them. He lifted Derek up with a loud groan and laid him down on the small cot by the fire.

"Help me keep him still, Buster," Earl said, tossing his wet coat onto the floor. Earl grabbed a pair of sharp shears from the wooden table to remove the ruined clothes.

He quickly cut through the wet, bloody fabric of the Derek coat and tossed the pieces aside. Then he cut the custom silk shirt off Derek’s chest, revealing the deep wounds beneath. Earl shook his head as he looked at the ruined cloth.

"You are a very rich city man," Earl muttered softly to himself. "But out here in the wild, your billions cannot save your life. Only pure luck kept you alive through that impact."

Derek looked small and completely helpless on the narrow bed. His skin was pale, and his entire body was shaking wildly from the extreme cold. A large, jagged piece of metal from the dashboard was sticking deep out of his right side, and dark blood was oozing around the sharp steel edge.

Earl walked over to the old cast-iron stove and placed a pot of water on the hot fire. He dropped a needle and thread into the boiling water to clean them. Then he held a pair of heavy metal pliers over the open flame until the steel turned bright red.

"This is going to hurt bad, son," Earl whispered, walking back to the cot with the hot tools. He pressed a clean cloth against Derek's chest to keep him steady. "Hold his legs down, Buster. Do not let him move."

The big hound pressed its heavy paws against the edge of the bed. Earl gripped the jagged metal shard tightly with the hot pliers and pulled back with all his old strength. The metal scraped hard against Derek's broken ribs as it came out.

Derek’s eyes flew wide open, full of blood, tears, and shock.

"Vanessa!" Derek roared, his body jerking against the bed. He stared wildly at the old wooden rafters above him, his hands shaking as if he wanted to grab the air. "Vanessa... why did you do it? Raymond... my own blood!"

His voice cracked under the weight of the betrayal, and his chest heaved for air. Then his eyes rolled back into his head, and he fell instantly into a deep, burning fever. Earl quickly began to sew the deep side wound shut before the bleeding could start again.

“Who is Vanessa?" Earl asked, wiping the cold sweat from Derek’s forehead.

For three days, Derek stayed at the small cabin. On the fourth morning, Derek opened his eyes slowly, his vision blurry and unfocused.

He tried to lift his hands to touch his aching head, but they felt incredibly heavy. They were wrapped tight in thick, white bandages, and his fingers were too stiff to move. He let out a dry cough, his throat feeling like sandpaper.

"Do not try to move yet," Earl said, walking over with a warm wooden bowl. "You almost died five times while you were asleep, young man. Drink some of this water to get your strength back."

Derek looked at the old man with blank, empty eyes, trying to remember what happened. "Where... where am I?" Derek asked, his voice incredibly rough. "Who are you?"

"You are in my cabin," Earl said, sitting on a wooden stool by the bed. "I am Earl Bone. I am a retired forest ranger, and I dragged you out of that crumpled cockpit before the engine exploded."

Derek tried to sit up, but a sharp pain bit into his side, forcing him back down. "My phone," Derek panted, his eyes growing wide with panic. "I need my satellite phone right now. I have to call the city of Charleston."

Earl let out a long, heavy sigh and shook his head slowly. "There is no calling anyone, son. The storm was the worst I have seen in twenty years, and it tore down every single analog telephone line in this entire valley."

Derek stared at him, his heart hammering against his ribs. "Then we can drive. Take your car. I will pay you millions of dollars just to get me to a police station or a bank."

"Look outside that small window," Earl replied, pointing his calloused finger toward the glass. "There are ten feet of heavy snow blocking the main road. My old truck cannot move an inch through that solid ice."

"We are completely cut off from the grid, boy," Earl continued, blowing on the hot broth. "Nobody is coming up this mountain until the winter is over and the ice melts. You are stuck here with me and Buster."

"I cannot stay here for months!" Derek growled, his voice rising in anger as he forced himself up. "I have to go back to Charleston right now! I have to stop them from taking my mother's legacy!"

"Stop who?" Earl asked, holding out the wooden spoon again. "You cannot fight anyone in this state. Drink this food. Your body is completely empty and weak right now."

Derek pushed the spoon away with his bandaged hand, his eyes burning with rage. "I do not want your food! I need to get out of here!"

He forced his trembling legs out of the warm blankets and swung them over the edge. His bare feet touched the cold wooden floor, shaking badly under his weight. The sudden movement pulled hard against the fresh stitches in his side, causing fresh blood to leak out.

A sharp spike of agony made him gasp, but he ignored it and stood up anyway. He leaned heavily against a wooden post, his muscles screaming as he shuffled toward a small, cracked shaving mirror hanging on the log wall.

Derek looked into the dirty glass and froze completely, his breath catching in his throat. The man staring back at him did not look like the proud, handsome tycoon Derek Ashford at all.

An angry, purple scar tracked all the way up his neck, marring his skin. His face was completely gaunt, his cheeks sunken, and his skin a ghostly shade of pale. His eyes looked entirely empty, like a dead man who had crawled out of a fresh grave.

"Look at what they did to me," Derek whispered, his voice trembling with hatred. He tried to take one step toward the cabin door to prove he could leave.

But his knees buckled instantly, and his body crashed down toward the floorboards. Earl rushed forward and caught him before he hit the hard wood completely, lifting him back onto the cot.

"I told you the truth," Earl said, tucking the blankets back around Derek's shaking shoulders. "If you try to walk down that mountain in this condition, you will die before you reach the first ridge."

"The arctic cold will freeze your blood in ten minutes," Earl added sternly. "You have absolutely no strength left. You cannot even stand up on your own two feet, boy."

Derek lay flat on the bed, staring blankly at the dark ceiling rafters again. He clenched his bandaged fists with all his might, the anger inside him growing into an unstoppable fire.

The pressure of his clenched hands made the fresh stitches in his side pop completely. Bright red blood began to soak through the white cloth, staining the sheets, but he did not care about the pain anymore.

He turned his head slowly to look at the old forest ranger sitting beside him. His empty, scarred face was now radiating a terrifying, icy glare that made Buster let out a low whine.

"Teach me," Derek said, his voice dropping to a cold whisper. "Teach me how to survive this winter, Earl."

Earl stared back at the young tycoon.

“Why do you want to learn that from an old man like me?" Earl asked quietly.

Derek’s lips curled into a dark, terrifying smile as he thought of Raymond and Vanessa. "Because when the snow melts, I am going to paint Charleston red.”