Total pages in book: 98
Estimated words: 92899 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 464(@200wpm)___ 372(@250wpm)___ 310(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 92899 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 464(@200wpm)___ 372(@250wpm)___ 310(@300wpm)
The young man and woman who’d been climbing with the injured patient showed me where the anchor was and then explained what had happened while I transferred from the belay line to the anchor point. Tears ran down the woman’s face while the man gripped her hand tightly.
“How the hell did you get here so fast?” the guy asked, almost hyperventilating.
“We were already nearby, running a drill. There are at least twenty first responders at the base of the climb ready to help,” I told him.
“He… he slipped and swung on his rope, but like… Jesus. I don’t even know what really happened. He hit his head, and… then he was gone.” The man ran a hand over his head and pointed upward. “Over that outcrop.”
“He’s going to kick himself when he wakes up.” The woman’s face crumpled. “He… he is gonna wake up, right?”
I set a hand on her arm. “My name is Dr. Marian, and I’m a trauma doctor. I promise we’ll do everything we can to help your friend. Right now, I need you to give us room and keep yourselves safe, okay? Stay hydrated and reapply sunscreen if you have it.”
Foster’s helmet appeared over the edge of the rock ledge. He met my eyes and nodded slightly, recognizing I’d given them a simple task to help keep them distracted.
The next hour was a carefully choreographed dance between medical treatment and technical rescue. I had to treat and package the patient while Foster coordinated the lowering system, both of us calling out constant updates. As the sun beat down on my head and shoulders, my heart pounded with adrenaline.
This was what I’d missed in the sterile environment of the ER—medicine that required improvisation, that forced you to adapt and overcome. Medicine that felt like an adventure. But also seemed like the difference between life and death in the field.
When we finally got the patient down the mountain and into the care of the EMT team waiting for him, Trace came over to shake our hands.
“Clean execution,” he said loudly enough for all the gathered students to hear. “Medical assessment was thorough, rescue techniques were textbook. Great example of flawless teamwork.”
As I opened my mouth to thank him, I heard the barest scoff of disagreement from Foster. I turned to stare at him in disbelief, though no one else seemed to notice his reaction.
What the hell?
After the successful rescue, after what felt like perfect coordination between us, he was still finding fault? Professional distance was one thing, but undermining me in front of the students crossed a line.
Trace continued to review the situation with the gathered students and announced we would move our original missing kayaker drill to the afternoon. “Let’s take our lunch break, and then we’ll make another attempt at the drill, alright? Robyn brought sandwiches and fruit for everyone.”
After stripping off my harness and stowing the remaining medical equipment with my team, I dragged myself toward a nearby bench. I was sweaty, filthy, and definitely dehydrated. Thankfully, Sierra and Kofi were both looking out for me, handing me ice-cold water bottles from the coolers.
“That was amazing,” Sierra said.
I took a huge swig of water and enjoyed the cool slide down my dusty throat. “Thanks. If we get another injured climber this afternoon, I’m sending you up instead,” I teased.
Trace tilted his chin up at Foster and then gestured for me to join them. “Listen, why don’t the two of you head back to SERA and get cleaned up? I’ll review this morning’s case with the students and quiz everyone on it after lunch. It’ll give you plenty of time to get back here for the drill.” He handed Foster a set of car keys.
Foster nodded silently and handed Chickie’s leash over to one of his students before heading toward a large black pickup truck with a SERA logo on the side. I fell in line behind him and climbed up into the passenger seat. Instead of speaking, I lowered the window and focused on drinking my water and inhaling the fresh mountain air as Foster drove out of the trailhead parking lot.
Long minutes passed in silence as tense as a long shift during a mass casualty event. The truck cab felt suffocating despite the open windows.
Screw this, I finally decided.
“What happened to being professional?” I snapped. “Trace says we worked well as a team, and you scoffed? What the fuck is wrong with you?”
“You were distracted on the way down.”
I stared at him. “Distracted? I was trying to keep my patient alive while dangling from a fucking rope!”
“Can’t have distractions when lives are on the line.”
The words stung because they carried a grain of truth. I had been distracted—by the way his muscles flexed as he worked the ropes, by the memory of those same hands touching me in Hawaii, by the growing frustration of being treated like a stranger despite our obvious chemistry. But it hadn’t been on the way down.