“The loneliness felt less like a problem when I could convince myself it was self-inflicted,” I explain. “And the silence became...peace, I guess. No one telling me how to act or what to be.”
I don’t mention how I’d sit for hours identifying plants from a field guide I checked out from the library, or how I learned to track animals by following their prints in mud. How the woods became the one place where my designation didn’t matter, where I could just exist without constantly policing my behavior.
“The wilderness is dangerous,” Noah says quietly.
“So is everything else.” I turn to face him directly. “I’ve never had the luxury of waiting around for someone to save me. I see no reason to start now.”
Something flickers across his face—respect, maybe, or concern. Before he can respond, we round a bend and the rescue site comes into view. A cluster of emergency vehicles creates a perimeter around a rocky outcropping, their lights painting the snow in alternating red and blue.
“We’re here,” Noah says unnecessarily, pulling the truck to a stop beside an ambulance. “Ready for your first wilderness rescue, Dr. Chang?”
I grab my kit and jump out before he’s even killed the engine. “Born ready.”
The scene is organized chaos. Firefighters in heavy gear confer over equipment while EMTs prepare a treatmentarea near the ambulance. A small crowd of onlookers has gathered despite the cold, held back by yellow tape and a harried-looking sheriff’s deputy.
Noah finds the incident commander, a weathered man with a salt-and-pepper beard who introduces himself as Captain Reeves. I hang back slightly, taking in the situation while they talk.
“Patient is a twenty-six-year-old male, Derek Lawson,” Reeves explains, pointing to a narrow opening in the rocks partially obscured by snow. “Amateur caver, came up from Fairbanks with some buddies. They were exploring when he got stuck in a tight passage about forty feet in.”
“Position?” Noah asks.
“That’s the problem. He’s wedged head-down in a vertical chimney. Tried to go through head-first, got stuck, then slipped further in trying to free himself. Now he’s completely inverted with limited mobility.”
My stomach tightens. Inverted position means increased intracranial pressure, respiratory compromise, potential for crush syndrome if he’s been there long.
“How long has he been trapped?” I ask.
Reeves glances at me, seeming to notice me for the first time. “Going on five hours. Friends called it in about two hours ago when they couldn’t get him out themselves.”
“Medical status?” Noah prompts.
“Conscious but increasingly distressed. We’ve got a rope system set up to try and pull him out, but it’s tricky. The passage narrows right where he’s stuck.”
I scan the scene, noting the complex pulley system the rescue team has rigged up. It looks solid, but I can see the worry in the rescuers’ faces. This isn’t going to be simple.
“We’re ready to make the attempt,” Reeves says, gesturing toward the cave entrance. “If we can get him out, he’s all yours.”
Noah and I follow him to the edge of the opening, where several firefighters are manning the rope system. I peer into the darkness, trying to visualize the trapped caver’s position based on Reeves’ description. If he’s truly inverted in a narrow passage then he won’t last long if the rescue team can’t get him out.
“Beginning extraction,” one of the firefighters calls out. “Tension on the line.”
The team works in coordinated movements, gradually taking up slack in the rope. I can hear faint sounds from within the cave—a man’s voice, strained and fearful.
“I’ve got good tension,” the lead rescuer reports. “Starting the pull on three. One... two... three!”
The team heaves in unison. For a moment, it seems to be working—there’s movement on the line, a cry from inside the cave that might be pain or hope.
Then comes the sound no one wants to hear: a sharp snap as the rope breaks under tension.
A scream echoes from the cave, raw with agony. “I’m falling! I’m falling! Help me!”
“Shit!” Reeves strides forward to join his team at the cave mouth as they assess the situation. “That’s no fucking good.”
“What happened?” Noah demands, medical bag already in hand.
One of the rescuers emerges from the cave entrance, face grim. “Rope snapped. He’s slipped deeper into the chimney. Maybe another three feet down.”
“His position?” I ask.
