“Are you the one who called it in?” I ask, jogging alongside her. The rain tears apart my words, but the woman nods in understanding before shouting over the hiss of the storm.
“My husband and I found her. Must’ve slipped or something. She has a pretty big gash on her head, but we can’t get her to respond. My husband’s with her. They’re about a half mile up.”
I nod, picking up my pace and radioing in again to update my location.
It takes another ten minutes to get up the trail. The wind whips and howls through the valley, and I can barely decipher the information relayed over the radio.
Then, I see her.
Instantly, the old wagon and snarky dark-haired woman from the other day pops into my head, and the spark of panic from earlier detonates inside me. I run.
She’s crumpled on the edge of the trail, teetering close to the dangerous ledge, but also half hidden among the wet rocks. Her clothes are soaked, plastered to her small frame and doing nothing to help the cold from seeping in and turning her lips blue. That unmistakable dark hair is fanned out around her pale, almost gray, face.
I slide down next to her, noting the smear of blood trickling from the side of her temple. A jagged rock rests nearby, its pointed edge stained red. She must’ve struck it.
Her windbreaker—unacceptable for this weather—is tossed into a sloppy, wrinkled heap beside her, like it’d been peeled off in a hurry. My gaze flicks to the man hovering near her. “Did you move her?” I shout.
Like his wife, he’s dressed appropriately for the conditions, unlike the girl unconscious in front of me. “I-I, uh, turned her over. Tried to give her mouth to mouth.” He glances the direction I’m looking and notices the jacket. “I took it off in case she needed chest compressions.”
“Why? Was she not breathing?”
His brows knit, and he shakes his head. “I-I don’t know. I just assumed …”
My stomach bottoms out. I place two fingers against her neck. A pulse.
She’s out cold, but her chest rises and falls. The skin beneath the pads of my fingertips is icy cold, and my pulse kicks up. My grip tightens, curling into fists around her.She shouldn’t be this cold. I stare at her long lashes, that gaudy nose stud, the rainwater mixing with blood as it runs down her face, and I picture those haunting eyes behind her lids.
“Sir?” the man prompts me, and I startle into action.
“Hey … hey, can you hear me?” I say to her, but her eyes remain closed, body limp. The desire to pull her into my arms and carry her out of this sopping mud pit overwhelms me. I fumble for my radio. “Dispatch. I’ve made it to the hiker, she’s unconscious, head injury, and bleeding. I need a medevac, ASAP.”
I rip the flashlight off my belt and, with one hand, gently pry her eyelid open. The light catches the dull sheen of her reactive pupil, a good sign there isn’t any severe brain damage.
The roar of the wind and the deafening crash of thunder overhead swallows my muttering words as I check her. Rain pelts us both mercilessly, adding to the already soaked-through clothes she’s wearing. I rip off my raincoat and lay it over her, watching the droplets drip down her face.
I scramble again for my radio and repeat my call. “Dispatch. I’ve found the hiker. She’s not responding. Send a medevac, ASAP.”
Static.
My heart sinks. The storm must be interfering with the signal.
The husband, still standing beside me, curses under his breath.
Again, I repeat my words. I can’t help the hoarseness knotting my voice. Though urgent, the only response is the crackle of dead air.
I glance around. What the hell was she doing? Images of her hovering near the drop-off when I first met her brew in my mind. Similarly, this cliff edge looms close, and after a quick inspection of her head injury, I decide I need to move her. Every inch of the trail is slick with mud, but I steady myself, wedging my footing against a giant boulder.
“Help me!” I raise my voice to get through the relentless eerie groan of the storm. The man nods and bends down to help lift as I ease her into my arms, cradling her against my chest. She’s lighter than I’d anticipated. I tuck her in close, and the smell of earthy rain mixed with an ever so faint sweetness wafts from her as her head lolls into me.
“Is this a good idea?”
Turning, I face the man but ignore his question.
It isn’t black and white. We’re trained to avoid moving unless absolutely necessary but are also supposed to assess in the field. I’m making a judgement call. She can’t stay here near a drop-off in these elements with zero indication of when EMT will get here, compounded by radio failure.
I adjust my grip, careful not to jostle something the wrong way. “We’ve got to get her out of here.”
“I’ve got her pack,” the woman says, as she hauls it up and over her own.
