Her tone sends a shiver down my spine. The hairs on my forearms stand on end, and I swallow hard. I mustn’t let anything show. My voice is her lifeline. I’m the only thing standing between her and her panic.
"Hi, I’m Noah, and I’m going to help you. But you also need to do something small for me, Miri. It’s important," I say in a gentle tone.
"What?" she barely whispers into the phone.
"Take your phone off your ear and switch on the speaker function." Although I sound like nothing can shake me, I feel a cold sweat coating my back.
There’s a crackling sound on the line, then suddenly, I hear the raindrops pounding on the ground three times louder. The tortured whimpering of the woman in the background has also increased in volume.
"You did great, Miri. And now, activate the location service on your phone." My index finger hovers nervously over the computer mouse. In emergency situations, people can be overwhelmed by even the simplest instructions. "That’s the button with the little arrow," I add. Then I refresh the map view on my screen.
Once again. And again.
There!
They’re in the Hermatal Gorge behind the steep cliff where sport climbers go.
Immediately, I send the coordinates to the internal communication system. "Thank you, Miri. A team is already on their way to you."
Instead of responding, she starts sobbing. She can barely catch her breath, her crying is so intense. Through the center's floor-to-ceiling windows, I see mycolleagues in their red-and-yellow uniforms rushing to the helicopter in the courtyard. The rotor blades start spinning. The rumbling grows louder until the helicopter finally takes off.
The flight to the accident site will take about five minutes. That’s only three hundred seconds, but they can make the difference between life and death.
"Let's take care of your friend now," I say gently into the phone. I know I'm demanding a lot from her in this situation, but there’s no other way.
Miri doesn’t respond. And suddenly, it’s quiet in the background as well. Only the sound of rain remains.
"Please go to her." My throat tightens, but right now, that’s the least of my concerns. "Are you there?"
"Mm-hmm," she says, followed by a heavy breath.
"Are her eyes open?" My hand instinctively clenches into a fist. I count the seconds of silence between us.
"I think she’s dead." She sounds so matter-of-fact now as if her mind has detached itself from her body to help her cope with what she’s experiencing.
"Place your fingers on the side of her neck," I firmly instruct her.
"I can’t do it," she replies, tortured.
I force a smile because supposedly you sound different when you smile. "I believe in you, Miri. If anyone can do it, it’s you."
She sobs like a baby crying herself to sleep. But soon, I hear rustling. It sounds like performance fabric rubbing against each other. She’s probably kneeling now. She’s right next to her friend.
"Do you feel a pulse?" I press my lips together anxiously.
Nothing but her rapid breaths can be heard.
I cover the microphone of my headset, releasing the built-up air in my lungs with a single forceful exhale. This is a nightmare. She’s so far away from me, and all I have are words to help her. "Talk to me, Miri."
"N-no pulse."
No.
Please, no.
With trembling fingers, I add the information to the emergency form. If her heart isn’t beating, she’s not breathing either. My colleagues need to have the defibrillator and a resuscitation mask ready.
"You’re doing great," I tell her while checking the helicopter's position on my map.
