NO ONE GOT LEFT BEHIND. Not on Sierra’s watch.
“Jess, this is PEAK. Come in.”
Sierra sat at the dispatcher desk of PEAK HQ, her voice raw, stripped, and not a little wrung out from praying. The sun hung low, long shadows pressing into the room, and the smell of burned cookies saturated the air. Silence except for the static of the radio.
She wasn’t a rescuer, didn’t know the tactics, strategies, and methods of the trained EMTs and mountain rescue specialists of PEAK Rescue.
But even Sierra knew Jess Tagg could die on that charred mountain if the team didn’t find her, soon.
“Jess, if you can’t answer, just know we’re not giving up. We’ll find you. I promise.”
Sierra leaned back, running her hands down her face.
“Anything?”
The voice made her turn. Chet had come into the office, looking as exhausted as she felt. He wore a PEAK team gimme cap and a blue windbreaker, lines of worry aging his face. Now, he ran his hand over a layer of white whiskers even as he bent over the giant topographical map in the center of the room. “The fire has cut off the Ranger Creek trail. Gage and Ty have to pull out. They’re closing Going-to-the-Sun Road.”
Oh no. After a year as the team’s administrative assistant, and even before, as billionaire Ian Shaw’s executive assistant during his search for his missing niece, Sierra possessed a thorough knowledge of the terrain of Glacier National Park.
Of course, the daily weather reports, the giant map plastered to the wall, and the numerous callouts that brought PEAK Rescue to all four corners of Glacier National Park helped.
Going-to-the-Sun Road traversed the park, east to west. “If they close the road, how will Jess get out?” she asked.
“How far has the fire progressed?”
She glanced up at the radar and the fire display Pete had procured for them to track the wildfires in the Park. Sierra had constructed the scene in her mind’s eye, not to mention the Google Maps view of the terrain.
“The fire is heading toward Goat Mountain,” she answered, her voice taut.
Chet stood up, gave her a grave nod.
Don’t cry.
Because rescuers didn’t give up. At least the PEAK team didn’t, and right now, she wanted to be just as brave, just as smart, just as dependable as Gage, Ty, Jess, Ben, Kacey, and Sam.
“Keep trying,” Chet said.
She nodded and turned back to the radio, keeping her voice even, calm, just like Chet King, her boss, had taught her. “Jess Tagg, come in.”
She should have guessed that the routine call would turn south.
Because nothing could ever be considered routine in the world of search and rescue.
A forest fire had ignited near Saint Mary Lake, in the drought-dry forest in the eastern half of the park, and a week later over four hundred wildland firefighters from across Montana, Idaho, Washington state, and even Minnesota battled to control nearly four thousand acres of inferno.
Separated from their team, two firefighters had outrun a spur of flame, jumping over a cliff to escape the blaze.
Into that inferno, her PEAK rescue teammates flew to rescue them.
Now, with the firestorm on the mountain creating its own weather, what should have been a simple drop and extract had turned precarious.
The wind was cycloning at the top of the cliff, and Kacey had struggled to hold the chopper steady enough to rig the ropes and haul the litter in, never mind the danger to the occupant.
Thus, she’d lowered the chopper to the cliff’s ledge. There, she held it while EMTs Gage Watson and Jess Tagg loaded the first injured firefighter into the chopper.
Sierra had heard enough stories from Pete Brooks and Miles Dafoe, their wild land firefighter experts, to visualize the flames torching the treetops, the choking black smoke, the toxic creosote and ash that hung in the air. The chopper churned that debris up, clogging the air, blinding them, and whipping the fire back to fury.
Sierra had paced as she listened to the rescue on the radio, her arms wrapped around her waist.
She hated this part of her job—watching, listening, not able to do anything but pray.
Somewhere in there, the beeper had gone off on the oven. She felt silly then, mixing up a batch of cookies like they might be on a picnic.
Small comfort when lives hung in the balance, but that was her job. Pay the bills, clean the office, run the schedule, and make sure PEAK ran on all engines.
Which included fresh-baked chocolate chip cookies for the team when they returned.
Oh yeah, she was a real asset to the team.
Somehow when she’d left her job as Ian Shaw’s executive assistant over a year ago, she envisioned herself actually contributing. She didn’t have the bravado of EMT Jess Tagg, or the mountaineering skills of EMT Gage Watson, or even the smarts of Sam Brooks, their deputy liaison, but she longed to be someone who made a difference. Like Ty Remington. Sure, he wasn’t flying anymore, but he still went on callouts, assisted in searches, helped coordinate rescues. And with Pete Brooks gone, moving onto greener pastures as a disaster incident commander with the Red Cross, she sort of hoped there might be a slot open to her.
Not that she had any training, really, but she could learn.
Someday wear the jacket, be a part of the PEAK team roster.
“Ready to load.”
Sierra had been responding to the timer beeping, turning it off and reaching for her oven mitts, when she heard the explosion. A terrible ripping of metal and wood.
And behind it, Jess screamed.
Sierra forgot the cookies, ran back to the dispatch desk.
White noise crackled through Sierra like electricity. All she could imagine was the chopper slamming against the side of the mountain, splintering, falling the two hundred feet to the base.
Crashing and killing everyone aboard.
Oh, please—
Then, “Mayday! Mayday! We lost a rotor, and we’re going down.”
The calm, nearly stoic darkness of Kacey’s voice betrayed the years of military chopper training. But in the background, behind her mic, Sierra heard shouting.
“Jess!”
And behind that, the roar of a wounded, flailing chopper.
Sierra caught her breath. In her mind’s eye, she could see it. Ben King in the copilot seat, maybe EMTs Jess and Gage in the back, clutching the strapping in the cargo bay as the chopper spun out of control, careening toward some jagged gorge or granite mountainside—
The line went dead. Sierra picked up the mic. Please, God. “Air Rescue, come in!”
Silence.
She pressed her hand over her mouth, closed her eyes as the silence stretched out, leaving only the terrible thundering of her heart.
Air Rescue, come in. How many times she’d called, she couldn’t remember.
“I’m going out to the barn to check on the retrieval of the chopper,” Chet said. “Let me know if you get ahold of her.”
She nodded.
Retrieval of the chopper. Sierra pressed her hand against her stomach, hearing again Kacey’s mayday as everything went south.
And repeating, over and over, her dark, broken words. Air Rescue, come in.
Until—and she nearly wept with relief—Kacey finally responded.
She’d managed to put the damaged chopper down safely at a nearby campground. All passengers safe.
Except for Jess. Who’d been left on the cliffside.
And, in the four hours since then, unaccounted for.
Now, Sierra sat in the chair and repeated her words for the countless time. “Please, Jess, come in.”
Please.