Total pages in book: 127
Estimated words: 117992 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 590(@200wpm)___ 472(@250wpm)___ 393(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 117992 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 590(@200wpm)___ 472(@250wpm)___ 393(@300wpm)
“Watch it,” Zach boomed across the tight space. The student who’d stretched a leg out pulled it back immediately and shot all of us an apology wince, but it didn’t keep Zach from glaring at him. “Shit like that gets people killed.”
Zach grabbed my hand out of Johnny’s grasp and met my eyes for an intense moment before leading me out onto the skids himself and reaching back for the gear bags.
I wasn’t sure if my jangling stomach was from nerves or excitement. And was it due to the intensity in Zach’s eyes or the anticipation of finally dangling from a helicopter again in the fresh mountain air?
Once Johnny and I were connected to the longline hook and in position, I gave the hand signal to Zach and communicated verbally into the headset inside my helmet. I couldn’t believe Zach was actually going to let me do this after acting like such a jackass earlier.
“Wait,” Zach blurted, grabbing the front of my harness with his gloved hand and pulling me back onto the skids with him. My heart plummeted as I wondered if this was where I finally lost my chance at participating in this long-awaited advanced SAR course.
My nostrils flared at him, but I kept my mouth shut. This was the moment he needed to decide if we were trainer and trainee or something more than that.
“Go,” he barked, shoving me off the skids and onto the lush turf of the meadow. A soft breeze swayed through the early wildflowers, but it wasn’t enough to jeopardize our training flights.
I had my answer.
We were nothing more than trainer and trainee. And for the next two weeks of the program, we managed to pretend that was actually true.
Chapter 11
Zach
As I shook out the migraine preventive from the prescription bottle, I realized it had been working. If there was ever a time I should have been getting migraines, it was the past fourteen days of watching Lucky Reed dangle from a helicopter by a long rope over the jagged edges of the Rocky Mountains.
I felt like I hadn’t slept in years. Every night when I returned to my little cabin in the woods, I took a long, hot shower in hopes of washing away the day’s events. More often than not, those showers turned into angry sessions of stroking myself off to the memory of him standing in front of me in nothing but his underwear, running a teasing finger through his happy trail. His lithe body was tight with muscle and so fucking young. His plump lips teased me all day every day, especially when he bit into the lower one while he was concentrating on something.
I squeezed my eyes closed and swallowed the pill, wishing like hell it could also settle down the part of my brain that was roped off for one overly friendly and hot-as-fuck SAR student.
“Predicting strong winds out of the southeast this afternoon,” Tag said, stepping into the tiny bathroom where I’d leaned down to grab another handful of water from the sink faucet. “I think we’d better wrap things up and be back on the ground by one if it’s all the same to you.”
“You’re the boss,” I reminded him. “Pilot makes the call.”
Tag nodded and headed into the single stall while I left to start class. The students had learned longline rescue, hoist rescue, and rappelling from the helicopter. Today would be the day they were faced with their first case assessment to determine which rescue type was appropriate for the situation. They’d be tasked with rescuing injured climbers with specific medical needs. It meant spending much more time in the air and hovering at the rescue site. If we wanted a chance to get in the air for drills, we needed to review the classroom material and organize our plan quickly.
“Let’s get started,” I said, striding into the classroom and through the small group of students who’d been gossiping like hens over their morning coffee. “Today we’ll be taking turns playing injured rock climber and the rescue paramedic helping them.” I handed the short stack of envelopes to the closest student. “Take one and pass it. These have your assignments in them. The first card details which training session you’ll play the victim in and what your injuries will be. The second card details which session you’ll be the SAR paramedic on the line and what emergency call you’re responding to. Take a minute to look your cards over and remember what we talked about yesterday. Not every rescue report is accurate. Sometimes critical information is missing and sometimes they get things wrong, including location, conditions, and status of injuries.”
I walked back and forth across the front of the small room. “It’s your job to accurately assess, treat, and evacuate the victim based on the reality you find, not the report. When it’s your turn to be the SAR tech, we will inform you of the rescue call and leave you at the drop zone to prepare while we fly your victim into position. Use that time wisely the way you would use flight time to prep your jump bag and supplies and plan your mission.”