Page 13 of Searching Blind

“No one’s doubting your ability, Sawyer,” Lucy said, her voice all patience even as her grip on his wrist tightened. “You were unconscious a few hours ago. I’m just trying to keep from adding to our injury list. Joel’s not helping either.”

“Joel has a bone sticking out of his leg. I’m whole. I have four working limbs. Use me.”

Lucy’s grip tightened a fraction more. She drew a breath, and Sawyer could practically hear the gears shifting in her mind as she weighed the merits of fighting him on this.

Finally, with a sound that was somewhere between a sigh and a growl, she released him. “We don’t have time to argue. Just… be careful.”

He wasn’t sure if it was a victory or not, but at least he could do something. He heard the shuffle and scrape of shovels, the occasional grunt or curse as they hit a rock. He joined in with Zelda at his side.

“Dig,” he ordered. She didn’t have to be told twice. The only thing she loved more than digging was policing the squirrels that always tried to steal the bird seed out of the feeder at Redwood Coast Rescue.

The next few hours were a blur of hard work and quiet determination. Sawyer dug methodically, his hands blistering, his muscles screaming in protest from overuse and fatigue. But he refused to stop, refused to show weakness.

He’d spent too many years after losing his sight thinking he was useless. Too many years of letting his disability define him. That had all changed when he got Zelda. She’d given him his freedom back. Then he’d met Zak and Anna Hendricks and joined the Redwood Coast Rescue, and he’d found purpose again.

Now, here, on this mountain, he had a chance to prove himself again. To save a life. And maybe, just maybe, win Lucy’s respect in the process.

Lucy was a constant presence at his side. Their elbows brushed more than once as they dug. He felt her attention on him often—that gaze that prickled his skin and made him aware of her in a way that was becoming harder to ignore.

“Easy, big guy.” Lucy’s voice was tight, her lips pressed together as she watched him. “You’re about to collapse.”

He could feel beads of sweat trickling down his brow and the persistent ache in his head had become a dull roar, but he wasn’t about to admit it. Not now.

“I’m good,” he replied, grunting with effort as he shoved another heap of dirt away from Maya’s trapped legs.

She didn’t call him on the lie. Instead, she left his side, presumably to check on Maya. His suspicions were confirmed a moment later when she asked, “How are you doing, Maya?”

Silence.

His heart pounded, every beat echoing inside his skull like a hammer striking an anvil.

Then, finally, he heard a shallow, ragged breath and the quietest whisper of a response. “Okay.”

“She doesn’t sound good,” he murmured when Lucy returned.

She said nothing for a beat, then her shovel dug into the earth with a renewed ferocity that made his heart clench. “She doesn’t look good. We have to hurry.”

Lucy was tough, tougher than anyone he’d ever known. And she bore the weight of everyone else’s problems like they were her own. But now he could hear the strain in her voice, the slight tremor that she couldn’t quite hide. He wanted to comfort her, to say something that would ease her fear, but he didn’t know what to say. So he used his strength instead, clawing through the dirt and rocks with a relentless determination.

Finally, their efforts paid off. With one last Herculean pull from Bea and Chuck, they hauled Maya out.

The tree groaned ominously.

“Get back!” Lucy shouted as the branches they’d used to prop up the tree snapped, the sound echoing like gunshots.

Sawyer grabbed Zelda and realized he had no idea which way to go.

“Left!” Lucy grabbed his arm and yanked him sideways just as the tree moaned one last time before it rolled downhill with a thunderous crash.

“My God,” Theodore breathed.

“Anyone hurt?” Lucy demanded. “Sawyer?”

He checked in with his internal pain meter. Other than the persistent throb in his head and some new nicks and scratches on his face from flying debris, he wasn’t much worse off than before. “No, I’m good.”

“Zelda?”

He ran his hands over his dog. Her heart was thundering, and she was panting hard from stress, but she wasn’t injured. “Zelda’s good.”

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