Page 33 of High Intensity

When I have my feet back in my boots and make sure my snowshoes are attached tightly, I turn to lift Hayley from Jillian’s arms. She’s been holding her all this time, and shakes out her arms the moment I relieve her of her load.

I peek under the hood and notice the girl’s eyes are open, but I don’t think it’s me she sees. She has dark blond or brown hair like her mother, and her eyes are the color of whiskey, but they’re blank. The poor kid is tiny, she weighs next to nothing. It’s a damn miracle she was able to last this long.

Carefully shifting her a little higher in my arms, I start moving, retracing our steps to the shelter.

“I can’t believe she survived,” I tell Jillian in a low voice when she falls in step beside me.

“She’s resourceful. Among other things, I found a lighter in her pack, and apparently, she was able to build a small fire up there. The ashes were cool though, so I figure maybe she became too weak to climb down and gather more sticks and bark to burn. I also noticed an empty water bottle, and another one she used to relieve herself in. There was little urine and it was dark.”

“That’s how you figured she was dehydrated.”

“That, and her disoriented and weakened state, although hypothermia would’ve played a part as well. She was like an icicle when I touched her, and so pale. If I hadn’t heard her move moments before, I would’ve thought we were too late.”

We’re moving at a brisk pace, the snow easier going since our earlier footprints packed it down a bit. Also, I need to keep moving to generate some heat. You’d think with the girl held so tightly against me, it would be warm sharing body heat, but there isn’t much warmth radiating from her.

We only take one short break, mainly to give Hunter a well-deserved drink, but we also try to get Hayley to take some more water. Unfortunately, that is less successful. I don’t think she’s conscious and most of it dribbles down her chin.

“She needs an IV,” Jillian mumbles as I lift the girl up again.

I grunt my agreement as I start moving again, even faster. I’m less worried about Jillian keeping up than I am about the girl slipping away in my arms if we don’t get her some help.

There is no more talking as we hurry back to base camp. Despite her small size, my arms are trembling and muscles burning with the effort of carrying her all this time. I feel a surge of relief when I can see the tent shelter through the trees.

The guys must’ve been keeping an eye out, because Jackson is already pushing the tent flap aside when we approach.

“EMTs?” I ask as I duck past him inside.

They cleared all the electronic equipment from the large folding table and covered it with a horse blanket. I lay her down and, disturbingly, her head lolls to one side.

“ETA five minutes,” JD is the one to answer.

“Leave it on,” Jillian says, putting a hand on my arm when I start unzipping my coat, which is way too big on the little girl. “Let the medics do it.”

On the other side, Hunter hops on the edge of the table with her front paws and shoves her nose inside the hood of the parka, sniffing Hayley’s face.

“You did good, girl,” Jillian coos at her dog, grabbing her by the collar.

On the table, Hayley softly moans. At the same time, two EMTs walk into the tent.

I blow out a deep breath; she’s alive.

Jillian

It was Wolff’s suggestion I get in the ambulance with the girl.

My head resisted, despite every instinct pushing me to stay by the girl’s side. I used the dogs as an excuse, but Wolff brushed my concern aside by assuring me he could drop them off at home if I’d give him my keys. He then hammered it home when he reminded me she has no one to stand by her, to comfort her when she wakes up, to advocate for her.

Even without knowing everything about me, he knew exactly which button to push.

So, I handed him my keys, asked him to let my dogs out for a pee and make sure they have fresh water, told him where to find their food, and then I hopped in the back of the ambulance.

For someone with a healthy dislike of hospitals, I seem to be spending a lot of time here this week. However, this time I’m determined not to end up in the waiting room.

I jog alongside the stretcher as the EMTs wheel her through the ER. They look at me strangely when I tell a nurse, who asks if I’m related, that I’m her aunt. To their credit, they say nothing,and I’m able to sneak in and stay off the radar while the medical team starts examining her.

I already told the EMTs what I know, and listen as they fill in the physician on her condition and the circumstances that caused it. When the doctor glances my way and asks the young EMT who was in the back of the ambulance who I am, I hold my breath.

“The girl’s aunt. She rode in the back of the ambulance,” he answers.

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