Page 4 of Found By the Mountain Man
As I get closer, I can make out details. A woman, dark hair just like Jake described, lying motionless on the snowy bank. Her clothes are soaked and already starting to freeze, her skin pale with cold. A camera hangs around her neck.
I drop my pack and kneel beside her, immediately checking for vitals. Pulse: weak but present. Breathing: shallow and slow. Core temperature: dangerously low.
"Jake, I found her," I radio while simultaneously stripping off my jacket. "Alive but hypothermic. Black Creek, about half a klick downstream from the formations. I need that backup now."
"Copy. ETA fifteen minutes for the team. How bad?"
I wrap my jacket around her and start the process of getting her out of wet clothes—a delicate balance between preserving modesty and preventing death.
"Bad. She's been in the water, probably for at least an hour. I need to get her core temperature up immediately or we're going to lose her."
Her eyelids flutter as I work, a good sign. Consciousness means her body is still fighting.
"Ma'am? Can you hear me?" I ask, checking her pupils with my flashlight. "My name's Connor. I'm with Search and Rescue. You're going to be okay."
She mumbles something I can't make out, her voice slurred with cold.
"What's your name?" I ask, continuing to work. "Can you tell me your name?"
"Z-Mavis," she manages, the word barely recognizable through her chattering teeth. "C-cold."
"I know you're cold, Mavis. I'm going to warm you up, okay? But I need you to stay awake for me. Can you do that?"
She nods weakly, and I see her trying to focus on my face. Her eyes are dark brown, almost black, and despite her condition there's intelligence there. Fight.
I get my emergency bivy sack unrolled and start the process of transferring her into it—a temporary shelter that will help trap body heat and block the wind that's starting to pick up.
"The camera," she whispers, her hand moving weakly toward the equipment around her neck. "Did I get it?"
"Don't worry about the camera right now," I tell her, though I'm impressed that she's coherent enough to think about her gear. "Let's focus on getting you warm."
The housing looks intact, which means there's a good chance her photos survived. "It's okay," I tell her. "Camera looks fine."
Relief flickers across her features, and I realize this isn't just expensive equipment to her. This is her livelihood, her art, maybe her life's work.
My radio crackles. "Connor, backup is trapped in the storm. How's our victim?"
"Responsive but critical. I've got her stabilized, but she needs medical attention fast. And Jake? Be advised, the weather's deteriorating rapidly up here. We need to move quickly."
As if to emphasize my point, the snowfall intensifies. Big, fat flakes that stick to everything and reduce visibility to maybe thirty yards.
Mavis's eyes widen as she sees the snow. "Storm," she whispers.
"Yeah, there's a storm coming. But don't worry about that. My job is to get you somewhere safe and warm, and I'm very good at my job."
"Thank you," she says, her voice barely audible but unmistakably sincere.
"Don't thank me yet," I reply, checking her pulse again. Still weak, but steady. "Thank me when you're drinking hot coffee back at base."
The back-up team will take too long to get here. She’ll die before they cut through the snow. I need to get her somewhere warm and fast.
three
Mavis
Iwaketothesound of crackling wood and the scent of pine smoke. For a blissful moment, I think I'm back in my grandmother's cabin in the Hill Country, where she used to take me during summer breaks from the chaos of foster care. Then the pain hits—a symphony of aches that tells the story of my near-death experience in vivid, throbbing detail.
My shoulder screams when I try to move. My throat feels raw from swallowing creek water. Every muscle in my body feels like I've been hit by a truck, then dragged behind it for good measure.
