Page 32 of Rescuing Dr. Marian
One of the group, a SAR drone operator from Maryland named Omar, frowned. “We’ve gotta port it all in, so do we wanna take a standard med kit? Or maybe pare it down a bit?”
Sierra Vaughn, an experienced EMT from Asheville, tugged open the flap of a large dry bag. “Opposite, I think. We don’t know what shape the kayaker will be in, so we have to assume the worst—blunt trauma, hypothermia, maybe even spinalinvolvement. I say we load up a hypowrap kit, airway adjuncts, and at least two thermal blankets.”
I nodded. “Sierra’s exactly right. Don’t count on routine when prepping for emergency response. The most important lesson in wilderness medicine: triple-check your supplies before leaving base. Once you’re out there, what you have is what you have.”
Cody, a high-mountain ranger from Rainier, nodded. “Been there. You gotta be resourceful.”
Omar flushed. “Shit. I should’ve known that.”
“Nah.” I nudged him lightly with my elbow. “If you were already an expert on everything, you wouldn’t be here. Wait until it’s time to work with drones, and you’ll find that some people on your team have the hand-eye coordination of a rhinoceros.” I mimicked moving a joystick in quick, jerky movements.
“That’ll be me.” Sierra sighed grimly. “He’s talking about me.”
Everyone laughed, and Omar brightened.
While the team finished loading up our gear, I couldn’t help glancing over at Foster and his team… because apparently, my eyes were magnets, and Foster Blake was one large, sexy, muscular metal filing. His students had jumped into action, too, pulling out radios and topo maps of the area and asking Foster for access to the person who’d reported the woman missing.
“Jasper Lloyd,” Foster said, calling out a name from his roster. One of his students snapped his head up in surprise. “You’re on point for nav once we hit the river. Just like we talked about yesterday, yeah?”
“Whoa, no.” Jasper shook his head. “I’m an EMT who relies heavily on the apps, if I’m being honest. No sense of direction. Let Kofi do it. He’s?—”
“I asked you. And I trust you to do it.” Foster gave the man the full weight of his attention, and even from this distance, it made me shiver, remembering how it felt to be the center of his focus. “You’re here to learn SAR, right? You can’t search if you’re shit at nav, so let’s go.”
“Yeah.” Jasper swallowed and nodded once. “Yeah, okay.”
We loaded into the bus for our drive to the trailhead, and while the SAR teams worked their case from the front seats and the swift-water specialists conferred about possible rescue scenarios and water conditions, I reviewed medical protocols with my team. The energy was infectious—everyone excited for their first real drill.
“This’ll be sick,” Cody said, grinning. “You think they’re doing tagline or tethered swimmer?”
Sierra shifted her backpack. “Don’t get my hopes up. For all we know, she’ll be unconscious on the bank after taking a pee break.”
My team continued chatting excitedly after arriving at the trailhead parking lot and watching the other teams hurry up the trail. After several minutes, the radio operator for one of the SAR teams alerted us on the radio to a victim spotted in the water just southwest of Blacktail Overlook.
“Alright,” Sierra said, grabbing her pack. “Let’s do this.”
We headed out after them, keeping a quick but steady pace over the rocky terrain. But just before we arrived at our rallypoint, Foster’s own voice rang out over the radio, giving us new information.
“Blake to all units. Drill is canceled. We’ve got a real emergency. Climber down on the south face of Devil’s Backbone. Serious fall, unknown condition. Students and non-lead staff are to remain ready to assist. I need medical here ASAP. Repeat: drill is canceled. We’re live. Over.”
Devil’s Backbone was one of the steeper ridges of Slingshot Mountain, a jagged spine of rock with loose scree at the base, sheer drops, and terrain that punished hesitation. As we hustled to the new coordinates, I took the radio from Sierra, my heart rate spiking as I switched from training mode to actual emergency response.
“Marian to Blake, we copy. Medical en route. We’re a minute out. Has someone contacted local dispatch?”
As my team and I entered the clearing at the base of the climb, Foster was instructing his crew: “Dr. Marian and I will make the climb for in-field triage and extraction.”
I raced forward while barking instructions to Sierra to hand over the supply backpack.
The climber had taken a popular but advanced climbing route called Spiny Tooth that led up the steepest part of Devil’s Backbone. Foster was already rigging anchor points, his movements efficient and confident. When he worked, there was no wasted motion, no hesitation. It was mesmerizing to watch—and I caught myself staring at the fluid way his muscles moved as he handled the ropes.
Focus, Tommy.
“What do we have?” I asked, giving Chickie a quick headscratch as I stepped up to the student offering to help me into a harness. “Any idea of the injuries involved?”
Foster quickly took over from the student, squatting at my feet and reaching for the webbing straps. “Possible head injury with loss of consciousness, multiple contusions. No report of compound fracture or bleeding,” he called without looking up at me. “Medical up first. I’ll belay you.”
He quickly began strapping the harness webbing around my waist and thighs, his muscles moving under the tanned skin of his forearms. Being this close to him, feeling his hands on me even through the clinical necessity of the harness, sent heat racing through my body.
Not the time. Not the place.
