Page 14 of No Hope of Rescue

With sinking expectations, I run the cabin like a rescue station and turn my attention to the map again. Then, after making sure all backup radios are charging, I also make sure the radio chest rig is packed with medical supplies, as well as a backup battery, and that the emergency backpack has two sets of heated jacket and pants.

I can’t figure it out. Brock is so careful about safety protocols. He keeps a logbook on the kitchen counter for every hike, penning in the destination.

The last one was four days ago. It was in Carter’s handwriting.

Ryan’s right. He’s been slipping ever since Crystal broke up with him. Though he’s never snapped at us, he’s been tense. I saw it when a medevac unit came to retrieve a young skier two weeks ago.

We found her heading into shock with a compound fracture on a closed black diamond trail, and the helicopter showed up forty minutes later. Then, their crew didn’t check their cables, and the poor girl’s gurney fell ten feet from the ground as they were beginning to lift off.

Brock was livid. He spent the good part of an hour holding her head in his lap and talking to her, making sure she felt seen and safe. He gave her some water, and when the medics reminded him later that it wasn’t protocol? Well, that’s when he snapped.

He’s lost weight too. He ran out of gas last week, and I had to drive him home. I offered to take him out for a beer, but he declined. It’s been six months since she tried to return the ring. He wouldn’t take it back.

I could kill her for hurting him. Not really, but I could tell her off.

It’s one thing to not take care of himself, but to slip up with Codie is another. I didn’t believe it. Not for a minute. When it comes to the people he loves, Brock would lay down his life.

I’ve seen it.

That’s why this terrible pit in my stomach won’t go away.

Something is wrong.

Outside, the sky grows darker. The clouds are thickening to thunderheads full of snow.

About forty minutes later, the radio on the table crackles to life.

“Jace. Over.”

“Copy. You got something? Over.”

“There’s something—may be Codie’s snowmobile. Blue, but I can’t see well enough. Far down on the south side. Over.”

He’s got military binoculars that scope, so if he can’t make it out, it’s because there’s snow on top of the vehicle. But he can also triangulate with them.

“Sixty degrees over forty. Over.”

It’s our one lead.

“I couldn’t raise anyone but you. Riley don’t go out though. It’s already starting. The wind up here is kicking in. Copy.”

I don’t answer.

“Riley! Copy.”

“Copy that. Return to base,” I say as a chair on the deck tumbles over.

Out there, the wind could reach eighty, ninety miles an hour.

Brock and Codie are out in that somewhere. I can’t sit still.

The last thing I do is scribble a note with the coordinates Jace gave me and throw more wood into the woodstove.

“Come on, Savi,” I say and hold the door open.

With the combined variables of the blizzard and wind, the unknown location, unknown level of injury, and no contact, this is not good. If we head into another twelve-hour period without finding them, the technical name will change to recovery—not rescue.

The official name is “no hope of rescue.”