Page 55 of Run Wild Omega

We spent a week camped at the snow command post, drinking terrible coffee and eating MREs. We talked about everything. Physics. Fire. Survival. The crushing loneliness of the jobs we did.

Dylan brought the heat. Miles brought the logic. I… I guess I held us together.

Somewhere between the thermal readings and the campfire smoke, we realized we were better together than apart. We balanced each other out. We became a unit. We became a pack.

I look at them now. My brothers. But there’s a hole. A Tess-shaped hole in the center of the circle that we didn’t even know was there until she fell into it.

My phone buzzes again. I pick it up. “Callahan.”

“Cap, it’s Kyle.”

The line is crackly, but the relief in his voice is palpable.

“Status, Kyle.”

“The station is secure. I’ve got the perimeter alarms on. Pip is… she’s demanding more food, but she’s fine.”

“Good. Any calls?”

“Just the sheriff. He wants an update on the mission. I told him I’d get back to him as soon as I could. Ben is also worried, but I told him everything is fine.”

I let out a breath. “You did good, kid. Stay there. If the weather breaks, I want you to start coordinating with the plows. We’re going to need a transport back to town when Tess is discharged.”

“Copy that. Cap… is she really going to be okay?”

“Yeah, Kyle. She is.”

“Good. Because… well, everyone here is pretty wrecked about it. Even Sheriff Reddick.”

“I know. Hold it down.”

“Will do.”

I hang up and lean my head back against the wall. The exhaustion is pulling at my eyelids, tugging me down, but I can’t sleep.

The door to the waiting room opens.

Maggie steps in, looking tired but efficient. “Doctor’s ready for the family consult.”

Dylan snaps awake, instantly alert. Miles lowers his tablet.

We all stand up.

The doctor walks in behind her. He’s older, probably late fifties, with silver hair cropped close and a face that looks like it’s seen too much coffee and not enough sleep. He’s wearing surgical scrubs with a cap covering his head and a stethoscope draped around his neck. He looks from Maggie to us, his eyes assessing.

“I’m Dr. Evans,” he says, holding a clipboard. “I performed the surgery on Tess Hartwell.”

“Is she okay?” Dylan asks, stepping forward. “Can we see her?”

Dr. Evans holds up a hand. “I need to speak with her family. Her emergency contacts list her parents as next of kin, and a brother in Denver.”

Maggie shifts. “The parents are en route, Doc. Weather slowed them down. And these gentlemen…”

She trails off, looking at us. She knows. She saw us come in with her. She knows we aren’t on that list.

Dr. Evans frowns, looking at our muddy clothes, our blood-stained jackets. He looks at the way we are positioned, a wall of muscle and anxiety surrounding the doorway.

“You’re the rescue team?” he asks.