Escape (Aftermath #2)

13. Chapter 13

Chapter 13

The Investigation

Mel

I step into the lounge, my chest tightening as my eyes land on Will and Jon. They’re standing close, their voices low, though I can’t catch what they’re saying. When Will turns and sees me, his face softens, and I manage a small smile in return.

“Hey,” he says, stepping toward me. His hug is warm but brief, and when I pull back, I search his face for something—maybe a sign that he’s really okay.

“Mel,” Jon says, nodding to me, his voice steady but quiet.

“Jon.” I nod back, my eyes flicking around the room. For a moment, the three of us just stand there, the silence stretching between us, thick and awkward. Finally, I speak.

“It’s strange being here,” I say, my voice quieter than I expect. “Like the walls remember everything that happened.”

Jon hums in agreement, his expression darkening. “I know what you mean. Feels... heavy.”

We sit, the air between us charged with everything we’re not saying. I clasp my hands tightly in my lap, feeling the weight of memories pressing in from all sides. Will leans forward, his shoulders tense, while Jon stares off at nothing, his jaw set. None of us seems ready to break the silence.

Finally, I speak, the words spilling out before I can stop them. “I didn’t think I’d make it.” My voice shakes, and I swallow hard, steadying myself. Jon glances at me, his brow furrowing, but he doesn’t interrupt. Will doesn’t look up, but his hands tighten into fists.

Jon shifts, finally speaking, his words slow and deliberate. I don’t catch every detail—something about Yorkshire, isolation, sheep. There’s a faint smile, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. Will chuckles, the sound low and dry, but even that fades too quickly.

The conversation twists, pulling at old wounds we’ve each tried to bury. Arif’s name comes up, and my throat tightens. I feel the sting of guilt rise, unspoken accusations aimed squarely at myself. Jon mutters something about Arif deserving better, his tone heavy, and Will nods, his eyes fixed on the table.

The silence settles again, heavier now, until Greg Archer’s voice cuts through it like a sharp breath of air.

“We’re ready for you.”

Will stands, grabbing his crutches without a word. Jon and I exchange a glance before falling into step beside him. The meeting room looms ahead, its doors like a gateway to everything we’ve been avoiding.

We follow Greg into the meeting room, and the familiar setting feels colder, clinical. A long table dominates the space, papers and folders neatly stacked at one end. Greg stands at the head, motioning for us to take seats.

Once we’re settled, he begins. “First, let me thank you all for being here. I know this isn’t easy, but it’s important. Today, we’ll review the events surrounding the incident, step by step, and discuss any recommendations moving forward.”

He clicks a remote, and a large screen comes to life with a timeline. The moments flash by in cold, factual text: Initial Call from Pastkhuf Village – 10:23 AM. Decision to Dispatch – 11:15 AM. Departure from Khorog – 12:45 PM. Landslide Occurs – 13:12 PM. Emergency Response Begins – 13:18 PM.

As Greg speaks, his tone is methodical, clinical. He recounts every detail: the phone call from the village, the girl’s injuries, the weather conditions, the decision to include Will for security. It’s all laid out with precision, every moment accounted for.

When he finishes, he looks up, his gaze sweeping across the table. “Does this align with your recollection of events?”

I glance at Will and Jon before nodding. “Yes. That’s accurate.”

Jon shifts in his seat. “It is. But it doesn’t explain...” He pauses, his voice tightening. “It doesn’t explain why we didn’t do more. Why I didn’t do more. I should’ve checked the road conditions more thoroughly. I knew the weather was bad, but I didn’t push hard enough for more information.”

Will shakes his head. “It wasn’t just you. I’m the security consultant. I should’ve pressed harder about the route, about alternatives. I saw how bad the rain was, and I still thought we could make it.”

“I should’ve asked more questions about the girl’s condition,” I add, my voice cracking. “I should’ve known if it was safe to drive to the village or if there was a better way to help her.”

The room falls silent again, the weight of our shared guilt filling the space. Greg watches us carefully before speaking. “You’re all carrying a lot of guilt, and that’s understandable. But it’s important to remember that this was a complex situation. Weather, terrain, timing—it wasn’t just one factor. It wasn’t one person’s responsibility.”

His words hang in the air, but they don’t settle the unease in my chest.

As the meeting progresses, my mind drifts. The landslide, the rain, Arif’s final moments—they all blur together in a painful loop. No matter how many times I try to rationalise it, the guilt lingers, sharp and unyielding.

When the meeting ends, I sit there for a moment, staring at my hands. Did I make the right decisions? Could I have done more? The questions gnaw at me, each one heavier than the last.

Even as we leave the room, the weight doesn’t lift. It stays with me, a constant reminder of what we lost that day, regardless of what Greg says.

To find out more about the incident, the review, and what came next for Will & Katie, and Mel & Owen, read

Rescue