Chapter 9
Alexia
The eerie glow of the snow-covered landscape casts strange shadows across my face as I watch Selene battle the ice-coated rotors. Her movements are precise, deliberate — the kind that come from fighting a thousand battles before this one. The harsh winter wind whips at her dark hair, and I find myself mesmerized by the determination etched across her features.
“This would be so much easier with proper de-icing equipment,” she grumbles, stretching on her tiptoes to reach a particularly stubborn chunk of ice that refuses to budge. “But I guess we'll have to make do. How's it going in there?”
“About as well as you'd expect when using a worn-out tool meant for scraping ice off car windshields,” I complain while clearing more frost from the control panel. The cold metal bites into my fingertips through my thin gloves. “Are you sure this is going to work?”
“Nope, but I wasn't sure about flying into a blizzard either, and here we are, still kicking,” she quips, flashing that smile that somehow makes my stomach do somersaults. “Ready to fire it up?”
The engine coughs before roaring to life, humming low in the crisp afternoon air. I watch as the ice begins to melt around the air intakes, water droplets catching the wan winter light.
Through the radio static, I hear Selene's voice shift into her pilot tone: sharp, clear, and worlds away from the woman who was teasing me just moments ago.
“Burlington General, this is Life Flight 7. We're airborne and weather conditions have improved significantly. ETA approximately one hour, possibly less.”
The response crackles through our headsets.
“Copy that, Life Flight 7. Be advised we have a situation here that Dr. Winters should know about.”
My body tenses at those words. In my experience, the term “situation” in a hospital setting rarely precedes good news.
“Go ahead, Burlington,” I respond into my mic, gripping my lucky pen tighter.
“Our cardiac surgeon, Dr. Matthews, is snowed in at his residence. Roads are completely impassable from his location, and snowplows won't make it in time. We've maintained the donor on life support, but we'll need you to perform the recovery, Dr. Winters.”
“Understood. Have your team prep for immediate procurement on arrival. I'll need-”
“The full cardiac team is standing by,” they interrupt. “OR 3 is being prepped to your specifications. Dr. Matthews sent over your equipment list from your last call.”
“At least someone's efficient,” I mutter, forgetting my mic is still hot.
Selene chuckles beside me. “High praise coming from you. Should I be jealous of Dr. Matthews?”
“He's sixty-four and collects ceramic cats,” I roll my eyes. “But he knows how to prep an OR.”
“Life Flight 7,” the radio crackles again, “be advised we'll maintain donor stability, but we'll need to proceed within three hours of your arrival.”
“Copy that,” Selene responds. “Dr. Winters will be ready. Life Flight 7, over and out.”
After closing the channel, she turns slightly toward me with a smile.
“Planning the procurement while we fly? That thing you're doing with your eyebrows usually means you're performing mental surgery.”
“I don't do anything with my eyebrows,” I protest.
“Yes, you do, and it's adorable,” she insists. “I won't show you how adorable because we might crash.”
“Yeah, better stick to flying the helicopter,” I huff, though the smile tugging at my lips betrays me.
“The Ice Queen saving Christmas. It's like a Hallmark movie,” she teases.
“You're an idiot. Call me that again, and I'm walking back to Manhattan.”
“You know, you're nothing like what people say about you,” she sighs, eyes fixed ahead.
“You don't know me that well.”
“I know enough,” she counters, reaching over to take my hand. “I know you’ve risked your life, that you’re about to perform incredibly complex surgery after spending hours in a frozen cabin to save a seven-year-old girl who won’t make it to Christmas without your help. I’d say that tells me plenty.”
***
Burlington Hospital's OR feels different from my usual domain. I prefer working with a medical team that knows my rhythms, but a heart is a heart, and time is of the essence.
“Scalpel,” I request, and the instrument slides into my right hand. Always the right. Some habits don't change, even in unfamiliar territory.
Through the observation window above the OR, I glimpse Selene. She stands with her arms crossed, watching intently. Our eyes meet for the briefest moment, and somehow, knowing she's there steadies me, even though she can't help with this part.
“Beginning primary incision,” I announce to the operating room. “Donor status?”
“All vital signs stable, Doctor. We've maintained optimal perfusion.”
The procedure progresses normally, without complications. The donor heart looks perfect: young, strong, healthy. I think about the strange workings of fate. This poor boy met his end in a terrible car accident, yet his organs will give new chances to children he never knew.
“Dr. Winters,” a nurse cuts in, “they're reporting light snow starting again.”
“That's not relevant to the surgical procedure,” I respond firmly, though my stomach knots. “Clamp, please.”
From above, I hear Selene's voice through the intercom. I asked her not to speak during the surgery, but I welcome her words anyway.
“Don't worry about the weather. That's my job. You just get that heart ready for Holly.”
“I don't recall requesting commentary from the observation room,” I joke.
“Consider it a bonus service, like the in-flight entertainment with forced landing included,” she quips, and I roll my eyes dramatically.
The OR team laughs, and I'm surprised to notice the tension in the room has eased.
“Separating final connections now,” I announce. “Preservation solution ready.”
The heart releases perfectly. I place it carefully in the transport container, verifying each step meticulously. There's no room for errors, not when a child's life hangs in the balance.
“Time?” I ask, peeling off my gloves.
“Two hours and seventeen minutes since arrival, Doctor. Cold ischemia time approximately four hours.”
“Excellent. Let's move.”
I exit the OR to find Selene waiting, already geared up for the flight.
“Wish my sister had had a doctor like you,” she sighs, running pre-flight checks.
“Selene…”
“No, it's fine. I just mean… Come on. Let's get that heart where it needs to be,” she cuts off, pointing at the container.
The rotors spring to life again as we lift off into ominous black clouds. There's no Plan B now — everything must go right. We can't divert, can't make an emergency stop to weather the storm. We're carrying precious cargo and something more: we're carrying hope for Holly.