2. Reid
2
REID
I pull up outside the Mountain Angels rescue building, my truck’s engine rumbling to a stop. The structure's rustic exterior of weathered wood and stone greets me, blending seamlessly into the surrounding mountain landscape. A large garage door stands open, revealing the fleet of specialized rescue vehicles parked inside - snowmobiles, all-terrain trucks, and even a small helicopter.
As I climb out of the truck, fat flakes of snow drift down from the heavy gray clouds overhead. I pause for a moment, watching as the flurries thicken, blanketing the ground in a fresh layer of white. It's going to be a significant snowfall, I can tell. The kind that will have the slopes packed with eager skiers come morning.
Shouldering my pack, I push open the heavy wooden door, the familiar sights and sounds of the Angels headquarters greeting me.
The interior is a mix of utilitarian office space and equipment storage. Rows of lockers line the walls, their metal doors covered in faded decals and stickers. The air is thick with the scent of freshly brewed coffee and the damp, earthy odor of wet outdoor gear.
A cacophony of radio chatter and weather reports fills the space, the voices of my fellow rescuers crackling through the speakers. I scan the room, spotting Viggo, our gruff but capable boss, hunched over the dispatch console.
"Hart, there you are," he calls out, waving me over. "We've got a situation up at the resort. Snowboarder with a twisted ankle needs evac."
I let out a frustrated sigh, muttering a curse under my breath. It's been a busy week, with countless inexperienced couples trying their hand at extreme sports for some misguided Valentine’s date. Rescuing them from their foolishness has become a tedious routine.
Viggo levels me with a stern look. "I know you're getting tired of these kinds of calls, Reid. But this is part of the job. I need you to put your personal feelings aside and do what needs to be done."
I clench my jaw, the muscles in my neck tightening. "After extracting wounded soldiers under enemy fire, a twisted ankle seems laughably trivial," I mutter, shaking my head.
Viggo's expression softens slightly. "I get it, man. But you can't let that attitude show, not with the public. You're the face of this organization, remember?"
I let out a heavy sigh, resigning myself to the task at hand. "Alright, I'm on it," I mutter, turning to head towards the equipment room.
The familiar scent of rubber and gasoline hits me as I push open the beaten door, my eyes sweeping over the rows of rescue gear. I grab my pack, methodically checking each item as I stow it away.
A thick, insulated jacket - the same one I wore on that fateful mission in the Hindu Kush when the weather turned against us. I shove down the memories of that day, the biting cold and the howling winds.
Next, a pair of heavy-duty mountaineering boots, their soles worn from countless hours trudging through deep snow.
As I tuck a coil of climbing rope into my pack, I'm reminded of the time I had to scale a treacherous ice cliff to reach an injured hiker. The adrenaline rush, the fear of failure - it's all seared into my mind.
Shaking off the melancholy thoughts, I turn my attention to the medical kit, ensuring it's fully stocked. As I toss in a box of bandages, my mind drifts to the woman I just dropped off - Willow Jones. Despite her car accident, the determination I saw in her eyes was admirable. It's a quality I can't help but respect, even if her presence is a distraction I don't need.
"Heading out, Hart?" a raspy voice calls from the doorway.
I glance up to see Anton, one of my fellow rescuers, leaning against the frame. His brow is furrowed, a telltale sign of the impending storm.
"Yep. Snowboarder with a twisted ankle, up at the resort," I reply, zipping up my pack.
Anton nods, his expression grim. "Better get up there quick. Looks like we're in for a hell of a blizzard tonight. Gonna be a busy one, I reckon."
I let out a humorless chuckle. "Wouldn't be the first time."
With a final check of my gear, I sling the pack over my shoulder and turn to head out, but Viggo's gruff voice stops me.
"Hart, hold up a sec."
I turn to face him, eyebrow raised in question. Viggo's expression is unreadable as he studies me for a long moment.
"I know you're getting tired of these routine rescues," he says, his voice low. "But I need you to keep that frustration in check, you hear me?"
I open my mouth to protest, but he raises a hand, silencing me.
"I get it, alright? I've been there myself. But the work we do - it matters, even if it's just some knucklehead who got in over their head." His eyes meet mine, a flicker of understanding passing between us. "Next time something serious comes in, it's your job. You hear me?"
I nod slowly, the weight of his words sinking in. Viggo's seen his fair share of hell; I know that much. The kind of experiences that leave their mark, no matter how many years pass.
"I hear you," I murmur.
Viggo claps me on the shoulder, the ghost of a smile tugging at his lips. "Good. Now get out there and do what you do best, Hart."
With a final nod, I turn and make my way to the exit. The howling wind greets me as I push open the heavy door, and snow swirls around me in thick, heavy flakes, coating my truck in a fresh dusting of white.
I pause for a moment, taking in the scene. The mountains loom above, their peaks shrouded in a veil of white. It's a familiar sight, one that's both comforting and unforgiving - a reminder of the power and unpredictability of nature.
With a deep breath, I turn the key in the ignition, the engine roaring to life. Time to get to work.