Chapter 2 The Save
THE SAVE
JACK
I'd been making deliveries to the resort cabins for three years, and I'd never seen anyone block the trail before.
The ATV was idling when I spotted it, a section of the path down toward the lake completely washed out, mud and debris piled where the runoff had carved a new channel overnight. Not impassable, but not safe to haul a loaded rack through.
I'd have to loop around on the maintenance road. Add twenty minutes to the route.
I killed the engine to assess the damage.
That's when I heard it.
Faint. Barely cutting through the river noise. But unmistakable.
Someone shouting.
I didn't run. Running made you sloppy. But I moved fast, boots hitting the trail at a steady jog, eyes scanning ahead for movement, ears tracking the sound.
The dock. Had to be.
Another shout, closer now, raw and sharp.
I cleared the tree line and saw her immediately: woman in the water, clinging to the floating dock, dark hair plastered against her face, arms shaking hard enough I could see it from twenty feet away.
My brain shifted into the old pattern.
Assess.
Current: fast but not violent. Water temp: maybe forty degrees. Time in water: unknown, but her grip was failing. Hypothermia setting in.
Anchor.
The dock was stable. I could work from there.
Distance.
She was maybe three feet below the platform. Close enough to reach with rope.
Don't rush.
I stepped onto the dock, steady, controlled, and crouched at the edge.
"Can you hold on?" I asked.
Her eyes snapped to mine. Brown. Wide. Scared, but sharp.
"Yes," she said.
Lie. But she'd try. That was enough.
I went back to the ATV and grabbed my kit, fifty feet of kernmantle rope, overkill for firewood deliveries, but I'd learned a long time ago that the right gear in the wrong situation was better than the wrong gear in any situation.
Back to the dock. I tied off to the support post, tested the knot, fed the line down.
"Loop it under your arms," I said. "Can you do that?"
She nodded, still clinging to the dock with both hands.
Smart woman. Didn't let go until I told her to.
"One hand first," I said. "Keep the other on the dock."
She released her grip and grabbed for the rope. Missed. The current pulled at her, and I saw the flash of panic cross her face before she locked it down and tried again.
Got it.
"Good. Now the other side."
She hesitated, just a second, then let go of the dock and fumbled the rope under her arms. Her hands were shaking so hard that it took three tries to get it tight.
"Secure?" I asked.
"Secure."
I wrapped the line around my forearms and pulled.
She wasn't heavy, but the water had weight, and her boots were waterlogged. I hauled steady and even, muscle memory taking over as I brought her up and over the edge of the dock.
She collapsed face-first onto the wood, gasping, whole body shaking.
"You injured?" I asked.
She shook her head. Couldn't speak yet.
"Can you stand?"
"Give me a second."
I gave her five. Watched her push herself up onto her knees, then her feet. She swayed, and I caught her elbow before she could tip.
"Easy," I said.
She looked up at me, really looked this time, and I felt the hit of it like standing too close to a fire. Wet hair, flushed skin, eyes that were still sharp even through the shock.
She was beautiful in the way that caught you off guard. Not magazine-perfect. Real.
And soaked to the bone.
"Thank you," she said. Her voice was rough, scraped raw.
"Don't thank me yet," I said. "You need to get warm. Now."
"I'm fine..."
"You're not." I was already guiding her toward the trail, hand on her elbow, because I didn't trust her legs yet. "My cabin's close. We'll get you dry, then I'll call it in."
"Call what in?"
"The fall. SAR needs to know."
"I don't need a rescue," she said. "You already..."
"Protocol," I said, and let my tone carry the weight of non-negotiable. "You went in the water. They log it. That's how it works."
She didn't argue after that. Just let me steer her up the trail toward the ATV, which was probably the cold doing the work more than my sparkling personality.
I helped her onto the seat behind me. Her hands grabbed onto my jacket without hesitation, fingers still trembling.
"Hold tight," I said.
She did.
I started the engine and took the trail slow, avoiding the worst of the ruts. I could feel her pressed against my back, shaking hard enough that it vibrated through the layers of flannel and denim.
Two minutes to the cabin. Maybe three if I was careful.
I was careful.
But I also didn't waste time.
Because hypothermia didn't care how competent you were or how well you thought you were handling it.
It just took.
And I wasn't giving it the chance.