Chapter 6 - Brock
I check my watch for the third time in fifteen minutes, trying not to make it obvious that I'm mentally calculating how long we've been trapped in this shelter.
The storm isn't letting up—if anything, it's intensifying, sheets of rain so heavy that the forest beyond our small wooden haven has turned into a blur of green and gray.
"Looks like we might be here a while longer," I say, keeping my tone casual even as I feel a growing unease about our situation.
Not because of any danger from the storm—we're perfectly safe here—but because of the young woman sitting across from me.
Tasha pulls the emergency blanket tighter around her shoulders, the metallic material crinkling loudly in our small space.
She's trying to hide how her wet clothes cling to her body, and I'm trying to pretend I haven't noticed the generous curves that her outfit doesn't emphasize quite so clearly.
I should not be noticing these things. Not about Ellie's friend. Especially not when she's fresh out of college, barely starting her adult life while I'm solidly in the middle of mine.
"Did you grow up hiking these trails?" she asks, mercifully breaking my inappropriate train of thought.
I nod, grateful for the neutral topic. "My dad used to bring me up here almost every weekend. Said TV rotted your brain, but mountains built character."
"Sounds like a wise man."
"He was," I confirm, "Career military, tough as nails, but never missed a Little League game."
"That explains a lot about you," she observes with a small smile.
"Oh? How so?"
She gestures vaguely in my direction. "The whole dependable, responsible, outdoorsy vibe. It's clearly generational."
I can't help but chuckle at her assessment. "I'll take that as a compliment."
"It was meant as one." Her cheeks color slightly, and she quickly changes the subject. "What was Cedar Falls like when you were growing up? Has it changed much?"
"Some things have changed," I say, leaning back against the wooden wall of the shelter. "Downtown's more tourist-oriented now. When I was a kid, it was all practical businesses—hardware store, pharmacy, general market. Now it's boutiques and artisanal coffee shops."
"The inevitable march of gentrification," she comments. "Even in mountain towns."
"Exactly. But the bones of the place are the same. Same families have been here for generations. Same community spirit." I think about how the entire town rallied around Ellie and me after Claire died. "People still show up when it matters."
Tasha looks thoughtful. "That must be nice. Chicago neighborhoods don't exactly function that way."
"No block parties in the big city?" I tease.
"Oh, we have events," she clarifies, "but it's not the same as knowing your neighbors would actually notice if you didn't show up somewhere. In my apartment building, I couldn't tell you the names of anyone living on my floor."
The contrast between our experiences strikes me as both sad and typical of modern life. "Cedar Falls will probably feel suffocating after a while, then."
"Actually, it's refreshing," she admits. "The first day I was here, three different people said hello to me on the street. Complete strangers. I thought they were trying to sell me something."
I laugh at the genuine bewilderment in her voice. "Small town hospitality. It comes standard with the mountain views."
Another crack of thunder, so loud it seems to shake our small structure, interrupts the conversation. Tasha jumps slightly, her eyes widening.
"Mother Nature's really putting on a show today," I comment, trying to normalize the storm's intensity.
"Does it always get this dramatic up here?"
"Summer storms can be theatrical," I confirm. "Quick to form, quick to pass—usually. This one's being stubborn."
Tasha glances nervously at the sheets of rain visible through the open side of the shelter. "I'm starting to think we might be spending the night here."
The casual mention of spending the night together, however innocently meant, sends my mind to places it absolutely should not go. I clear my throat, shifting on the bench.
"It won't come to that," I assure her, my voice perhaps a touch too brusque. "These systems typically move through within a couple of hours."
I reach for the radio clipped to my belt—standard equipment for any fire department personnel venturing into remote areas.
"I should check in with the station," I explain, unhooking the radio. "Let them know our situation."
Tasha watches with interest as I adjust the frequency and press the talk button.
"Cedar Falls Fire Department, this is Chief Brock, over." The radio crackles with static before a response comes through.
"Chief, this is Lewis. Reading you five-by-five. Go ahead."
"Just reporting our status. I'm at the Cascade Falls trail shelter with Ellie's friend from Chicago. We've been caught in the storm and are waiting it out. All safe, just delayed. Over."
"Copy that, Chief. Want us to send someone up if you're not back by a certain time? Over."
I glance at my watch, making a quick calculation. "If you don't hear from me by 1700 hours, send Max with the ATV. Trail's going to be a mess. Over."
"Roger that. 1700 hours for check-in or we dispatch Max. Over."
"That's affirmative. Brock out." I clip the radio back to my belt, noticing Tasha's impressed expression.
"Very official," she comments. "I feel like I'm in a movie."
"Standard wilderness protocol," I explain. "Cell service is spotty up here even in good weather. During storms, it's practically non-existent."
"Good thing you came prepared," she says, and there's genuine appreciation in her voice.
"Always," I reply, focusing on everything except how the emergency blanket has slipped slightly from her shoulder, revealing the curve where her neck meets her collarbone.
The rain continues its relentless drumming on the roof, though the gaps between thunder claps are growing longer, suggesting the storm is indeed moving away.
"I think we're past the worst of it," I announce, standing to get a better look outside. "Still raining, but the lightning danger has passed."
"Can we make a break for it?" Tasha asks, sounding both relieved and apprehensive.
"If you're up for it. The trail's going to be treacherous, but we can manage if we're careful."
She nods, beginning to fold the emergency blanket. "I'm ready when you are. I don't want to make your firefighter friend come looking for us on an ATV."
"Max would love the excuse," I say with a short laugh. "He lives for dramatic rescues. But let's try to spare him the trouble."
We pack up quickly, and I survey the shelter again to ensure we're leaving nothing behind. Tasha stands near the entrance, peering out at the wet forest.
"Stay close," I instruct as we step out into the rain. "The trail's going to be slick."
We begin our descent, moving cautiously over ground that has transformed from a well-maintained hiking path into a muddy obstacle course. Water has carved small channels down the steeper sections, creating miniature streams that make footing unpredictable.
"Take your time," I remind Tasha, who's following a few steps behind me. "No rush."
"Easy for you to say," she replies, her voice strained with concentration. "You look like you could navigate this blindfolded."
"Years of practice," I say over my shoulder. "And plenty of falls along the way."
We continue in silence; the only sounds our footsteps and the persistent patter of rain through the trees. I can also hear Tasha's movements behind me, her fast breathing and the occasional soft exclamation when she encounters a particularly slippery spot.
About halfway down the trail, we reach a steeper section where water has washed away much of the loose soil, exposing roots and rocks that now protrude like Nature's idea of an obstacle course. I pause, assessing the safest route.
"This part's tricky," I warn, turning to face Tasha. "Watch where I step and try to follow the same path."
She nods, her expression serious. I begin navigating the section, deliberately placing each foot to create the safest possible path for her to follow. When I reach the bottom of the steep portion, I turn to watch her progress.
She's following my footsteps precisely, her concentration evident in the slight furrow between her brows. She moves slowly, testing each foothold before committing her weight.
"You're doing great," I encourage as she nears the bottom. "Just two more steps."
Perhaps it's my words breaking her concentration or simply bad luck, but her right foot suddenly slips on a mud-slicked root. She pitches forward with a startled cry, arms flailing as she tries to catch herself. I lunge forward, but I'm not quite quick enough to prevent her fall.
She lands hard, a pained gasp escaping her as her ankle twists beneath her.
"Tasha!" I'm at her side instantly, "Don't move. Let me check you."
"I'm okay," she insists, though her face has gone pale. "Just clumsy."
"Let me be the judge of that," I say firmly, kneeling beside her in the mud. "Where does it hurt?"
"Right ankle," she admits, grimacing as she tries to shift position. "I felt it twist."
I examine her ankle, my touch as professional and impersonal as I can make it despite the circumstances. There's already swelling visible, and she flinches when I gently probe the area.
"It's not broken," I conclude, "but definitely sprained. You can't walk on this."
"I have to," she protests. "We can't stay out here in the rain."
"We won't," I assure her, already calculating our options. "But you're not walking anywhere on that ankle." I stand and turn my back to her, then crouch down slightly. "Put your arms around my neck."
"What? No, I can't let you carry me all the way down the mountain!"
"You don't have much choice," I point out reasonably. "It's either me or waiting several hours for Max and the ATV."
She hesitates, clearly uncomfortable with the situation. "I'm too heavy," she says finally, her voice small.
The vulnerability in those three words catches me off guard. I turn to face her again, meeting her eyes directly for the first time since the storm began.
"Tasha," I say gently but firmly, "I've carried unconscious adults out of burning buildings. I think I can manage to get you down a hiking trail."
She searches my face, looking for any sign that I'm just being polite. Finding none, she finally nods. "Okay. But if your back gives out, I reserve the right to say 'I told you so.'"
"Noted," I reply with a brief smile, relieved to see a flash of her humor returning. I turn again, crouching lower. "Arms around my neck, and I'll lift you."
I feel her arms encircle my neck hesitantly, her soft breasts pressing against my back as I hook my arms under her knees and stand. Her weight settles against me, and I adjust my stance to balance the load.
"Comfortable?" I ask, already knowing the answer is probably 'no.'
"As much as I can be," she says, her voice close to my ear. "This is mortifying."
"Consider it part of the Cedar Falls experience," I reply lightly, beginning to walk down the trail. "Local fire chief rescue service."
"Is that included in the tourist brochure?"
"VIP service only," I assure her, focusing intently on my footing. The added weight makes navigating the slippery trail even more challenging, but decades of physical training have prepared me for exactly this kind of situation.
What they haven't prepared me for is the feeling of Tasha pressed against my back, her arms around my neck, her breath warm against my ear.
Every step brings a subtle shift of her body against mine, and I force myself to think of nothing but the trail ahead, the technical aspects of safe descent, and the professional duty to get an injured hiker back to safety.