Chapter 9 #3
Just like Landon, who’d died trying to free-climb a cliff face in Yosemite because he couldn’t resist the challenge, couldn’t walk away, couldn’t admit that some risks weren’t worth taking.
“How do we find the right shaft?” Teague’s voice was choppy, as if he was gearing up as he spoke. “The one that connects to the chamber they’re in?”
Eden pushed her emotion aside, forcing herself to focus on the problem, not on the growing knot of fear in her stomach.
She stared at the maps, trying to see patterns in the scattered marks showing old mine locations.
“That’s the problem. These shafts are all over the plateau.
Some connect to the main cave system, some don’t.
Some collapsed decades ago. Finding the right one… ” She trailed off.
“Like finding a needle in a haystack,” Teague finished quietly.
“Yeah.” Eden grabbed a ruler from her desk and measured distances on the map with precise movements. She calculated angles and did the math in her head.
“But needles can be found if you know where to look.”
She pulled out a red marker and uncapped it with her teeth. She began circling potential shaft locations on the map. “There are at least a dozen marked shafts within a half-mile radius. Most are probably collapsed or too narrow for a person. But if even one or two are still accessible…”
“Then we have a chance.” The distinct sound of carabiners clicking into place accompanied his words. “Send me the coordinates. I’m heading up to the plateau now.”
“Teague, wait—” Eden’s voice caught.
She wanted to tell him to be careful, to not take unnecessary risks, to not be a hero, to remember that his life mattered too.
But this was Teague.
Careful wasn’t in his vocabulary when people needed saving.
“I know,” he said quietly. Like he could hear all the words she wasn’t saying, all the fear she refused to name. “Get me those coordinates, Eden. Even if we don’t know for sure they’re alive, I’m not willing to give up hope. Not yet.”
The radio clicked off.
Eden stared at the maps. Her hands already reached for her phone to call in backup, every resource she could mobilize—SAR teams, equipment, medics.
But her mind was on Teague climbing alone toward unstable mine shafts, ready to rappel into darkness on nothing but hope and rope.
She pressed her palm against her chest and felt the rapid beat, felt her heart hammer beneath her ribs.
This was why she didn’t date adrenaline junkies anymore.
This feeling.
This sick, helpless terror that the person you cared about was going to get themselves killed and there was nothing you could do to stop them.
Except she didn’t care about Teague.
Not like that.
She couldn’t afford to.
She wouldn’t let herself.
Eden grabbed her phone and started making calls, her voice steady and professional. She pushed the feelings down where they belonged.
Buried deep where they couldn’t hurt her.
Examined never.
She got to work and tried not to think about all the ways this could end badly, all the ways she could lose him.
Meg’s fingers pressed gently against Alex’s throat and found his pulse again.
Still steady. Still strong.
But her mind was already racing ahead to the impossible logistics of what Noah was proposing.
Moving a patient with a potential traumatic brain injury through unstable cave passages was every worst-case scenario from her emergency medicine training rolled into one.
“Noah.” Her voice came out steadier than she felt. “If Alex has an intracranial bleed, any jarring movement could make it worse. We could kill him trying to save him.”
“And if we stay here, the water kills all three of us.” Noah was already pulling rope from his bag, his hands moving with purpose. “Help me. We need to move fast.”
He pulled off his uniform shirt with quick movements and left just his undershirt, gray and damp with sweat. He began threading rope through the sleeves of the shirt he’d removed.
Her medical training screamed at her. Stabilize the patient. Protect the C spine. Minimize movement.
But her survival instinct whispered something else. Better a chance than none at all.
She looked down at Alex’s pale face, skin waxy in the lamplight. At the gauze already darkening with blood from his temple.
He was maybe seventeen. Eighteen at most. Still had acne on his jaw.
Someone’s son.
And she was supposed to keep him alive.
“We need to immobilize his head and neck as much as possible.” Meg began digging through her medical bag, pulling out the supplies she’d brought. She spread them on dry rock.
Not enough.
Never enough for something like this.
“I can make a cervical collar from…” She grabbed the cardboard packaging from her gauze supplies and began folding it along the creases. “It’s not ideal, but it’s something.”
“Good.” Noah glanced up, his hands still working the rope. “What else?”
The water had reached the medical bag now and soaked into the canvas bottom. Meg grabbed it, moved it to higher ground, and squelched through the water. Her heart hammered against her ribs.
How much time did they have? Minutes? An hour?
Noah had created something resembling a harness from his shirt and the rope. Crude, but functional.
“If we make a stretcher, we’ll never get him through some of those passages. They’re too narrow.” He met her eyes, his expression grim. “I’m going to have to carry him.”
“Carry him?” Meg’s voice pitched higher. “Noah, he probably weighs one-sixty, one-seventy. You can’t—”
“Fireman carry. Over my shoulder.” Noah was already testing the harness and checking the knots. “I’ve done it in training. The harness will help distribute his weight, keep him stable against my back.”