“Must be one of the school groups,” Ben says, pointing to a collection of yellow buses on the far side of the lot. They come into the park in all weather, but this is a peak time, right before the end of the semester.
“Likely.” I park the vehicle, and we grab our gear and walk to the trailhead. I hesitate at the beginning of the trail, memories flooding back to me. This is where I started my last rescue ten years ago.
“You okay?” Ben asks, resting a hand on my shoulder.
“Yeah,” I say. “First week jitters; it’s nothing.”
“It’ll be fine.”
“Of course. Let’s head up. Which way should we go?”
Lembert is a sloping dome of granite that’s about nine hundred feet of vertical, which springs up from the surrounding meadow like it was dropped there from outer space. There’s a three-mile loop trail that goes around the back, or you can climb up the steeper slope to the top. That way is bare and looks intimidating, though it’s an easy climb with the right gear.
“Hold on.” Ben checks in with the dispatcher. The call came from near the top, but on the trail. “Let’s take the trail. That way we can run up and get there sooner.”
Ben’s not kidding about running up. It’s what part of all my training was for, to get myself in that kind of shape. One where running up a mountain doesn’t leave me hobbling the next day. There’s been a lot of that these last couple of days, and every part of my body hurts.
We take off at a quick pace. The trail is full of teenagers, talking loudly and breaking branches off the passing trees. We weave through them and issue warnings about preserving the wilderness. About a mile in, our radio crackles.
“SAR Peters, this is SAR Smith.” It’s our teammate Gareth calling.
I use my radio. “SAR Peters, go ahead.”
“This situation is deteriorating. Where are you?”
My heart accelerates. “Half a mile.”
“Pick up the pace.”
“Will do, over.”
“That’s not good,” Ben says. “If Gareth’s worried…”
I nod in agreement. In the short time I’ve known Gareth, I’ve never seen him stressed. And judging by Ben’s expression, neither has he.
I met Gareth and his girlfriend, Mia, on the first day of orientation. They’re an odd pairing who’ve been working SAR for a couple of years. He’s a big, overconfident bear of a man who likes to laugh no matter the circumstances, while she’s petite, Asian, and quietly self-assured. I’d heard of her before I got here because she’s a sponsored climber who often appears in climbing magazines. She’s earned her reputation free soloing some of the hardest pitches in the world and sending new routes up El Cap and Half Dome. Gareth’s specialty is bouldering, a strong-man activity that involves climbing up boulders with no ropes or other protection.
“We’d better get up there,” I say.
“Agreed.”
We increase our pace, pressing up the hill. My calves protest, and my mind starts to cycle over the possibilities of what we’ll find.
We clear the forest path, and now we’re on the smooth, rocky part of the trail. There’s a small cluster of people up ahead, off the trail marked by cairns on the bare rock. A woman is lying prone, and Gareth and Mia are hovering over her along with a small circle of lookie-loos.
Accidents always draw a crowd.
My breath is ragged but I’m focused, going through my mental checklist of what to do. Her right leg is lying at an odd angle and already I’m thinking it’s a break and we’re going to have to carry her down, an arduous procedure depending on the person’s weight, where they’re strapped to a litter and then walked or rolled down the mountain. This woman appears slender, fit. Hopefully it won’t be too bad.
“Mia,” I say, and she turns to me.
Her dark hair is hidden by a knit cap, and her brown eyes are bright and kind. She smiles, but it’s not relaxed. “You made it.”
“Assessment?”
“Woman, early thirties, suspected ankle fracture.”
I crouch down to examine the ankle. Gareth is blocking the view of the woman’s face in front of me. “Gareth,” I say to get his attention. He steps aside and then starts to shake. Is he in shock? And why is everyone looking at me like that?
“Cassie,” a voice says, and my eyes trail away from the woman’s ankle to her face. It’s Jenny Evans, the emergency services coordinator, and she’s smiling.
Gareth starts to laugh loudly, clutching his sides as he shouts a phrase I’ve already become too familiar with. “Welcome, dirtbags!”
Dirtbag. That’s me.
* * *
“So,” I say to Jenny twenty minutes later. “Did I pass?”
We’re hiking back down Lembert Dome, completing the loop around it. Jenny’s ankle is fine. The call was a sort of hazing, a prank, one I’m surprised Jenny would agree to participate in, frankly. Gareth, on the other hand, had laughed his ass off, and said, over and over, “You should’ve seen your face!”
“I told you already, you made the team,” Jenny says in her clipped voice.
I learned a long time ago not to take her tone personally; it’s the way she speaks, as if she’s always in a hurry, which she generally is. People often told us we looked like sisters, but the resemblance is superficial—two bland blondes with light blue eyes and Waspish features. She’s shorter than me and tougher, her forearms thick and strong, the planes of her face hard and chiseled. “Why the hazing, then? I thought you weren’t into that kind of stuff?”
“Truth?”
“Yeah.”
She glances over her shoulder. Gareth and Mia got called away to another rescue, and Ben is talking to a group of hikers about fifty feet behind us. We’re alone. “I wanted to see how you’d react.”
“Because of when we found Cameron?”
“Of course because of when we found Cameron.”
“That was a long time ago.”
“Sure, but you haven’t been in the scene since then.” Jenny stops and puts her hands on her hips. “I took a risk in hiring you, okay? Called in some favors. I can’t have you falling apart on me like you did that day.”
“That’s not how I remember it.” What I remember is that we were both a mess. Nothing, nothing, prepares you for the sight of a dead body. It’s grisly even when you don’t know them and didn’t have anything to do with their disappearance.
We were both exhausted and sick at the sight of her, but Jenny was the one who went into shock while I had to clean up our mistakes.
In the aftermath, we’d each reacted differently. I’d thrown in the towel and tried to put it behind me, while Jenny had dived right back in and eventually became management.
“Be that as it may,” Jenny says, “I need to know I can rely on my team.”
“Me, you mean?”
“Yes.”
“And? Can you?”
Jenny turns and starts to walk at a brisk pace. I follow her, catching up, matching her quick, sure strides. “Ben tells me you’re smart, responsive, and have good instincts with people. He thinks you’re a bit guarded and secretive, but he’s happy to have you on the team.”