Page 2 of Rescue

I nod to myself. “Good work,” I say relieved. A clean wound reduces the risk of infection, though it doesn’t rule out internal trauma. “What about her pupils—are they the same size, or is one larger than the other?”

There’s a pause, then a muffled sound as if she’s speaking to someone else nearby. When she returns, her voice is firmer. “They are not same. One is larger.”

Unequal pupils. That clinches it—a sign of significant head injury, likely intracranial bleeding or swelling.

“Thank you, Laila. You’ve done well to stabilise her so far. I know the roads to Pastkhuf can be difficult. Is there a way to transport her to a larger facility?”

“We have a car,” she says, her voice dipping slightly, “but the roads are very bad. The rain makes it dangerous.”

I take a deep breath, my mind racing. The combination of her condition and the logistical challenges makes this a nightmare scenario. “You’ve done everything right so far, Laila. Keep her as still as possible—especially her neck—and continue monitoring her breathing. I’ll speak to my team here, and we’ll figure out the next steps.”

“Thank you, doctor. Please... come quickly,” she says, her voice soft but steady, before the line disconnects.

I lower the phone and hand it back to Fatima, my thoughts already spinning through possibilities.

“She’s in trouble,” I say, cutting straight to the point. “Head trauma, probably intracranial bleeding. They’ve stabilised her as much as they can, but they can’t get her out of there safely in this weather.”

Fatima nods, her expression grim. “We’ll speak with logistics. Maybe there’s a way to arrange transport, but with the rain...” She trails off, her words hanging heavy in the air.

I rub the back of my neck, tension settling in. “She’s been unconscious for hours. Time isn’t on our side.”

Fatima’s sharp eyes narrow as she considers the situation. “I’ll call the army,” she says, already picking up her phone. “If they’re willing to assist, they might send a helicopter for medevac. But in this weather, it’s a long shot.”

I nod, though a knot tightens in my stomach. A helicopter would be the fastest and safest option, but nothing here is ever straightforward. The combination of weather, logistics, and costs often turns even the simplest plans into impossible puzzles.

As Fatima dials, I take a step back, letting my thoughts drift. I’ve been here long enough to know how precarious things are in these remote areas. In London, everythingruns like clockwork—or at least it’s supposed to. Out here, it’s a different story. Supplies are limited, roads are dangerous, and every decision feels like a gamble, with lives hanging in the balance.

Fatima speaks in Tajik, her voice sharp and direct as she negotiates. I only catch the occasional word, but her tone is all I need to hear. This isn’t going to be easy. I shift my weight, trying to ignore the gnawing unease in my chest. Time is slipping away, and that little girl doesn’t have the luxury of waiting for bureaucracy to work itself out.

When Fatima finally hangs up, her expression is grim. “The army says they’ll send a helicopter,” she explains concerned, “but only if we can assure them the girl has a real chance of survival. They want a medical opinion before they take the risk in this weather.”

“So they’ll let her die unless we jump through hoops,” I mutter, frustration creeping into my voice.

Fatima shakes her head, not rising to the bait. “It’s not just about costs, Jon. This rain makes the flight dangerous. They won’t risk their crew unless they’re sure it’s worth it.”

I bite back another comment, knowing she’s right. It’s not just about bureaucracy or stinginess—it’s about survival, and they’re trying to mitigate risks on their end. Still, the weight of the situation feels suffocating.

Fatima exhales, her fingers tapping against the desk. “We need someone to go to the settlement and assess the girl. That way, if you decide she can be saved with immediate care, we’ll have the justification to call the helicopter.”

I nod slowly, already anticipating where this is going.

“I’m sending Mel with you,” she continues. “I’ll brief her on the situation. The two of you can make the trip, assess the girl, and let me know.”

The thought of Mel joining me is a relief. Relief, because I trust her judgment and experience.

I glance toward the rain pelting against the window. The roads will be treacherous, every turn a gamble. “You’re sure about the roads?” I ask.

Fatima nods but doesn’t sugarcoat it. “I’ll check with logistics and Will, but I think it will be possible. If the rain keeps up, it could get worse, so the sooner you leave, the better.”

I run a hand through my hair, tension settling in my shoulders. The responsibility feels immense—a child’s life hanging in the balance, and every second ticking by.

“I’ll get my kit together,” I say finally, my voice firm despite the storm brewing inside me. “If we’re doing this, we need to move quickly.”

“Thank you, Jon.” Fatima sounds relieved. “I’ll keep everything ready on this end. Call me as soon as you’ve made the assessment.”

As I leave her office, the unease lingers. This is what I signed up for, isn’t it? To go where I’m needed most, to take on these challenges. But that doesn’t make the weight of it any easier to carry.

The rain’s assault is relentless, a constant hammering that drowns out everything but the screech of tyres and thegroaning of the Hilux. Arif’s hands clutch the wheel, his knuckles stark white, his concentration unflinching as he battles to keep the truck on the muddy track.

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