Page 8 of One Last Storm
CHAPTER 3
SHEP
Shep was tired of calling himself a coward. Time to rip the bandage off and tell Moose he was quitting.
He adjusted his headset and stared out at the churning gray-white world below the helicopter’s skids. Snow whipped past the windows in horizontal sheets, and the Bell 429’s prop fought against gusts that wanted to shove them sideways into the mountains. His red Air One jumpsuit felt snug under the safety harness, and despite the heater running full blast, cold seeped through the chopper’s skin.
Not exactly ideal conditions for life-changing conversations.
But then again, when was it ever ideal?
Two days ago. The supply room at the Tooth. That had been perfect.
He’d found Moose alone, restocking medical supplies after their last callout. Boxes of gauze and emergency blankets scattered across the metal table, inventory sheets clipped to a board. Just the two of them and the quiet hum of conversation of the team debriefing in the main room.
“Hey, can we talk?” Shep had started, closing the supply room door behind him.
“Sure. Hand me that box of splints, would you?” Moose hadn’t looked up from his checklist. “What’s on your mind?”
Deep breath. Here went nothing. “It’s about London and me. We’ve been talking about?—”
The door had burst open. Axel, “Hey, you guys seen the new rope rescue gear? London said it came in yesterday, and I want to check the weight ratings before—” He’d stopped, looking between them. “Am I interrupting something?”
“Nope.” Shep had grabbed the splint box and handed it to Moose. “Just helping with inventory.”
Then the radio crackled to life. “Air One Rescue, we have a multi-vehicle accident on the Parks Highway. Two critically injured, need immediate helicopter extraction.”
Moose was already moving. “Duty calls. We’ll finish this later, Shep.”
But later never came.
Well, mostly because Shep had turned into a coward.
Now here they were, flying through a blizzard to maybe save Winter’s life, and the words were still trapped in his chest, burning.
“ETA to Winter’s last known position?” Moose’s voice crackled through the comm system. The man sat in the pilot seat, broad shoulders relaxed despite the challenging conditions, hands sure on the collective and cyclic. The man could fly a helicopter through a tornado and make it look easy.
“Twelve minutes,” London responded from the co-pilot seat, checking her GPS display. “Winds are gusting to twenty-five knots, but we’re maintaining course.”
“Copy that.” Moose adjusted their heading slightly, compensating for a crosswind that tried to push them off course. “Echo, you got an update on those weather conditions?”
Echo Kingston’s voice came through clearly from Copper Mountain base. “Storm’s holding pattern for now, but you’ve got maybe two hours before the next wave hits. Wind speeds are forecast to double by eighteen hundred hours.”
“Understood. Any word from Winter on the emergency frequency?”
“Negative contact since her last transmission fourteen hours ago,” Echo replied. “Search and Rescue has her last known coordinates locked in, but that’s a big search area.”
Axel looked up from his rescue equipment check, jumpsuit already loaded with gear for a potential rope rescue. “Radio silence could mean anything. Equipment failure, conserving battery, or she’s just staying put until we arrive.”
“Winter’s smart,” Shep said. “She knows how to survive until we get there.”
The helicopter bucked as they hit another pocket of turbulence. Shep gripped his safety harness. Through his window, the wilderness stretched endless and white—peaks and valleys that could hide a thousand crashed planes. Finding Winter in this was like searching for a specific snowflake in a blizzard.
Kind of like finding the right moment to abandon his team.
“Echo, be advised we’re approaching the Clearwater homesteads,” London said. “Should have visual in two minutes.”
As they crested a ridge, the small settlement came into view below—a cluster of cabins scattered along a frozen creek, smoke rising from several chimneys like dark ribbons against the gray sky. People moved between the buildings, bundled in heavy parkas, going about their daily business.
