Page 16 of Falling for the Firefighter
"That route adds forty minutes to evacuation time."
"Forty minutes alive is better than twenty minutes dead."
"That's not how risk assessment works, and you know it." I cross my arms. "Longer exposure to danger increases mortality risk exponentially."
"Unless the danger is dehydration and heat exposure."
"On a mountain that's below freezing eight months of the year?"
The debate intensifies, each of us defending our position with increasing passion. We're no longer discussing hypothetical evacuations, but rather fundamental approaches to safety and risk.
"You can't apply desert firefighting protocols to alpine environments." I jab my finger at the map. "That's the kind of by-the-book thinking that gets people killed in specialized terrain."
"And stubborn adherence to tradition over evolving best practices is equally dangerous." Mac's voice rises to match mine. "Your father's methods might have worked twenty years ago, but?—"
"Leave my father out of this."
"You brought him into it when you cited him as your qualification."
We're standing toe to toe now, the map forgotten between us. Scout whines softly from her spot under a nearby pine, sensing the tension.
"These mountains have rules that don't appear in your fancy training manuals." My voice rises despite my best intentions. "People who ignore local wisdom end up as statistics."
"People who refuse to adapt end up as cautionary tales." He steps closer, his height forcing me to tilt my head back to maintain eye contact. "Do you think you're the only one who cares about saving lives?"
"I think you're too busy proving your superiority to listen to someone who knows this terrain."
"And I think you're too busy defending your territory to consider that someone else might have valuable input."
"My territory?" I laugh, the sound sharp in the mountain air. "This isn't about territory. This is about you questioning every mark I make, every route I suggest, like I'm some amateur who wandered in off the street."
"I question because that's my job." His voice drops dangerously low. "Because when I lead my crew into a fire, their lives depend on my decisions. I don't make those decisions based on someone's hurt feelings."
"Hurt feelings?" My hands curl into fists. "You think this is about my feelings?"
"I think this is about you being so damn stubborn you can't admit when someone else might be right."
"And I think this is about you being so arrogant you can't imagine a world where your California protocols don't apply."
I open my mouth to respond when a distant rumble interrupts. We both look up to see dark clouds building over the western peaks, moving with alarming speed.
"Thunderstorm." Mac's eyes narrow. "Coming in fast."
Chapter 4
Shelter from the Storm
The mountain air shifts suddenly,temperature dropping as the first gust of wind hits us. In Colorado's high country, storms materialize with frightening speed, turning blue skies to violent tempests in minutes.
"We need shelter." I scan the surrounding terrain, my professional instincts temporarily overriding our argument. "We'll never make it back to the trailhead before that hits."
Mac checks his GPS. "Nearest ranger station?"
"Too far." I grab my pack, shoving the map inside. "There's one of Jackson Hart's emergency shelters half a mile north. We can make it if we run."
Without waiting for his response, I whistle for Scout and bolt down the north trail.
Branches whip at my arms. Rocks skid beneath my boots. Behind me, I hear him curse—low and sharp—before his footsteps follow, fast and relentless, eating up the distance I’m trying to put between us.
