Page 62 of Falling for the Firefighter
The question hits harder than the falling stone. Three years ago, I would have lied, offered false comfort to avoid frightening him, but Sarah's accident taught me that mountains don't forgive pretty lies.
"We're separated from the others," I tell him honestly. "But I know another way out. It's going to be an adventure."
Scout approaches the debris wall, sniffing carefully at the gaps where voices filter through. She whines softly, not in distress, but communicating with me. She smells Mac and the others on the far side, hears their movements, but understands instinctively that this barrier is beyond her ability to overcome.
When I call her away from the wall, she comes immediately, pressing against my legs in a gesture of solidarity. Whatever happens next, we face it together.
"What kind of adventure?"Danny asks.
I adjust my headlamp, checking the battery indicator. Still good for at least two hours. "The kind where we get to be explorers. Like the miners who first carved these tunnels."
Danny considers this, then nods solemnly. "Okay. But if we find treasure, we split it fifty-fifty."
"Deal." Despite everything, I laugh.
I take his hand and lead him away from the blocked passage, toward a branching tunnel marked on my father's map with careful notations. As we walk deeper into the mountain's embrace, the weight of responsibility settles across my shoulders.
Behind us, the sound of Mac's team retreating grows fainter, then fades to silence. The tunnel ahead stretches into darkness I've never explored, guided only by pencil marks on aging paper and the trust of one small hand in mine.
But I'm my father's daughter, and this mountain has been my home for twenty-eight years.
We're going to make it out.
I have to believe that.
For Danny's sake, and my own.
Chapter 14
Surface
The emergency tunnelstretches ahead like a throat carved from living stone. Danny's hand grips mine with surprising strength, his breathing steady despite the fear that radiates from his compact frame.
Scout moves ahead of us in the narrow emergency tunnel, her compact frame perfectly suited for the tight passage. Her nose works constantly, testing air currents for the sweet scent of surface access while her paws find the most stable footing on loose stone.
Every few steps, she pauses to look back at Danny and me, her brown eyes reassuring in the headlamp's glow. She's our early warning system, our pathfinder, our anchor to the world above.
"How much farther?" His whisper echoes off damp walls.
"Not much."
I hope I'm telling the truth.
The map shows this tunnel connecting to an old equipment shed, but distances underground can be deceptive. What looks like a quarter-mile on paper might be twice that when you're navigating by headlamp through stone that was never meant for human passage.
The air grows cooler as we climb, a subtle shift that makes my pulse quicken with hope. Fresh air means surface access. Means we're close.
Scout's pace quickens as she catches the first hint of surface scents—pine needles, smoke, the complex mix of the world above. Her tail begins a tentative wag, and she looks back at me with what I swear is relief. She can smell freedom ahead, can detect the end of this underground journey that's tested even her considerable courage.
Danny stumbles on loose scree, his small boots sliding on stones worn smooth by decades of groundwater. I catch him before he falls, steadying him against my hip.
"I'm okay." He looks up at me with eyes too brave for his age. "I won't slow us down."
"You're not slowing anything down." I adjust my headlamp, checking our progress against the map. "You're the best hiking partner I've ever had."
"Better than the fire captain?"
Despite everything, I smile.
