Search and Rescue by April Wilson

Chapter 7

Hannah McIntyre

I wake from a restless cat nap feeling dizzy and weak. My blood sugar is low, so I grab another protein bar and choke it down. Then I drink the last of my water. I’m shivering from the cold—icy wet clothes cling to my skin—and I ache all over. I find a bottle of over-the-counter pain meds in my pack and pop two pills, hoping they’ll take the edge off. I’m at risk of hypothermia out here in these conditions.

I try once more to haul myself up onto my good foot, but my head is swimming, and the pain is overwhelming. I grit my teeth to keep from crying out and fall back onto the snow, jarring my arm and my ankle in the process. My right arm is oozing fresh blood again, and I have no idea how much blood I’ve lost. That explains the dizziness. Between the cold and the pain, I’m having trouble thinking straight.

The wind whistles down the ravine, bringing with it more snow. Visibility is down to maybe ten feet. The good news is that if the poachers do come back looking for me, they won’t be able to see me, not from all the way up there. If they come down here into the ravine, I’m toast. With no weapons, I have no way to defend myself.

I hear a male voice shouting in the distance, and my heart stops.

“Hannah!”

That voice.

Jesus, it can’t be.

My heart starts pounding double time. “Killian!” My voice is little more than a croak. Mustering all I’ve got, I try again, hoping to be heard over the wind. “Killian! I’m here!”

Relief sweeps through me when I hear a strong response from off in the distance. “Hold on! I’m coming.”

I slump back against a tree trunk, feeling hopeful for the first time in nearly twenty-four hours. Maybe I’ll survive this ordeal after all.

A few minutes later, I hear someone approaching. “Killian, I’m here!”

The next thing I know, a tall, dark shape marches through the snowfall, dressed in cold-weather survival gear, carrying a large pack on his back.

Killian drops down beside me, breathing heavily, and pulls off one of his gloves. After a quick cursory glance from my head to my toes, his gaze zeroing in on the gunshot wound and my missing boot, he mutters a curse. With a scowl, he presses his palm to my forehead. “Damn it, Hannah, you’re burning up.”

I’ve never been so happy to hear that damn, sexy accent. I gasp as a sharp pain shoots down my arm. Nodding at my torn sleeve, I say, “Gunshot flesh wound. It’s just a graze, but I think it’s infected.”

“What else?” he says, sounding very matter of fact. He’s a professional through and through as he looks me over. “Besides your ankle.”

“My head and arm are killing me, and my left ankle is toast. I’m not sure if it’s broken or not.”

“Jesus, what happened?” he asks.

“Two poachers. I came across them up on the ridge. I managed to get away from them, but they chased me into the woods.”

He frowns. “They shot at you.”

“They intended to do a lot more than just shoot. I heard them discussing how they planned to kill me. I saw their faces, and that means I can identify them.”

He’s already inspecting the lump on my temple and the cuts on my face. He peels back the edge of my torn sleeve and surveys the wound. Then he moves to examine my ankle. “Damn, McIntyre. You’re a real hot mess, you know that?”

I never really understood if that was a compliment or not. Wincing, I laugh. “Gee, thanks. I’ll bet you say that to all the girls.”

He spares me a quick grin. “Nah. Just to the tough ones who can take it.” Finally, he meets my gaze head-on, his long fingers cupping my hot face as he stares into my eyes. “What day is it?”

My head is swimming, making concentration difficult. “What?”

“Just answer the question. What day is it?”

“I don’t know,” I say honestly. “It’s all a blur. Thursday, I think? It was yesterday I fell into the ravine. And the day before that I was in Chicago.”

Seemingly satisfied with my answer, he nods and pulls a flashlight out of his pack and shines it into my eyes, first one, then the other, blinding me in the process.

“Ouch,” I complain when my eyes water. “Do you mind?”

After stowing the flashlight, he grabs my wrist and feels my pulse. “I need to get you to the hospital. Can you walk?”

I laugh. “Don’t you think if I could walk, I’d already be out of here?”

He shrugs. “Good point. For a moment, I forgot who I was dealing with. Do you have any water?”

I shake my head. “I drank the last of it this morning.”

He frowns at me as he reaches into his pack and pulls out a stainless-steel water bottle, screws off the top, and hands it to me. “Drink. You’re probably dehydrated.”

“I’m a lot of things right now.” But I’m too thirsty to argue with him, so I drink several good gulps of refreshing cold water before handing the bottle back. He takes a drink after me, and it occurs to me that his lips are touching the rim that my lips just touched.

“How did you find me?” I ask as he stows the water bottle.

He came for me.

The realization makes my throat tighten.

“Shane sent me. He knew I’d find you.” He reaches into his pack and pulls out a radio. Pressing the mic, he says, “Killian to Owen. Do you copy?”

The radio crackles, and then a man’s deep voice comes over the line. “Yeah, I copy.” He speaks deliberately, his voice tinged with a southern accent.

“I’ve got her,” Killian says. “She’s injured and needs medical care, but she’s stable.”

“Copy,” says the man on the radio. “Can she walk?”

Killian frowns. “Negative. I’ll have to carry her.”

“Roger. Head down toward us. We’re coming up to meet you. And Killian?”

“Yeah?”

“The weather forecast is talking blizzard conditions. A real whiteout. It’s going to get a lot worse before it gets better.”

“Shit. Copy that. Do me a favor and let Jake know I have her.”

“Jake’s here?” I ask, grasping his sleeve. “My brother’s here?”

Killian nods to me as Owen says, “Copy. Will do.”

Then a familiar voice comes over the radio. “Hannah, thank god. Are you okay? I was so worried.”

I grab the radio from Killian, my hand shaking as I press the mic. “Maggie! I’m okay. Where are you?”

“I’m with Owen. We’re hiking up the ravine from the trailhead. Hang in there, honey. We’ll get you help.”

“What about Scout?”

“He’s at our place. Don’t worry. He’s fine.”

With a sigh, I lean my head back against a tree trunk. My dog is safe, and I’m in good hands. The situation is definitely looking up.

After Killian ends the call, he studies my ankle. “Where’s your boot?”

“It’s in my backpack. I took it off, but my ankle’s too swollen to put it back on.”

He nods, then takes the thermal blanket from me and wraps it around me. “There’s not much I can do here in terms of first aid. We need to get you to shelter so I can do a proper assessment.”

I laugh. “When did you acquire a medical degree?”

Ignoring me, he gazes up at the dark, overcast sky and the snow that’s coming down harder by the minute. “We need to move.” He attaches my smaller pack to his with a pair of carabiners. Just as he lifts me into his arms, we hear a shot ring out from somewhere behind us, followed by the sound of agitated male voices.

I flinch. “Shit, they’re back.” They sound way too close for comfort.

Killian’s expression hardens. “They’re the ones who chased you? Who shot you?”

“Yes. And I’m pretty sure they’re coming back to finish the job. They know I can identify them. The penalties for poaching eagle feathers are pretty stiff, including jail time.”

Another shot rings out, followed by a shout.

Killian secures me in his strong arms and starts off down the ravine. “Hold on to me. We need to move fast.”

On a good day, it’s a two-hour hike from where we are to reach the trailhead. In these conditions, with the snow falling so hard and with Killian having to carry me and my pack, it’ll take much longer. He’s strong, yes, but everyone has their limits.

Killian marches on as quickly as possible, which means he’s not moving fast. He can’t. I’m holding him back.

The sounds of the men farther up the ravine are getting closer and closer. They’re gaining on us.

“I hope you’re armed,” I say. “They took my gun and knife.”

He gives me an eye roll, not bothering to answer.

“Of course you are,” I say.

I mentally calculate my weight, plus the weight of his pack and mine, and realize he’s carrying at least two hundred pounds on rocky terrain in a blizzard. The poachers are presumably much lighter on their feet.

“They’re going to gain on us,” I say, “and when they do, we’re sitting ducks down here.”

He nods with a grunt but keeps ploughing forward. “We need to find shelter, someplace defensible where we can wait out the storm.”

My thoughts are fuzzy as I try to think of a solution. We’re never going to make it to the parking lot before the poachers catch up with us. “Wait.” I grab his shoulder. “The ravine diverges ahead, breaking off to the south and leading into a valley. There’s a hunter’s shack there. It’s not much, but it has four walls, a roof, and a door. At least it will get us out of the weather.”

“How far is the shack?”

“About a mile once we reach the valley.”

He reaches into his coat pocket, pulls out the radio, and hands it to me. “Radio Owen. Tell him where we’re headed. And warn him about the poachers.”

“Roger that,” I say as I make the call. “Owen, do you copy?”

Killian glances down at me, a grin teasing his lips.

“What?” I say as the radio crackles. “Three of my brothers are former military. I know the lingo.”