Mountain Ambush

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ONE (#u4ac38662-c546-58cb-b7e2-12103666bcd9)

I’m going to die.

The text shot adrenaline through Dr. Kyle Spencer’s body. In less than a minute he’d packed his gear and was heading into the mountains.

Can’t make it down on my own.

Spence sprinted up the trail, his muscles burning from the strain of carrying the pack across his shoulders. He couldn’t think about that now, couldn’t be concerned about his own discomfort when Gwen Taylor was stranded in the mountains, cold, immobile and most likely terrified.

He had to get to her.

He’d read desperation in the teenager’s eyes when she’d been brought in with a drug overdose a few weeks ago. No matter how hard she’d tried to push people away, Spence’s gut told him she wanted help, she didn’t like using drugs and alcohol to manage her depression, and the overconsumption had been an accident.

Her last text message had confirmed his suspicions: I don’t want to die.

He’d given her his cell number in case she had any questions after she’d been released from the hospital. That wasn’t his usual practice, but he occasionally felt it necessary. Now he was glad he’d given it to Gwen.

Spence called to speak with her, calm her down, but she didn’t answer. Had she taken drugs with her into the mountains, planning to end her life, but changed her mind and had injured herself?

Wiping sweat from his forehead, he inhaled the crisp scent of mountain air and hoped the search-and-rescue team was close behind. He’d left a voice mail for his friend Police Chief Nate Walsh, alerting him to Gwen’s situation. He wasn’t sure how long it would take Search and Rescue to assemble, but Spence couldn’t wait for his team. Gwen could be seriously injured.

An image of his little brother sparked across his mind. His boots slipped on the wet ground and he skidded toward the edge of the trail. Arms flailing, he caught hold of a nearby tree branch and stopped his momentum. He paused and took a calming breath before continuing up the trail.

The memory of his brother’s injuries had disrupted Spence’s concentration. It had happened twenty years ago, yet felt like yesterday. He resented the distraction. He couldn’t let his personal failure affect his ability to save Gwen.

Helping people, saving lives, lessened the guilt about Bobby’s death. Maybe if he helped enough patients he’d be able to release the torturous thoughts that kept him up at night. And maybe, God willing, he’d find peace.

God willing? It was simply an expression. Spence didn’t believe in a God who could let his brother die at only eight years old.

A gust of wind shoved him against the mountainside but he held his ground, slowing down a bit to ease the resistance. Spence was no good to the team if he ended up needing to be rescued himself.

The sound of a woman’s scream echoed across the mountain range. He hesitated.

Listened.

The wind howled back at him.

Had he imagined it?

A second ear-piercing scream sent him into action, running uphill against the blustery wind. Hyper-focused, Spence controlled his breathing for maximum efficiency and sidestepped every rock and tree root popping up on the trail.

He rounded a corner and spotted Gwen flat on her back, motionless. Rushing to her side, he felt for a pulse. It was weak. Blood oozed from her scalp and her skin was cool and pale.

The first sixty minutes after a patient suffered a trauma were critical to her survival. That was why ER doctors called it the golden hour.

I don’t want to die.

Spence automatically did his ABCs: airway, breathing and circulation. Her breathing seemed labored, which meant an occluded airway and that intubation would be necessary.

He pulled out his phone to call for help. They’d need a helicopter rescue, no question.

Something smashed against the side of his head and he flew backward, hitting the ground. Spence struggled to make sense of what was happening. Firm hands grabbed his jacket collar and dragged him toward the edge of the trail.

And the steep drop down the mountainside.

Through the haze of a possible concussion, Spence wondered if his attacker was a drug dealer, one of Gwen’s troubled friends? Had he sold Gwen drugs she may have overused, and the criminal didn’t want to get caught and go to jail?

“I don’t care what you’ve done,” Spence said. “Just let me take care of Gwen.”

The guy pressed what felt like the barrel of a gun against the back of Spence’s head.

“You’re done taking care of people,” the man threatened, and continued dragging him across the hard ground.

Anger seared its way up Spence’s chest. This couldn’t be his last day on earth. He hadn’t saved enough lives, wasn’t anywhere close to earning redemption.

Spence fought off his attacker, reaching for the guy’s arm.

The man pistol-whipped him. Pain seared through Spence’s brain.

The ledge loomed closer...

“Listen to the sound of His glory,” a woman’s voice echoed.

Momentarily distracted, the assailant loosened his grip.

Spence grabbed his wrist and yanked hard. The attacker lost his balance, stumbled and fell to the ground.

The gun sprang from his hand.

Spence dived on top of him and pulled his arms behind his back, wishing he had something to bind his wrists.

A gasping sound drew his attention to Gwen. Her airway was closing up. Not good. He had to get to her before she stopped breathing altogether.

The attacker swung his fist backward and nailed Spence in the jaw. The guy scrambled out from under him, jumped to his feet and began kicking Spence in the ribs.