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gwyllionTitle: Rocky Mountain Search and Rescue
Author: gwylliondream
Genre: AU
Pairing: Alma/Ennis, Ennis/Jack
Rating: NC-17
Words: 60K in 16 chapters
Warnings: Major character death (not Ennis or Jack), child abuse, religious persecution, homophobia, under-aged non-consensual kissing and groping, indecent exposure, attempted rape, unreliable narrator.
Summary: Ennis and Jack thought they had seen the last of each other when they parted ways on a windy day in Signal. They were wrong. Some people thought Alma would have remarried after her divorce. They were wrong, too.
A/N: Rocky Mountain Search and Rescue was written for NaNoWriMo 2012.
“Calling Me Back to the Hills” was written by Earl Shaffer, poet and friend.
Thanks: My deepest thanks to![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
morrobay1990 for answering my veiled pleas for a beta over on DCF. She provided incomparable support during the 30 days of NaNoWriMo, from brainstorming, to cheerleading, to prodding, and to writing a passion-filled scene in her own inimitable style, which I happily included. Thanks to my wonderful DCF co-mod lawgoddess for audiencing this fic and giving it a thorough beta job. Thanks to soulan both for traveling to Salida to research the terrain at the foothills of the Rockies and for vehemently disagreeing with me years ago when I insisted that Alma Beers-Del Mar would never have remarried after her divorce from Ennis. If not for that spirited argument, this fic never could have been.
Dedication: Rocky Mountain Search and Rescue is dedicated to Andy, for whom the hills called.
Disclaimer: I did not create these characters. No disrespect intended. No profit desired, only muses.
Comments: Comments are welcome anytime, thanks so much for reading.
The whip-poor-will’s call and the laughing owl’s song are calling me back to the hills
May 6, 1968
They say your whole life flashes before your eyes when you are confronted with imminent death.
Davis Wentworth heard his shoulder crunch when it hit the rocks. His body went airborne for what seemed like a long minute. He convulsed from the jolt of bone on frozen rocks before he smashed onto ice again. This particular rotation of limbs and tangle of climbing rope caused him to crash with his right hip, before continuing to slide.
Pain blazed through him like an inferno.
They say your whole life flashes before your eyes at times like this. Davis Wentworth would agree. His reptilian brain took over his ability to control his thoughts. He had no choice in the matter. He had been sliding down the icy slope like a penguin speeding to the bottom of an iceberg, only the soft landing in freezing water wasn’t there to greet him. Hell, he hadn’t seen the band of rocks that smashed his bones and tore the wool of his pants to shreds, and now he didn’t know what was at the end of this ride.
It had been a routine climb.
He almost laughed to himself as he envisioned how the story about two seasoned mountaineers who met with tragedy atop Colorado’s highest peak might look in the Denver Post. In a split second, he wondered whether his partner would be able to make the trek back to the car. How far would he have to drive to find a payphone from which he could call for help. Who would be dispatched? Would he be an embarrassment to his family for pursuing an activity that they thought dangerous? And this wasn’t even one of the more challenging peaks. It was a routine climb, mostly. Except for the fact that one minute he was sitting on his ass, cautiously plotting his way to the bottom of the snowfield, and in the next minute he was picking up speed and losing control.
His feet scrambled for purchase against the icy slope. If only he could turn himself around and face the mountain, he was sure he could plant the point of his ice axe into the frozen snow and grip the handle tightly enough to stop his headlong fall. He imagined the welcome sound of the metal point digging into the ice, sending a spray of crystalline chips over his goggles.
It was no use.
He slid too fast, and had lost the use of one arm. Racing down the ice, he could only hope to stop when the terrain smoothed out at the end of the slope.
Time moved in slow motion. The faces of his loved ones appeared in frozen frames before his closed eyes. Regrets surfaced. He worried about the words that might remain unspoken. Although he wished for it, there was no way to climb back up that mountain, no way to turn back time, and no way to take back the actions he had already completed. He would have to deal with the consequences, or maybe he would never have to deal with anything ever again.
~~~
A gusty wind swept across the lakes, buffeting the solid log cabin. Ennis Del Mar drained his coffee mug and threw another log into the woodstove. The light from the fire cast an amber glow on the smooth curves of the walls, the radiance joining the flame from the single kerosene lamp on his table, bathing the room in soft light. The small Forest Service cabin that served as his temporary home was still warm from the stove that he had stoked to excess late the previous afternoon when Owen Flaherty showed up on his doorstep. Pounding on the door with frostbitten hands, frantically shouting for help, Flaherty was lucky to have made it to the cabin at the trailhead before nightfall. He tumbled into the cabin, his glasses steaming with condensation from the sudden exposure to heat.
Flaherty and his climbing partner, Davis Wentworth, had been making their descent after successfully summiting Mt. Elbert when Davis took a bad fall. Owen panted out his story while Ennis stripped off his wet clothing and tended to his immediate needs. Owen told him once he saw his climbing partner fall, he managed to descend a thousand feet to where Davis had landed in a crumpled heap. Owen did his best to wrap him in a sleeping bag, padding him with extra clothes before he went for help.
The snow began soon after Owen departed. When he finally arrived at Ennis’s cabin, he was dehydrated and exhausted from his long hike in the severe winter conditions. The unexpected snowstorm had caught everyone off guard. Ennis prepared a mug of hot chocolate for Owen, adding a shot of whiskey—the best way Ennis knew to warm a body’s hypothermic core.
Ennis radioed the main headquarters in Twin Lakes, five miles away via FR 125, a rutted old logging road. He sat with Owen by the fire until the Jeep arrived with Jeff Millis, a paramedic by trade, but also the Rocky Mountain Search and Rescue crew chief who was in charge of mountaineering rescues in this neck of the woods. The brawny medic stripped off his parka, opting to work at Ennis’s table in only his forest green T-shirt. His dark eyes shifted from his notebook to Owen as he recorded what had happened so he could begin to orchestrate Davis’s rescue.
Owen repeated his story, battling difficult emotions. For some reason, he and his partner had been separated on their descent. Davis decided to slide down a seemingly open slope with hopes of intercepting the snowshoe track of their approach trail—four-thousand feet below. He removed his crampons, so they wouldn’t catch in the snow. He slid slowly at first, digging in with his ice axe, staying stable, but he soon hit a patch of hardened ice and picked up speed. Davis never realized he was headed for an unseen band of bare rocks, masked from his view by an overhanging crown of snow. He slid out of control, smashing through the snowbank, striking the rocks and bouncing like a rag doll before sliding to a stop at the end of a long wide slope.
When Jeff finished questioning Owen, drawing lines and writing notes on a tattered map, he took Ennis aside. “Sounds bad, dislocated shoulder, dislocated hip, possible head injury,” he said in a low voice.
“You think he’s still alive?” Ennis questioned softly, looking over his shoulder with concern to make sure Owen didn’t overhear.
“We’re going to have a hell of a day tomorrow trying to figure that out, Ennis. Be ready to go at first light.”
He slapped Ennis on the back and drove Owen back to the Twin Lakes headquarters. He had plenty of phone calls to make.
Ennis stared out the window into the early dawn. As a Ranger, most of his days were spent in quiet solitude, just the way he liked them. Some days, however, provided a sense of purpose that almost made his lonely life seem worthwhile. As he prepared for the rest of the RMSAR team’s arrival at his cabin, he hoped that they would find Davis alive. He hated to think of what it would be like trying to survive those injuries alone in the dark on a remote mountainside. With the only available help many miles away and a storm moving in, Ennis figured that Davis couldn’t even be sure that Owen got off the mountain to find help. The uncertainly of it all must be agonizing. To make matters worse, the unanticipated spring storm had intensified overnight and threatened to halt the rescue effort before it started.
It was going to be a long day.
In his four years with the Forest Service, Ennis had yet to see a climber survive a fall like the one described to him last night. Chances were, if the trauma from the dislocations didn’t kill Wentworth, the hypothermia would.
~~~
Jack Twist rocked his hips back and forth, his left side warm with the friction from rubbing against the coarse sheets. Wrapped securely in his lover’s arms, his body nestled into his favorite place on earth. A mountain wind howled across the ridge and down the valley, bringing snow in its wake. Oblivious to the weather outside, Jack lost himself in the sensuous spooning, his smooth back against Ennis’s chest, his hands gripping the pillow tight. The rapidly increasing beat of Ennis’s heart matched his own perfectly as they flowed toward the brink together, skin glistening with warm sweat, despite the cold snow piling up only inches from where they lay.
He moaned deeply and pressed his head into Ennis’s shoulder, exposing his neck for the lips and tongue that urgently sucked and licked at his vulnerable flesh, an empty canvas for Ennis’s gentle bites, a palate for his wet kisses. He craved the sound of Ennis’s hot whispers in his ear, the way his strong rough hands felt as they stroked the length of his naked torso, the way Ennis knew just how Jack’s body responded to his touch.
“Oh God, Ennis….”
Somewhere outside a sheep bleated loudly.
“Yes, yes, yes…”
The insistent bleating moved closer to the tent.
“Yes, Ennis, yes…”
The sheep was beyond annoying now, bleating louder than ever. What the hell was its problem?
“Yes! …oh fuck!” Jack was startled awake by the sound of the telephone. As he opened his eyes, he realized that there was no tent, no sheep, and sadly, no Ennis. He was alone, and whoever was calling wouldn’t give up.
“Jack Twist here,” he said, picking up the receiver midway through another ring.
“Twist, there’s been an accident,” the voice alerted him. “We’re gonna need you to fly the chopper over to Twin Lakes at daybreak so you’re in position for a possible rescue.”
“Uh… what time is it now?” Jack asked groggily.
“Four a.m. pal, not that it should matter, since you knew you’d be on call when you took this job,” the voice laughed.
“Ha, ha, very funny, boss. I’m on my way.”
“See you in a bit. Oh, and by the way, drive carefully, it’s been snowing all night and the roads are a bitch.”
“Shit,” Jack said, hanging up the phone and rubbing the sleep out of his eyes.
He pushed the covers off and threw his legs over the side of the bed, his hand landing in the sticky mess on the sheets. What the hell? Just like a goddamn teenager. He brought his hand to his face and smiled, remembering the dream he was enjoying when he was awakened by Wayne’s call.
“Ennis,” he whispered, shaking his head.
Nearly five long years had passed since he watched the quiet cowboy fade from his view. Ennis disappeared into the nondescript side streets of Signal, Wyoming that windy day, when snowflakes and a stray punch threatened to obscure the pleasant memories of the summer they had just spent together. Jack hadn’t dreamed of Ennis Del Mar in a long while, although he thought about him nearly every day. He wished he could go back to sleep, to fall back into his Ennis dream again, but he knew too well that the dream wouldn’t come if he tried to force it back into his mind.
Without time for a shower, Jack stepped out of his bunkroom. Since he had arrived in Colorado with only the shirt on his back and a couple hundred dollars to spend from his Army discharge, he immediately turned on the Twist charm to score himself free room and board at the old Salida Forest Service headquarters. Wayne Dean, the head of Rocky Mountain Search and Rescue had been around long enough that he could make things happen.
Although RMSAR was a volunteer organization, Wayne’s many years with the Forest Service earned him the right to get what he needed, no questions asked. He was so grateful finally to find someone capable of flying the cast-off Army helicopter, that he befriended Jack right away and would do whatever was necessary to get him on the Forest Service payroll.
For Jack, the accommodations were just one of the job’s perks. Even though the place hadn’t been used in a few years, there was running water, a telephone, and electricity- all government oversights, no doubt. The rustic wooden-framed building was sure to be more luxurious than some of the places Jack expected to stay when he was assigned a summer position in the forest.
Jack padded barefoot through the common area, its fireplace still giving off heat. In the bathroom, he took a piss and ran hot water into the sink. He washed himself off quickly with a wet rag, splashed some water on his face, brushed his teeth, and returned to the bunkroom to dress in his uniform.
Looking good there, Twist, he thought to himself as he caught a glimpse of the mirror. He pulled a soft white cotton T-shirt over his head and topped it with the stiff button-down shirt of the United States Forest Service, too new to have his name sewn on the breast pocket yet.
I can’t imagine what Ennis would say about this—working for the same organization that we were avoiding while herding them sheep. He laughed to himself, running a comb through his dark hair before zipping up his pants and fastening his belt. He nodded to his reflection, the sparkle in his blue eyes revitalized now that he had something to look forward to, both the upcoming airlift, and freshly unearthed memories of Ennis that would help him pass the time. Wayne had warned him when he started that these kinds of rescues were mostly a lot of hurry up and wait.
Grabbing his olive green USFS issued parka, winter gloves and hat, he rummaged through the closet for his rucksack. He stuffed a few necessities into the bag, just in case he didn’t make it back to Salida later in the day. He wasn’t quite sure what might happen during a rescue attempt, seeing this was his first time out. In the entryway to the cabin, he sat on a bench, pulled on his heavy winter boots, stamping his feet down into their padded warmth, and headed out to the truck. He hoped that Wayne had coffee brewing.
~~~
Author: gwylliondream
Genre: AU
Pairing: Alma/Ennis, Ennis/Jack
Rating: NC-17
Words: 60K in 16 chapters
Warnings: Major character death (not Ennis or Jack), child abuse, religious persecution, homophobia, under-aged non-consensual kissing and groping, indecent exposure, attempted rape, unreliable narrator.
Summary: Ennis and Jack thought they had seen the last of each other when they parted ways on a windy day in Signal. They were wrong. Some people thought Alma would have remarried after her divorce. They were wrong, too.
A/N: Rocky Mountain Search and Rescue was written for NaNoWriMo 2012.
“Calling Me Back to the Hills” was written by Earl Shaffer, poet and friend.
Thanks: My deepest thanks to
morrobay1990 for answering my veiled pleas for a beta over on DCF. She provided incomparable support during the 30 days of NaNoWriMo, from brainstorming, to cheerleading, to prodding, and to writing a passion-filled scene in her own inimitable style, which I happily included. Thanks to my wonderful DCF co-mod lawgoddess for audiencing this fic and giving it a thorough beta job. Thanks to soulan both for traveling to Salida to research the terrain at the foothills of the Rockies and for vehemently disagreeing with me years ago when I insisted that Alma Beers-Del Mar would never have remarried after her divorce from Ennis. If not for that spirited argument, this fic never could have been.Dedication: Rocky Mountain Search and Rescue is dedicated to Andy, for whom the hills called.
Disclaimer: I did not create these characters. No disrespect intended. No profit desired, only muses.
Comments: Comments are welcome anytime, thanks so much for reading.
The whip-poor-will’s call and the laughing owl’s song are calling me back to the hills
May 6, 1968
They say your whole life flashes before your eyes when you are confronted with imminent death.
Davis Wentworth heard his shoulder crunch when it hit the rocks. His body went airborne for what seemed like a long minute. He convulsed from the jolt of bone on frozen rocks before he smashed onto ice again. This particular rotation of limbs and tangle of climbing rope caused him to crash with his right hip, before continuing to slide.
Pain blazed through him like an inferno.
They say your whole life flashes before your eyes at times like this. Davis Wentworth would agree. His reptilian brain took over his ability to control his thoughts. He had no choice in the matter. He had been sliding down the icy slope like a penguin speeding to the bottom of an iceberg, only the soft landing in freezing water wasn’t there to greet him. Hell, he hadn’t seen the band of rocks that smashed his bones and tore the wool of his pants to shreds, and now he didn’t know what was at the end of this ride.
It had been a routine climb.
He almost laughed to himself as he envisioned how the story about two seasoned mountaineers who met with tragedy atop Colorado’s highest peak might look in the Denver Post. In a split second, he wondered whether his partner would be able to make the trek back to the car. How far would he have to drive to find a payphone from which he could call for help. Who would be dispatched? Would he be an embarrassment to his family for pursuing an activity that they thought dangerous? And this wasn’t even one of the more challenging peaks. It was a routine climb, mostly. Except for the fact that one minute he was sitting on his ass, cautiously plotting his way to the bottom of the snowfield, and in the next minute he was picking up speed and losing control.
His feet scrambled for purchase against the icy slope. If only he could turn himself around and face the mountain, he was sure he could plant the point of his ice axe into the frozen snow and grip the handle tightly enough to stop his headlong fall. He imagined the welcome sound of the metal point digging into the ice, sending a spray of crystalline chips over his goggles.
It was no use.
He slid too fast, and had lost the use of one arm. Racing down the ice, he could only hope to stop when the terrain smoothed out at the end of the slope.
Time moved in slow motion. The faces of his loved ones appeared in frozen frames before his closed eyes. Regrets surfaced. He worried about the words that might remain unspoken. Although he wished for it, there was no way to climb back up that mountain, no way to turn back time, and no way to take back the actions he had already completed. He would have to deal with the consequences, or maybe he would never have to deal with anything ever again.
A gusty wind swept across the lakes, buffeting the solid log cabin. Ennis Del Mar drained his coffee mug and threw another log into the woodstove. The light from the fire cast an amber glow on the smooth curves of the walls, the radiance joining the flame from the single kerosene lamp on his table, bathing the room in soft light. The small Forest Service cabin that served as his temporary home was still warm from the stove that he had stoked to excess late the previous afternoon when Owen Flaherty showed up on his doorstep. Pounding on the door with frostbitten hands, frantically shouting for help, Flaherty was lucky to have made it to the cabin at the trailhead before nightfall. He tumbled into the cabin, his glasses steaming with condensation from the sudden exposure to heat.
Flaherty and his climbing partner, Davis Wentworth, had been making their descent after successfully summiting Mt. Elbert when Davis took a bad fall. Owen panted out his story while Ennis stripped off his wet clothing and tended to his immediate needs. Owen told him once he saw his climbing partner fall, he managed to descend a thousand feet to where Davis had landed in a crumpled heap. Owen did his best to wrap him in a sleeping bag, padding him with extra clothes before he went for help.
The snow began soon after Owen departed. When he finally arrived at Ennis’s cabin, he was dehydrated and exhausted from his long hike in the severe winter conditions. The unexpected snowstorm had caught everyone off guard. Ennis prepared a mug of hot chocolate for Owen, adding a shot of whiskey—the best way Ennis knew to warm a body’s hypothermic core.
Ennis radioed the main headquarters in Twin Lakes, five miles away via FR 125, a rutted old logging road. He sat with Owen by the fire until the Jeep arrived with Jeff Millis, a paramedic by trade, but also the Rocky Mountain Search and Rescue crew chief who was in charge of mountaineering rescues in this neck of the woods. The brawny medic stripped off his parka, opting to work at Ennis’s table in only his forest green T-shirt. His dark eyes shifted from his notebook to Owen as he recorded what had happened so he could begin to orchestrate Davis’s rescue.
Owen repeated his story, battling difficult emotions. For some reason, he and his partner had been separated on their descent. Davis decided to slide down a seemingly open slope with hopes of intercepting the snowshoe track of their approach trail—four-thousand feet below. He removed his crampons, so they wouldn’t catch in the snow. He slid slowly at first, digging in with his ice axe, staying stable, but he soon hit a patch of hardened ice and picked up speed. Davis never realized he was headed for an unseen band of bare rocks, masked from his view by an overhanging crown of snow. He slid out of control, smashing through the snowbank, striking the rocks and bouncing like a rag doll before sliding to a stop at the end of a long wide slope.
When Jeff finished questioning Owen, drawing lines and writing notes on a tattered map, he took Ennis aside. “Sounds bad, dislocated shoulder, dislocated hip, possible head injury,” he said in a low voice.
“You think he’s still alive?” Ennis questioned softly, looking over his shoulder with concern to make sure Owen didn’t overhear.
“We’re going to have a hell of a day tomorrow trying to figure that out, Ennis. Be ready to go at first light.”
He slapped Ennis on the back and drove Owen back to the Twin Lakes headquarters. He had plenty of phone calls to make.
Ennis stared out the window into the early dawn. As a Ranger, most of his days were spent in quiet solitude, just the way he liked them. Some days, however, provided a sense of purpose that almost made his lonely life seem worthwhile. As he prepared for the rest of the RMSAR team’s arrival at his cabin, he hoped that they would find Davis alive. He hated to think of what it would be like trying to survive those injuries alone in the dark on a remote mountainside. With the only available help many miles away and a storm moving in, Ennis figured that Davis couldn’t even be sure that Owen got off the mountain to find help. The uncertainly of it all must be agonizing. To make matters worse, the unanticipated spring storm had intensified overnight and threatened to halt the rescue effort before it started.
It was going to be a long day.
In his four years with the Forest Service, Ennis had yet to see a climber survive a fall like the one described to him last night. Chances were, if the trauma from the dislocations didn’t kill Wentworth, the hypothermia would.
Jack Twist rocked his hips back and forth, his left side warm with the friction from rubbing against the coarse sheets. Wrapped securely in his lover’s arms, his body nestled into his favorite place on earth. A mountain wind howled across the ridge and down the valley, bringing snow in its wake. Oblivious to the weather outside, Jack lost himself in the sensuous spooning, his smooth back against Ennis’s chest, his hands gripping the pillow tight. The rapidly increasing beat of Ennis’s heart matched his own perfectly as they flowed toward the brink together, skin glistening with warm sweat, despite the cold snow piling up only inches from where they lay.
He moaned deeply and pressed his head into Ennis’s shoulder, exposing his neck for the lips and tongue that urgently sucked and licked at his vulnerable flesh, an empty canvas for Ennis’s gentle bites, a palate for his wet kisses. He craved the sound of Ennis’s hot whispers in his ear, the way his strong rough hands felt as they stroked the length of his naked torso, the way Ennis knew just how Jack’s body responded to his touch.
“Oh God, Ennis….”
Somewhere outside a sheep bleated loudly.
“Yes, yes, yes…”
The insistent bleating moved closer to the tent.
“Yes, Ennis, yes…”
The sheep was beyond annoying now, bleating louder than ever. What the hell was its problem?
“Yes! …oh fuck!” Jack was startled awake by the sound of the telephone. As he opened his eyes, he realized that there was no tent, no sheep, and sadly, no Ennis. He was alone, and whoever was calling wouldn’t give up.
“Jack Twist here,” he said, picking up the receiver midway through another ring.
“Twist, there’s been an accident,” the voice alerted him. “We’re gonna need you to fly the chopper over to Twin Lakes at daybreak so you’re in position for a possible rescue.”
“Uh… what time is it now?” Jack asked groggily.
“Four a.m. pal, not that it should matter, since you knew you’d be on call when you took this job,” the voice laughed.
“Ha, ha, very funny, boss. I’m on my way.”
“See you in a bit. Oh, and by the way, drive carefully, it’s been snowing all night and the roads are a bitch.”
“Shit,” Jack said, hanging up the phone and rubbing the sleep out of his eyes.
He pushed the covers off and threw his legs over the side of the bed, his hand landing in the sticky mess on the sheets. What the hell? Just like a goddamn teenager. He brought his hand to his face and smiled, remembering the dream he was enjoying when he was awakened by Wayne’s call.
“Ennis,” he whispered, shaking his head.
Nearly five long years had passed since he watched the quiet cowboy fade from his view. Ennis disappeared into the nondescript side streets of Signal, Wyoming that windy day, when snowflakes and a stray punch threatened to obscure the pleasant memories of the summer they had just spent together. Jack hadn’t dreamed of Ennis Del Mar in a long while, although he thought about him nearly every day. He wished he could go back to sleep, to fall back into his Ennis dream again, but he knew too well that the dream wouldn’t come if he tried to force it back into his mind.
Without time for a shower, Jack stepped out of his bunkroom. Since he had arrived in Colorado with only the shirt on his back and a couple hundred dollars to spend from his Army discharge, he immediately turned on the Twist charm to score himself free room and board at the old Salida Forest Service headquarters. Wayne Dean, the head of Rocky Mountain Search and Rescue had been around long enough that he could make things happen.
Although RMSAR was a volunteer organization, Wayne’s many years with the Forest Service earned him the right to get what he needed, no questions asked. He was so grateful finally to find someone capable of flying the cast-off Army helicopter, that he befriended Jack right away and would do whatever was necessary to get him on the Forest Service payroll.
For Jack, the accommodations were just one of the job’s perks. Even though the place hadn’t been used in a few years, there was running water, a telephone, and electricity- all government oversights, no doubt. The rustic wooden-framed building was sure to be more luxurious than some of the places Jack expected to stay when he was assigned a summer position in the forest.
Jack padded barefoot through the common area, its fireplace still giving off heat. In the bathroom, he took a piss and ran hot water into the sink. He washed himself off quickly with a wet rag, splashed some water on his face, brushed his teeth, and returned to the bunkroom to dress in his uniform.
Looking good there, Twist, he thought to himself as he caught a glimpse of the mirror. He pulled a soft white cotton T-shirt over his head and topped it with the stiff button-down shirt of the United States Forest Service, too new to have his name sewn on the breast pocket yet.
I can’t imagine what Ennis would say about this—working for the same organization that we were avoiding while herding them sheep. He laughed to himself, running a comb through his dark hair before zipping up his pants and fastening his belt. He nodded to his reflection, the sparkle in his blue eyes revitalized now that he had something to look forward to, both the upcoming airlift, and freshly unearthed memories of Ennis that would help him pass the time. Wayne had warned him when he started that these kinds of rescues were mostly a lot of hurry up and wait.
Grabbing his olive green USFS issued parka, winter gloves and hat, he rummaged through the closet for his rucksack. He stuffed a few necessities into the bag, just in case he didn’t make it back to Salida later in the day. He wasn’t quite sure what might happen during a rescue attempt, seeing this was his first time out. In the entryway to the cabin, he sat on a bench, pulled on his heavy winter boots, stamping his feet down into their padded warmth, and headed out to the truck. He hoped that Wayne had coffee brewing.
