"Be careful," Denise responds, and the concern in her voice isn't just professional protocol. "Temperature's dropped another three degrees in the last twenty minutes."
The moment I step from the truck, the storm confronts me. Wind cuts through my layers, snow blinding me as I make my way toward the stranded vehicle. My boots find uncertain purchase on the ice-slick road, each step calculated and deliberate.
"About ten feet from the vehicle now," I report, voice raised against the wind. "Visibility near zero."
"I'm here," comes Denise's steady reply. "Joey says he can see your flashlight."
I reach the car, finding the passenger door frozen shut. I rap on the window, glimpsing a pale teenage face inside, eyes wide with relief and fear.
"Tell him I need him to push from inside while I pull," I instruct Denise, already working my gloved fingers under the door seam.
"He's ready," she confirms seconds later. "On your count."
"Three, two, one—"
The door gives with a crack of breaking ice, swinging open against the resistance of accumulated snow. Inside, a lanky teenager in a letterman jacket sits huddled against the cold, his breath visible in the dying car heater.
"Joey Madsen?" I confirm, already assessing his condition. "I'm Engineer Wood from Whitetail Falls Fire Station. Let's get you out of here."
"Thank you," the teen stammers through chattering teeth. "I didn't—didn't think anyone would come."
"We always come," I say simply, helping him from the car. "My truck's running. Let's get you warmed up."
The return journey to the truck feels twice as long, as I support the teen against the wind. Snow accumulates on my helmet, my shoulders, melting against the back of my neck and sending icy rivulets down my spine.
By the time we reach the truck's warmth, my fingers have gone numb inside my gloves.
"Got him," I report, settling Joey in the passenger seat before circling to the driver's side. "He’s alert and responsive. Starting return to the station now."
"Well done," Denise says, relief evident in her voice. "I've notified his parents. They'll meet you at the station."
The drive back moves at half speed, conditions worsening with each passing minute. I maintain focus on the treacherous road, occasionally checking on the teenager who sits wrapped in emergency blankets, color slowly returning to his face.
"Thanks for coming, sir," Joey says after a while. "That lady on the radio—she kept telling me you'd find me. Said you were the best."
My hands tighten slightly on the wheel. "That lady's name is Denise Cole. She's the one who got me to you."
Through my headset, I hear a soft inhale.She's heard me.
For a moment, there's just the storm, the rumble of tires on snow, and the quiet knowledge that she's listening.
"You okay?" she asks after a moment, voice low and private in my ear.
The question reaches past professional concern, past the mission parameters, into something more personal. Something I haven't allowed in a very long time.
"Better now," I answer truthfully.
The descent from Emberstone Hill requires complete concentration, the truck occasionally sliding despite its weight and my cautious handling. Joey dozes beside me, wrapped in blankets, as I navigate by memory and the limited visibility of my headlights. Denise's voice remains my constant companion, updating me on road conditions, guiding me through the worst patches with calm precision.
It strikes me, halfway down the mountain, that I've never had this before—someone's voice staying with me through darkness, not just directing but accompanying. In the military, radio contact was functional, strategic. This is different. This is connection.
Streets remain empty, the town huddled against the weather. I report our position as we approach closer to the station, tension gradually easing from my shoulders as familiar landmarks appear through the curtain of white.
"Joey's parents are already at the station," Denise informs me. "Chief called. He and the crew are still tied up but should be back within the hour."
"Copy that." I make the final turn onto the street, Whitetail Falls Station's solid red-brick presence coming into view ahead. "Two minutes out."
The bay door begins rising before I even activate my remote, Denise watching for our approach. I guide the truck inside, the sudden shelter from the storm almost disorienting.
