Chapter 2 - The Midnight Call
The motel room smelled faintly of bleach and stale carpet cleaner. Half the letters on the neon vacancy sign outside flickered with a persistent, rhythmic buzz—VAC AN—casting a pale red glow across the drab curtains.
Emma was fast asleep, curled into a tight ball beneath the thin, scratchy motel blanket, her breathing deep and even. I sat on the edge of the second double bed, a cold cup of diner coffee in my hand, staring out the frosted window at the empty parking lot.
My duffel bag sat in the corner, the dried red wine forming a stiff, dark crust across the canvas. I hadn’t cleaned it. There was no point. Tomorrow, I would figure out where to go, how to explain to an eight-year-old why we couldn’t spend Christmas morning with her grandparents, and how to untangle my life from people who viewed my sacrifices as personal insults.
At 11:47 p.m., the silence of the room was shattered by the sharp, jarring ring of my cell phone resting on the nightstand.
I grabbed it instantly, seeing the secure military frequency flashing on the screen.
“Turner,” I answered, my voice instantly dropping into command mode.
“Colonel Turner, we have an active crisis,” the voice on the other end came rapidly, punctuated by the roar of howling wind in the background. “A National Guard UH-60 Black Hawk went down approximately twelve minutes ago near Ridge 4 in whiteout conditions. Two crew members confirmed survivors, but they’re injured and hypothermic. The storm is worsening by the minute. Ground teams are pinned down by zero-visibility slopes. We need an immediate incident commander who knows that specific sector topography cold.”
My mind cleared instantly, casting off the lingering ache of family drama. Ridge 4 was my old training ground. I knew every ravine, every ledge, and every wind pattern on that mountain.
“What’s the current grid?” I asked, already pulling on my boots and zipping up my heavy winter shell.
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“Transmitting coordinates now, Colonel. Get to the staging area at Sector Delta command post immediately. We’re losing our weather window.”
I looked back at Emma. She stirred slightly, murmuring something in her sleep, clutching her stuffed rabbit. I quietly pulled my car keys from the counter, slipped out of the room, and locked the door behind me. Within twenty minutes, my car was cutting through the blinding blizzard, heading straight up the mountain toward the howling heart of the storm.
