Six Seconds Read Online Free Page B

Calgary. Its rear clamshell doors
were open. Its rotors were turning.
“She’s not responding,” Graham heard the techs
shout to the medical crew.
Wearing their flight suits and helmets, the emer
gency doctor, paramedic and nurse worked quickly, ad
ministering CPR, an IV, slipping an oxygen mask over
her face, transferring her to a gurney. They packaged her
into the medical chopper which thundered off to a
trauma hospital in Calgary.
Graham stayed behind on the ground. He was
barefoot and enshrouded in blankets as paramedics from
Banff treated him for mild hypothermia and cuts to his
hands and legs. Other officials watched and waited. “Let’s get you to the hospital in Banff for a better
look,” a paramedic said.
Graham shook his head, watching the red helicopter
disappear in the east.
“I’m fine. I want to stay with the search.” A park warden trotted to his pickup, dug out a set of
government-issue orange coveralls—the kind firefight
ers wore for forest fires—woolen socks and boots, and
tossed them to Graham.
“They’re dry and should fit,” the warden said, nod
ding to a change room. “When you’re ready, I’ll drive
you to the search center.” He shook Graham’s hand.
“Bruce Dawson.”
A few minutes later, with Graham in the passenger
seat, Dawson ground through all gears as his truck
rumbled along the dirt road that cut southwest through
pine forests. On the way, he radioed a request to the
searchers to retrieve the Mountie’s bag from his camp
site, along with his badge, boots and things he’d left by
the river, and bring them to the center.
“What’s the status?” Graham asked. “Those kids
didn’t come up here alone.”
“Right, we figured on adults, too. We’ve expanded
the perimeter downstream.” Dawson kept his eyes on
the road, letting several moments pass before he said,
“I was listening on the radio after they spotted you in
the river with the girl. That’s a helluva thing you did.” Graham looked to the mountains without respond
ing.
It was a bumpy thirty-minute ride over backcountry
terrain to the warden’s station for the Faust region. It
sat on a plateau near a ridgeline trail. In its previous life
the station had been a cookhouse built from hand-hewn
spruce logs by a coal mining company in 1909. Now it was doubling as the incident command
center. Its walls were covered with maps. The main meeting room was jammed with people and a massive table was loaded with computers, GPS tracking gear and more maps. Sat phones and landlines rang, amid ongoing conversations as radios crackled nonstop over
the hum of search helicopters.
The station was also equipped with basic plumbing.
Graham took a hot shower, changed into his clothes
from his retrieved bag. As he joined the others, his chief
concern was the girl.
“What’s her status?”
“No word yet.” Dawson offered him a mug of coffee
and a ham sandwich. Graham accepted the coffee,
declined the sandwich. “We know they landed at
Alberta Children’s moments ago. While we’re waiting
for news, I’ll update you on the search.”
Referring to the map spread out on the big table,
Dawson touched the tip of a sharpened pencil to a point
along the river.
“This is where the boy was found. Mounties from
Banff and Canmore are at the scene, and the medical
examiner’s just arrived.”
“Do we have an idea who the boy is? Or who he
belongs to? Any missing children reports?”
Dawson shook his head. “Not yet. Too many pos
sibilities.” His pencil followed the river. “You’ve got
scores of campsites, day-trippers. We’re going through
the registrations and we’ve got teams going to each site
to account for each visitor. People are mobile. They’re
on trails, or in Banff doing the tourist thing, or in
Calgary, or wherever. It’s going to take time.” Graham understood.
“We’ve gridded the area. We’ve got people on the ground, on the water, in the air, we’re searching
every—”
“Is there a Corporal Graham