Skates & Rescues

In the arse-end of nowhere sits the town of Calmere, affectionately known as Shiver’s End, due to its location at the base of the Shiver’s mountain range. A mountain range so treacherous, the top ice rescue teams come to train in its peaks. It’s a range not suited to amateurs, like the one stuck on the ledge, thirty feet below where Harper Wren currently hung.

Harper was pissed this man put not only her life, but the lives of her comrades, on the line for the perfect selfie.

“Copy that, Harper. The winds are shifting—gusts picking up to forty clicks. You’ve got a ten-minute window, tops.” The voice crackled in her earpiece. That was Nate Hale, team lead and the only reason she hadn’t throttled the idiot below her yet.

Harper pressed her gloved thumb to the mic at her collar. “Acknowledged. Send Barlow to prep the haul system, and get Howie on standby for evac. This one’s going to be messy.”

“Already done. And Harper—watch your step.”

She didn't respond. Her boots shifted on the icy outcrop as she adjusted her harness and rappelled down the final stretch toward the ledge. Below her, a man clung to a spindly outcrop of frozen rock, his breath coming in short, panicked gasps. He was maybe twenty-five, wearing a neon-orange jacket and snowboarding goggles pushed up on his forehead. The drone that had apparently followed him here buzzed erratically in the air, nearly clipped her helmet, and vanished down the cliffside with a mechanical whine.

Of course.

“Don’t move,” she called, her voice sharp, cutting through the howl of the wind. “You so much as twitch, you’re going down. You understand me?”

The man—boy, really—nodded, his face ghostly pale against the ice.

Her boots scraped rock as she dropped the last few feet, anchoring herself to the crag above the ledge. She took a moment to secure a second carabiner, then assessed him quickly. No visible injuries, just panic and frostbite nibbling at his cheeks.

“Name?”

“D-Danny,” he stammered.

“Alright, Danny. I’m Harper. This is going to be cold, fast, and unpleasant. But if you listen to everything I say, we’re getting off this mountain in one piece. Sound good?”

He nodded, too fast.

From above, she heard the distinctive bark of a St. Bernard. Her partner was waiting. “Good boy, Odin,” she murmured under her breath. “Hold the line.”

She pulled a thermal emergency blanket from her chest pouch, shaking it open and wrapping it around Danny’s shoulders. His teeth chattered uncontrollably as she tightened the straps of the harness around him. Every second counted now. The weather was turning—snow whipped across the ridge, thickening by the minute.

“Why the hell were you even out here?” she asked as she clipped the final carabiner and checked the slack.

“I—I thought it would be cool. My followers love this kind of—”

Harper didn’t let him finish. “You brought a drone to the North Face for likes?”

His silence was the only answer she needed. Her stomach twisted. Every call like this risked lives. She should be home, warming Odin’s paws by the fire, maybe even catching a nap before the night shift. Instead, she was dangling off a cliff trying to save an amateur influencer from becoming a cautionary tale.

“Alright, listen carefully,” she said, her voice low and commanding. “On my count, we start ascending. You do not move unless I tell you. One wrong swing and we’re both airborne.”

Danny swallowed audibly.

She tapped her mic. “Nate, we’re secure. Begin haul sequence on my mark. Odin in position?”

“Locked and waiting. Wind’s picking up again—make it fast.”

Harper took one last look over her shoulder—whiteout was starting to set in. She reached down, gave Danny’s shoulder a firm pat. “Time to fly.”

“Three… two… one. Haul!”

The line jerked as the pulley system activated. Harper guided them steadily upward, keeping her limbs relaxed and centered, absorbing the sway of the wind. Danny whimpered, clinging tightly to the rope. She could feel the tremble of his body through the line, but he didn’t scream—not yet, at least.

As they crested the ledge, a giant shaggy figure lunged forward with a bark.

Odin.

The St. Bernard, easily over 150 pounds, bounded toward her with a rope pouch clipped to his side and a barrel harness swinging beneath his chin. His fur was crusted with frost, his eyes alert and focused as ever.

“Good boy,” Harper said, planting her crampons as she helped Danny stumble the last few steps to safety.

Nate was waiting with Barlow and Howie, their faces shielded behind snow goggles and fur-trimmed hoods. Barlow grabbed Danny and pulled him to safety, tossing a thermal blanket over him as Howie began checking vitals.

Harper dropped to one knee beside Odin, burying her hands in his thick coat. The dog leaned into her touch, panting happily despite the cold.

“Jesus,” Nate muttered, watching Danny try to sit upright. “These tourists get dumber every year.”

“Dumber and louder,” Harper said grimly. “This one brought a drone.”

Nate groaned. “Of course he did.”

A gust of wind nearly knocked them sideways. Nate raised his arm to shield his face. “We’re done here. Storm’s rolling in hard. Let’s move.”

They began the long descent in tight formation, Odin leading the way with his massive paws making steady prints in the snow. Danny needed two sets of shoulders to keep upright—his adrenaline was spent, and the cold was finally sinking in.

It took nearly forty minutes to make it back to the base camp, a temporary shelter dug into the rock with reinforced panels and a backup generator humming softly beneath layers of ice. Inside, warmth hit like a wall, accompanied by the scent of hot broth and antiseptic.

Barlow guided Danny toward the med station while Howie radioed dispatch for the evac chopper. Harper peeled off her outer coat, steam rising from her shoulders. She reached for a towel and wiped Odin down, careful around his belly where the snow clumped worst.

“You okay, bud?” she murmured.

Odin gave a huff and leaned into her again.

“Next time someone tries to selfie their way into a rescue, I swear…” she trailed off, jaw clenched.

Nate approached, his face still half-hidden behind his buff. “You did good.”

“I always do good,” Harper snapped, then softened. “Sorry. I just—he could’ve died. We could’ve died. All for a goddamn photo.”

“Yeah,” Nate said quietly. “But he didn’t. You saved him.”

Harper said nothing, eyes flicking to the snow-covered entrance of the shelter. The mountains beyond were already disappearing into the storm. Calmere—Shiver’s End—was a beautiful kind of brutal. It chewed you up, tested your mettle, and spat you out changed. Every rescue, every haul, carved a little deeper into who you were.

“You gonna write this one up?” Nate asked, lowering himself onto a bench.

“Yeah,” she said, rubbing Odin’s head. “But I’m leaving out the drone. I refuse to dignify it.”

“Fair.”

The dull whump-whump of rotor blades cut through the wind a few minutes later. Snow kicked up in spirals outside the shelter as the evac chopper crested the ridge and hovered into position. Nate was already barking orders over the comms, coordinating with the pilot while Barlow and Howie bundled Danny into a harness and strapped him in. The influencer had stopped shivering—never a good sign. Harper hoped the medics could work fast enough to keep frostbite from stealing his fingers.

She helped Odin into his travel vest, clipping the safety line to her own harness before grabbing her pack. The big dog didn’t flinch at the roar of the blades; he was used to it, born to it. While most puppies were chewing socks, Odin had been climbing through simulated avalanches and hauling supply sleds across frozen terrain. He was a working dog, through and through—and he lived for it.

The chopper bucked as it took their weight. Harper crouched low beside Odin, arm hooked through a rail as the rest of the crew clambered in. The heat from the cabin heater was a slap after the raw bite of the Shiver’s peaks.

As the pilot tilted them away from the cliffside, Harper looked back through the open door. The storm was closing in fast—white, howling, and mean. The ledge where Danny had nearly died was already gone, swallowed in a blur of ice and air.

Back in Calmere, they landed on the rooftop pad of the rescue outpost. The town crouched like a stubborn old man at the foot of the range, all sharp roofs, battered chimneys, and iron-boned buildings half-buried in snow. The locals just called it Shiver’s End, with a kind of grim affection. Because when you reached it, you either made it out of the mountains alive… or you didn’t.

Harper unclipped Odin and patted his side. “Come on, let’s get inside before your drool freezes.”

He licked her glove in response and lumbered after her, tail swaying.

Inside, the outpost was all wood and warmth—scarred benches, boot racks lined with snowmelt, and the familiar scent of wet dog and coffee grounds. The place was already bustling. A second team was off-loading gear from a snowcat, and a few town volunteers had come in with thermoses and baked goods, bless them.

Nate clapped snow from his jacket as he stepped inside behind her. “Storm’s gonna sit on us for at least twenty-four hours. Longer if the front stalls.”

“Perfect excuse to restock and refuel,” Barlow said, already peeling off his gloves and heading toward the kitchen like a man on a mission.

“Or sleep,” muttered Howie, slumping into a beanbag chair that had seen better years.

Harper toed off her boots by the heater and unsnapped Odin’s vest. The dog flopped onto his side with a dramatic groan, paws twitching as he let out a long sigh.

“Same,” she said, patting his flank.

“You sticking around the outpost?” Nate asked, scrubbing a hand through his hair. His dark beard was still crusted with snow at the tips.

Harper shook her head. “I’ll head down to my cabin. I’ve got Odin’s stuff there. And a bottle of whisky that’s calling my name.”

Nate gave a half-smile. “You’ve earned it. Just keep your radio on. If this storm turns into something worse, we might need to pull people from the outer roads.”

“Always do.”

She collected Odin’s leash—mostly ceremonial, since he never needed it—and made her way out into the cold again. The storm had already reached the lower town, snow drifting sideways through the narrow streets of Calmere. The glow of streetlamps shimmered through it like ghosts.

Her cabin was only a five-minute walk from the outpost, tucked between the bakery and the old ranger’s station. A sloped roof groaning under fresh snow, stacked logs by the door, and a porch swing creaking in the wind. She pushed the door open, Odin barreling past her into the warmth like a freight train of fluff.

The power was holding. For now.

She set her radio on the counter, threw a few logs into the stove, and peeled off her damp thermals down to a hoodie and joggers. Odin had already claimed the rug in front of the fire, legs sprawled in every direction, tongue lolling out the side of his mouth.

“You know,” she said, pouring herself a glass of whisky, “we should be at the pond, playing pickup hockey with the locals and dodging fishwives trying to marry you off.”

Odin let out a deep, rumbling snore.

She smiled, sitting cross-legged beside him and sipping her drink.

Outside, the wind screamed across the rooftops. Snow battered the windows like desperate fists. Somewhere up in the mountains, the ledge she’d pulled Danny from would be buried by morning—erased like it had never been there.

But they had made it down. This time.

She let her head rest against the wall and closed her eyes.

The mountain would wait. The storm would pass. And Shiver’s End would be ready.

It always was.

🌺🌺Who would be able to stand toe to toe with someone this feisty? Hope you enjoy the story. Comments help more than you know, so feel free to share anything.🌺🌺