Chapter 1: The Price of Rescue

Freezing rain hammered the mountainside the night the little boy vanished, his tiny boots sliding out from under him as he tumbled into a narrow cave. I hustled up the mountain with Scout, my search and rescue dog, both of us on high alert, but my heart sank when I reached the river crossing—a local woman at the ferry was waiting, arms folded, eyes cold, and her price was sky-high.

The wind cut through me, sharp and merciless, burning my nose and turning each muddy step into a test of will. Every inch of my body ached from the chill, the damp settling in my bones. Scout shook off a sheet of rain, splattering my jeans and filling the air with the raw, earthy scent of wet fur. The world was all steel gray and panic, winter’s bite on my tongue as I trudged to the old dock. The river roared—no wading across that. The woman manning the ferry looked me over, her gaze as hard as the current.

"Seventy bucks, cash only. Dog’s double," she barked, her accent flat and unforgiving, like she’d been living here forever and didn’t care about my problems.

Her words landed like an ice bath. I patted my pockets, hoping for a miracle twenty I’d forgotten. Scout looked up at me with those big, eager eyes, oblivious to the money standoff. For a second, I wished I could swap places with my dog—no cash, no worries, just the job ahead. This was one of those small-town moments where the rules changed on a whim, and desperation was just leverage. I tried to keep my cool, but she could smell the panic on me.

I didn’t have enough. I begged, “Please, let me cross—I’ll pay you back, I swear.”

She snorted, “You lookin’ to guilt-trip me? Sorry, pal, I don’t run a charity. If you can’t pay, you can swim.”

The rain hammered my shoulders as I pleaded, my voice cracking, “Please, ma’am, it’s urgent—there’s a child—” But she barely glanced up from her phone, more interested in a game of solitaire than my panic. My hands shook with cold and rage. The river churned, the clock ticked, and all I could do was stand there, helpless, like I was stuck in a nightmare that wouldn’t let me move.

By the time I finally broke through her barricades and reached the cave, it was too late—the kid wasn’t breathing. His grandfather came scrambling up the slope, grabbing the woman by the arm, his voice raw: “Marsha, you know too, our Caleb fell into the cave…”

The world lurched. Marsha’s face drained of color, her mouth working but no words coming out. For one too-late second, our eyes locked—hers were full of regret, but it didn’t change a damn thing. The drizzle mixed with the old man’s tears, streaking down his cheeks as he knelt in the mud, lost in grief.