by S Berry

Disclaimers: They kinda look familiar, but y'all know the drill on that and if you don't, email me and I'll explain. Oh, it has nothing to do with the raccoon in the children's magazine... way different Ranger Rick. I'm just borrowing the name.

Love/Sex/Hold the Mayo: There's nothing really, but it's open to possibility. There's lesbians, so if you don't like `em, what in the name of Melissa Etheridge are you doing here?! No, really... I wanna know.

Violence... America's favorite sport: Yep, sorta, but not bad. PG 13 at worst.

Dedications: For one of my best friends to show her that it can be done -- and she can do it *much* better. And for you-know-who for you-know-what... thanks for the hand.

Feedback: If you like what you've read, write me at sberry@e-scribblers.com. If you *really* like how I write and my sparkling personality, join my list at groups.yahoo.com/group/SBerrysstories.

Copyright © 2004 by S Berry. All Rights Reserved.

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Sometimes a girl just needs to think. And for me, there's nothing better for thinking than hiking. Which is good because I'm a park ranger. Have been for about five years. Hiked a lot before then too. I basically hike all day making sure trails are in good shape and no hikers fall off mountains. It doesn't pay much, but it lets me do my true passion -- writing. I have a couple novels and god only knows how many short stories languishing in boxes in my mother's attic. Not much room in a ranger station. I spend the day writing in my head, then scribble it down in spiral notebooks before collapsing into bed to do it all again.

It's a hard life but I wouldn't trade it for anything.

My second favorite thinking activity is chopping wood. We had a humdinger of a storm last night and trees are down all up and down my stretch of trail. Of course, the government can't do something logical like buy enough chainsaws to go around or enough man power, so I'm left with an ax and only my two arms to wield it. At least I have a jeep. Okay, it's *my* jeep, but hey. And all the free firewood I can use for the winter. That's not strictly legal -- they're government trees -- but I don't think you want to know what I think about the government. Cheap sons of bitches.

Finally lunchtime arrives. I've been chopping and hauling tree pieces off to the side of trails to chop into kindling later. Why does it always have to be a hundred plus degrees after a summer storm? I've seriously considered stripping down to my skivvies and damn flying chips, but I've restrained myself thus far. The day is young, however. I'm already shirtless. The trails are closed today and it's highly unlikely that any other ranger will be around, so I'm safe enough. Not that I have much to show off anyway. Calling me flat chested would be kind. But my musculature is mighty impressive, if I do say so myself. Which I just did.

Anyway, hot, sweaty, half-naked, and wishing I'd remembered to bring lunch with me. And more water. I judge the amount of time it'd take to get back to the station and how long it'd take to simply build a fire and boil some from the stream. We're fortunate enough that the water isn't too polluted. A good long boil and some straining and it'd do in a pinch. Better than dehydrating. Or I could take a quick look to see if there was a convenient spring with a `I'm safe to drink' sign.

It could happen.

Before I could do anything, I hear a faint voice say "Help!" I look around, trying to pinpoint where it's coming from.

"Where are you?" I shout. Sometimes it works.

"Down on a ledge!"

Gee thanks lady; we're on a mountain; this really narrows it down for me. Aloud, I merely shout, "keep talking!" Sometimes I think we should be putting tracking devices on the humans; not the animals.

"Please help! I think my arm's broken and my legs hurt -- I'm trapped under a tree."

Christ. I grab a rope and my ax and shrug into my uniform shirt, not bothering to button it. I tuck my undershirt into my back pocket. I'm probably gonna have to rip it into bandages. One of these days I'm gonna have to remember to actually get a first aid kit. Yes I know I'm supposed to have one -- remember cheap sons of bitches. It's not like I have a ton of money to spend on these things and I almost never need one. Undershirts are five bucks for three at Wal-Mart and I can wear them for months.

"What can you see?" I shout, trying to get an idea of direction.

"A tree."

Oh boy a comedian. "What did you see *before* the tree?"

"My life flashing before my eyes."

I have to laugh at that. The voice sounds closer. "Do you have any idea how far down you and your wooden friend are?"

"Pretty far down. I think the tree may still be attached by the roots or it's caught in a crevice or something. Or maybe it's just fucking heavy. I'm caught in branches and the leaves don't show any signs of withering. Of course, maybe they wouldn't even if the damn thing wasn't attached. I don't know much about trees except they're pretty. And they hurt like a motherfucker when they hit you."

I've been homing in on the voice and I think I've found her. I can see a huge tree tilted over the edge. I head toward it quickly and look down. I can see red between leaves. It looks like a shirt and not blood, thank god. Blood and I don't get along. Unless it's mine exiting a cut. I'm fine with that. Needles are freaky though. She's -- I'm assuming it's a she by the voice -- about 80 feet down on a fairly large ledge. There looks to be plenty of handholds so climbing down shouldn't be too hard. I decide to give me and dispatch a good laugh and ask for help. There's no one close enough to help. It'd take a good two hours for headquarters to decide to send a helicopter -- and *that's* if the hiker was someone famous. Again, cheap sons of bitches. Emphasis on `sons of bitches'. Which reminds I didn't ask for a name. "Okay, I think I've found you. I'm Ranger Richardson. What is your name?"

She's quiet a minute, then starts to laugh incredously. "I`m being rescued by Ranger Rick?"

I sigh. I get that entirely too often. I used to never tell anyone my surname, but they insist on putting it on the name badge. And really, my first name is not much better. "Yes, but I promise I'm not a talking raccoon."

She laughs again. "Edna Fitzgerald."

And she laughed at *my* name?! "Well, Ms Fitzgerald, let me go get my jeep and radio headquarters to let them know what's going on, then I'll come down there and see what I can do to get you out of there."

"Okay." For the first time since I first heard the plea for help, I can hear pain and panic in her voice.

"I won't be far and I'll be back soon. It'll take five minutes. Count to 300 hundred for me, hon, okay?" It's the first thing to come to mind. Panicky females scare the bejesus outta me, especially if they cry.

"Okay."

I set down the rope and ax and run like a housewife trying to make a `fifteen minutes only' sale.

As I suspected, `government cutbacks' prevented any help unless the injuries were so severe she'd sue if she wasn't life flighted. "Government cutbacks" meaning "it's been six months since I bought a new Mercedes" of course. To be fair, the government isn't *totally* responsible for the lack of funding. They send the money to headquarters for dispersement. They want people saved and they *will* pay for rescues. Good press and repeat business that way. The problem is the director of the park is a greedy embezzling bastard and they won't investigate complaints. I suspect he skims from our pay too. But as long as we don't ask for anything that costs money, he leaves us alone to do our jobs and that's good enough for me.

So I drive back to Edna armed only with a rope and an ax. This is gonna be fun.

I loop the rope around the trailer hitch of my jeep securely. It's the best I can do for a pulley. I climb down, ax tucked into my belt, its head covered in thick leather. It *is* an easy climb. Edna is quiet, waiting patiently for me to free her. I look over the situation. Several thick limbs have her penned. I should be able to free her, but I suspect it's gonna hurt like a mother. For both of us. Fortunately, she's not all that big, very slender and probably not that tall. Her left arm is at an odd angle, definitely broken. Her legs don't look too bad at first glance, but I won't know for sure `til I remove all the branches. I lug big chunk of rock over to use as a chopping block, hoping that'd lessen the vibrations and pressure resting on the blonde. Two hard hacks with my ax and a firm tug against a braced boot and one branch was done and set aside. Within an hour, I had all of them removed. It's immediately obvious that her right leg is broken. Her left leg is swollen, but not broken. None of her ribs seem to be broken either. She's very bruised and scraped, but her spine seems fine. I would prefer to not move her without a stretcher but it's just not possible to immobilize her that much. I could make a stretcher easily enough with a couple limbs and our shirts, but without another person to hold the other end, it makes no sense. I'm gonna just have to hope I didn't miss anything. I splint her arm and leg as best I can using limbs and strips of my uniform shirt (It`s cheaper to replace than the pants.) because pieces of my undershirt are covering the worst cuts. So I'm gonna haul a cute blonde up and down a mountain topless.

Some days I shouldn't bother getting out of bed.

I tied one end of the rope around our waists, wrapping it through our belts first for extra safety. Tears were streaming down her face in pain, but she didn't say a word.

"Put your good arm around my neck," I told her, getting a good hold on the other end of the rope. She wordlessly did so. I braced one arm under her butt, trying to support as much of her weight as possible.

Let me sum up this journey in one word: Hell. Another good word: Agony.

I take a short cut back to headquarters, forgetting that rain turns the area into a swamp. The jeep gets stuck. I can't figure out how... I've driven through thicker mud. I call dispatch. She promises to send help, but it will be tomorrow before anyone can get there. Some idiot drove a SUV into a school bus and knocked it off a mountain. All available choppers and rescue workers were put on that. They were kids. She'd try to free up a ranger to take us to the hospital before morning but she wasn't sure if she'd be able to.

I hope Edna sues. Christ. It's just not right that a seriously injured person can't get help. She'll get to the hospital tonight if I have to carry her the fifty miles. What if I missed internal injuries? I'm not really all that at first aid. And besides, it's hard to tell without X-rays. Jesus.

But before I could do anything else, I had to get something to drink. I tell Edna I'll be right back and I pick my way through the mud, metal canteen and four one liter bottles in hands. I'm off to find water. And wood for a fire. I find both easily. And a nice stretch of relatively dry ground. I break off the dry lower branches of a pine and soon have a nice little campfire going. I heat water in my canteen and pour it into the bottles and seal them. I tie one end of the rope around each of the necks and set them into the ice-cold stream to chill. Gotta love snow run off.

I go to check on Edna while I wait. After putting out the fire, of course.

"I'm sorry it's taking so long to get to the hospital. I'm sure with a little rest and a drink I'll be able to apply enough muscle to build a corduroy road and push us free so I can get you to there."

"Corduroy road?"

"A road of saplings -- tree limbs in this case -- laid side by side so you can get traction. It worked with horse and wagon; it should work with cars too."

"You don`t know?"

"I`ve never got stuck in mud before."

"Never, Ranger Rick?"

"I usually hike every where. I`m only driving because I was on tree duty. Easier to pull trees off the trail with a jeep."

"You mean you can`t just use those muscles of yours, Ranger Rick?" She smirks and leers at my naked chest.

This is the first time I really realize I'm half-naked with a beautiful woman. I've been too busy trying to save her life to notice either. But yes, she's beautiful. Few scrapes mar her face and the sunburn doesn't detract from her beauty. It enhances the green of her eyes and the delicacy of her features. She can't be more than maybe 25, if that. Fewer than my 27 years on this planet at any rate. I blush, but nothing I can do about it. At least I've managed to keep my pants so far.

"Even I can`t haul a thousand pounds. And certainly not from sunup to sundown. Not if I don`t have to."

"I didn`t think of it that way." She pauses. "How much longer `til the water`s cool enough to drink?"

I`m worried. If she`s actually asking, she`s probably dying of thirst -- literally. "I`ll go check. Even if it`s warm, it`ll still slack the thirst a bit."

"Okay. Hurry back."

"I will." I pick my way through the mud again and run once I hit solid ground.

The water is tepid. It's amazing how fast a stream of ice cold water can cool something down. I bring back a bottle, leaving the rest to chill as much as possible.

"It`s warm, but not too bad." I announce, helping her sit up enough to drink.

She bits her lip, but doesn't cry out. She sips slowly and shortly stops. "Thanks." I know she has to be thirstier than that, and raise a brow. "You need it worse than me. You`ve been doing hard labor all day."

"I only ran out of water an hour before I found you. There`s plenty left and I can boil more besides. It`s gonna take awhile to get us out of here -- plenty of time for it to cool. And you`ve been without water for hours. Now, you`re right that you need to sip slowly, but you need to drink as much as you can."

"If you`re sure?"

"I am. Now, let`s get you sat up a bit more." I carefully slip behind her to support her and hold the bottle. It's a bit too large for her small hand and she's not up to full strength, obviously. I try not to think about the fact I'm shirtless. To distract myself, I ask something I've been wondering about. "How did you fall anyway?"

She blushes, then scowls. "My girlfriend -- now *ex* girlfriend -- has been badgering me to go hiking for a couple months now. I finally said yes and bought gear -- including new hiking boots -- and we set off yesterday. I thought the weather was too bad, but she said hiking in the rain was delightful. She said you saw more wildlife in a downpour because they had to stand still under the trees to keep from getting wet. In hindsight, I can`t believe I fell for that, but it`s not like I`ve ever been hiking before. So we were walking along and all of a sudden, she decides we should climb a tree at the cliff's edge so we could see an eagle`s nest close up. I agreed, and next thing I know, this tree`s falling and taking me with it. And my girlfriend is waltzing off whistling. She never even looked to see if I was okay."

I clench my jaw in anger. "I`m thinking the idea was to make sure you *weren`t* okay. Climbing a tree in a thunderstorm with metal gear is just asking to be struck by the lightening version of Russian Roulette. And if the tree had been bored out, you couldn`t have necessarily seen it and your weight and a strong push from your girlfriend would have been enough to make it fall. What`s her name? I need to call this in."

She sighs. "Paula Lindstrom."

I raise my eyebrow in surprise. "The actress?"

"The one and only. Her parents are friends with mine. Fitzgerald is actually my mother`s maiden name. My father is Senator Edger Chopin." She sighs resignedly and tenses.

"Really now? He's one of those cheap sons of bitches that won't let me have decent pay or vacations because he's got to go skiing in Aspen?" I suddenly realize that insulting her father probably isn't the best idea I've ever had, but I can't take it back without lying.

"Ah, so you`re the minion he fucks over? Thanks for the great twenty-first birthday party. Renting that bar for a weekend had to set you back plenty."

"Yep, `tis I, your friendly neighborhood fairy minion." She's not the only one who can do sarcasm.

"You`re a fairy? Why, Ranger Rick, straight women across the world are weeping now."

"Um, why? They don`t want me." A clue hits me in the head. "Um, Edna... maybe I should completely introduce myself. I'm Ranger *Rachel* Richardson."

She blushes and blinks in shock. "You`re a woman?!"

"Yep. Just not blessed with breasts."

"God, I`m sorry... I just didn`t expect a woman to be shirtless I guess."

"Not a problem; lots of muscles, no breasts to speak of; I get called sir all the time."

"I`m still sorry."

"Don`t worry about it. Now, drink some more water while I call in."

She does. I help her hold the bottle steady with one hand as I call dispatch with my other. "Betty? Rach again. We need cops. That hiker I rescued? Paula Lindstrom pushed her off. She's Senator Chopin's daughter... tell the director we need troopers and a chopper ASAP or Daddy's gonna make heads roll." Edna tenses, but says nothing. I'm sorry to have to use her name, but a murderer needs to be stopped and she needs medical attention. And okay, so I want to piss off the director. Cheap greedy bastard. I hope she *does* sue. Hell I don't even care if she sues *me* as long as she gets him too.

"You're shitting me," Betty says in disbelief.

"Nope, god`s honest truth."

"Rach, Paula Lindstrom is the nimrod in the SUV that hit that bus. She just died from injuries sustained in the crash. I`ll patch you through to the state police."

"Okay."

A few seconds later, I hand the radio over to Edna to relay yesterday and today's events to the police. Her daddy is called and he says he'll send a chopper immediately and meet her at the hospital as soon as possible. He sounds genuinely worried about her and I wonder if I misjudged the man.

As soon as the connection is broken, I apologize for bringing her father into it and explain the director is only impressed by who's famous or what accident brings him the best publicity. And Paula had to be stopped.

She turns her head to look at me and reaches back with her good hand to cover my mouth to stop my babbling. "It`s okay. The sooner I get some morphine the better. I just want to make it on my own; not `cause my dad`s someone important or I`m dating someone important. Sometimes name dropping is the only way and I`m just too stubborn to admit it. So thank you for taking care of me. And that said, I`m going to pass out `til I get my morphine. Don`t worry." And damned if her eyes didn't roll back and she didn't go limp in my arms.

I check her breathing and it's fine and her pulse is strong, so I don't worry about it. I shift her slightly and hold her carefully close to me and settle in to wait for the chopper.

Holding blondes is my favorite time to think.

To Be Continued...

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