Free Yellowstone Standoff by Scott Graham

“Her.”
    Janelle reached beneath Kaifong’s neck and gently lifted, opening the airway, then locked her hands together and compressed Kaifong’s chest in a steady rhythm. She counted out loud with each compression. “One, two, three...”
    Randall knelt at the other side of Kaifong.
    â€œTwo breaths after every fifteen compressions,” Janelle instructed him.
    He hesitated.
    â€œNow,” she commanded. “Pinch her nose. Keep her chin lifted so her airway stays open.”
    Randall bent over Kaifong. All was quiet as he and Janelle worked, Kaifong’s chest rising with each pair of forced breaths.
    The other scientists stripped Chuck’s wet clothes and wrapped him in fleece blankets pulled from beneath the bench seats by the pilot, who slid a PFD under his head as a pillow.
    Enveloped in the blankets, Chuck rocked with the boat on the swells of the lake. Carmelita and Rosie knelt beside him.
    â€œAre you okay?” Carmelita asked, her frightened voice little more than a whisper.
    Chuck reached a hand to her. “Just...cold.”
    Seconds ticked by as Janelle and Randall continued their efforts. Kaifong lay still. Chuck willed her to live.
    Suddenly, Kaifong’s body stiffened. Her heels pounded the deck of the boat. She gagged and coughed. Her chest heaved and water streamed from the corner of her mouth and she drew an enormous lungful of air. She turned her head to the side and spat weakly, then took a second, trembling breath. Her eyes opened and she stared dully at Chuck.
    She blinked once, twice, three times, more awareness returning to her walnut eyes with each blink. Her breathing grew steady.
    The researchers stripped her clothes and wrapped her in blankets.
    She turned her head, taking in Janelle and Randall kneeling over her, the researchers and pilot hovering above. “What happened?” she asked, her voice weak.
    â€œI’ll radio in and get us headed back,” the pilot said.
    â€œNo,” Janelle responded. “She’ll freeze if we try to go all the way back across.”
    â€œAgreed,” Chuck said, his own body shaking. “We need to get her warmed up, fast.”
    â€œThe landing’s only two miles away,” the pilot said. “There’s lots of driftwood.” She darted to the wheelhouse and gunned the engine, aiming the boat across the last of the open water and into the southeast arm of the lake.
    Kaifong lay on the deck, her eyes open but unfocused, her chest rising and falling.
    â€œHow is she?” Chuck asked Janelle.
    â€œShe was breathing and had a pulse the whole time, but I wanted to be certain. I wasn’t sure what else to do.”
    The boat shot up the narrow bay. Forested ridges rose from both shorelines. The vessel slowed a few minutes later. The pilotworked the throttle, maneuvering the boat against an aluminum dock extending from shore.
    Janelle and Randall lifted Kaifong, shivering and unsteady, to her feet. Clarence clambered from the boat and hustled off the dock past the pile of gear on shore. He and the other scientists collected driftwood from the rocky beach. Janelle and Randall helped Kaifong down the pier, supporting her between them, while the pilot secured the boat. Chuck made his way to shore. He clutched the blankets around him, glad to walk on his own.
    By the time Clarence and the researchers assembled the driftwood in a tall pyre, the pilot arrived with a tin of gasoline from the boat. She doused the wood and put a lighter to it. The fuel ignited with an oxygen-sucking whoomp. Flames climbed into the air while smoke from the damp wood smudged the afternoon sky.
    Janelle settled Kaifong on a patch of open sand close to the flames. Chuck slumped beside her. Welcoming heat emanated from the fire, warming his face.
    Thirty minutes later, Kaifong sat before the roaring fire on a log next to Chuck, her palms held out to the flames. They wore fresh clothes from their personal