Tracing the small squawks and radio burps of a weakening signal, they finally located the radio repeater in mid-afternoon.
Except there wasn’t one victim, there were two, a fact that the “panicked survivor” had failed to mention in her script. Patty stared down at the two life-size mannequins lying in the deep snow. One had a label on its jacket listing symptoms: broken leg, advancing hypothermia, semi-conscious, can’t arouse for over fifteen seconds. The second label was far more grim: DOA. Dead On Arrival.
The steady-paced PJs exploded into action. In seconds they had an IV running into an artificial vein. Caspar tucked the IV bag deep inside his own clothes to keep it warm.
“IV is the best way to raise their core temperature quickly,” he explained a piece of information that Patty ho
