He discovered his mother dy:ing at the bottom of a dry pit

Mrs. Helen was curled against the cold concrete wall.

She was barefoot.

A drenched, filthy shawl was wrapped tightly around her trembling shoulders.

Dried blood marked her forehead, washed pale by the rain.

Her lips had turned a terrifying bluish-purple, and her hands were scraped raw, as if she had spent hours trying to claw her way up the sheer, wet walls.

“Mom!”

Daniel’s voice cracked, a sound of pure agony tearing from his throat.

He didn’t think. He just moved.

Daniel climbed down any way he could, grabbing onto a rusty chain tied to an old, rotting post.

He ripped open his palms on the rusted metal.

He slammed his back into the sharp rocks as he slipped.

But he felt none of it. The adrenaline numbed his pain until he finally reached the bottom.

He fell to his knees in the mud and garbage.

The old woman barely managed to open her eyes, squinting against the harsh beam of the flashlight.

“My boy...” she whispered, her voice like dry leaves. “I thought nobody was ever coming.”

Daniel wrapped both arms around her, pulling her against his chest.

Her body was so cold.

So delicate.

He was terrified that if he held her too tightly, he might break her fragile bones.

“I’m here now,” he choked out, tears mixing with the rain on his face. “I’m not leaving you. I’ve got you, Mom.”

He took off his jacket and wrapped it around her shaking frame.

But getting her out was another nightmare.

The walls were slick with mud, and she was far too weak to climb, even with his support.

He screamed for help until his vocal cords tore.

For twenty agonizing minutes, they sat in the dark, the water levels slowly rising at the bottom of the pit.

Finally, a set of heavy headlights swept across the top of the quarry.

A truck driver, who had pulled over to check his tires, heard Daniel’s desperate screams.

The man ran over with a thick tow rope and a heavy-duty flashlight.

“Hold on down there!” the trucker yelled over the storm.

With the trucker pulling from the top and Daniel lifting from below, they finally managed to drag Mrs. Helen over the muddy rim.

It took almost forty minutes in total.

By the time they reached Daniel’s car, Mrs. Helen had lost consciousness.

Daniel drove like a madman to the regional clinic in Maple Ridge.

Nurses rushed out with a gurney, tearing the wet clothes from her body and shouting orders.

Daniel sat in the waiting room, shaking violently.

His hands were covered in his mother’s blood and his own.

An hour later, the doctor finally walked through the swinging doors.

His face was grim.

“She’s stable, but barely,” the doctor said, his voice low.

“She has severe hypothermia, extreme dehydration, a cracked rib, and massive bruising across both legs and her back.”

Daniel swallowed hard. “Did she fall?”

The doctor looked at him, eyes narrowing.

“Son, she didn’t fall in there today. With that level of dehydration and the state of those wounds... she’s been down in that pit for at least three days.”

Three days.

Seventy-two hours in the dark, in the cold, without food or water.