“They’re waiting at the perimeter,” Harris replied. “We have an ambulance for the child, just to check her over.”

“I’m staying with her,” I said.

“Of course,” Harris said. “We’ll handle the scene here.”

I walked toward the exit, carrying Lily through the freezing Colorado air.

The snow was falling in thick, heavy flakes now, covering the gravel path to the tarmac.

Behind us, the flashing blue and red lights of federal transport vans illuminated the pine trees.

I placed Lily in the back of the heated ambulance, sitting on the bench beside her as the paramedic began her assessment.

“Her pulse is high, but her lungs sound clear,” the paramedic said softly, wrapping a heavy wool blanket around Lily’s shoulders.

Lily stared at the floor of the ambulance, her eyes blank.

I took her small, cold hand in mine.

“You did so well, Lily,” I said. “You were so brave.”

She looked up at me, her lips parting slightly, but no sound came out.

The trauma had built a wall around her, one that would take time and patience to dismantle.