The desert highway shimmered like liquid glass.

EMT Jack Turner could feel the heat even inside the ambulance — thick, suffocating, pressing against his skin through the Kevlar vest and uniform. The digital thermometer on the dashboard blinked 118°F.

“Dispatch says the hiker’s unresponsive,” said Mia, his partner, steering with one hand, wiping sweat from her temple with the other. “Collapsed near mile marker forty-nine, two miles off the trail.”

Jack checked his kit automatically — IV fluids, saline, cooling packs, airway tubes. “We’ll need the portable shade canopy. And we better pray his electrolytes aren’t bottomed out.”

“Copy that.”

The radio crackled: “Unit Seven, be advised, temps rising. Avoid overexposure. Repeat, avoid prolonged exposure.”

Jack smirked bitterly. “Yeah, good luck with that.”

When they reached the access road, the tires kicked up waves of dust. The air felt alive with heat — like breathing through a hair dryer. Even the horizon looked warped, bending under the weight of sunlight.

They spotted him half an hour later — a man sprawled face-down in the sand, shirt torn, skin the color of boiled shrimp. His pack was a few feet away, half-buried, a broken bottle of water beside it.

Mia jumped out first. “Sir! Can you hear me?”

No response.

Jack knelt beside him, two fingers on the carotid. “Pulse’s rapid, weak. He’s burning up. Help me roll him.”

They turned him over gently. His lips were cracked, his eyes open but unfocused. He muttered something — incoherent, a dry rattle more than words.

“Heatstroke,” Jack said. “Full onset.”

They had minutes to act.

The first rule of heatstroke rescue: cool the body, then rehydrate. Never the other way around.

“Get the canopy up!” Jack barked.

Mia snapped the portable frame open, locking it in place. The thin shade did little against the burning air, but it was better than nothing.

Jack stripped off the man’s pack and boots. His skin was blistering hot, muscles twitching uncontrollably. He poured cool saline from the IV bag over his chest and neck. The liquid evaporated almost instantly, leaving white salt traces on his skin.

“Temp’s one-oh-six,” Mia said, glancing at the thermometer. “He’s frying from the inside out.”

“Give me the cooling packs — under the arms, between the thighs, along the neck.”

Mia slid them into place, hands trembling slightly.

Jack inserted the IV, watching the drip begin. “Half liter slow push. We’ll move him in five.”

The man’s breathing was erratic. His tongue was swollen. His eyes rolled upward, unfocused.

“Hey,” Jack said, tapping his cheek. “Stay with me. Name. What’s your name?”

The man croaked, “Brian…”

“Okay, Brian. You’re dehydrated. You’re in shock, but we’ve got you. Just keep breathing.”

Mia shaded his face with her hat. “We can’t wait long, Jack. This place is cooking us too.”

Jack glanced around. The air rippled. Even the horizon was colorless — no shade, no trees, just endless heat.

“We move now,” he said. “Load and go.”

The inside of the ambulance was a furnace. The air conditioner couldn’t keep up.

Jack sat by Brian’s side, squeezing a cool sponge over his forehead, monitoring vitals. The heart rate was climbing — 160, 170. The skin flushed bright red.

“Body’s still not cooling,” Mia shouted over the rumble of the engine. “We’re twenty minutes out!”

Jack clenched his jaw. “If his temp doesn’t drop soon, we’ll lose him before the ER.”

He rummaged through the cabinet, pulling out a bottle of chilled saline. “Pull over.”

Mia glanced at him. “What?”

“Now!”

She braked hard, dust swirling around the ambulance.

Jack grabbed a plastic sheet and poured the saline across it, creating a cold barrier. “Help me wrap him.”

They lifted Brian onto the soaked surface, sealing him inside like a cocoon.

Jack checked his pupils — still dilated. “Come on, damn it. Stay with me.”

Brian’s chest jerked once, a dry cough escaping. His pulse steadied slightly — 150, 140.

“It’s working,” Mia said softly.

Jack nodded but didn’t relax. “Barely.”

They drove again, faster now. The sun was lowering, the sky turning blood-orange — but the heat didn’t ease.

Jack leaned close to Brian’s ear. “You’re not dying out here, man. You’re not giving the desert another body.”

Brian’s lips moved, whispering a single word: “Water.”

Jack smiled grimly. “Soon.”

They reached the hospital as twilight fell.

The ER team rushed out — coolers, stretchers, saline. Jack rattled off vitals as they wheeled Brian through the doors.

“Core temp one-oh-three, trending down. IV fluids started. Responsive to pain but disoriented.”

The nurse nodded. “We’ve got him.”

Jack stood there for a moment, letting the air-conditioned chill wash over him. His own hands were trembling. The heat had soaked into his bones.

Mia handed him a water bottle. “Drink,” she said. “You’re as red as he was.”

He took a long swallow, feeling it hit his stomach like glass.

“Think he’ll make it?” she asked.

Jack watched through the ER window as doctors surrounded the stretcher, attaching monitors, wrapping cooling blankets.

“Yeah,” he said quietly. “He will. He’s past the worst of it.”

Mia leaned against the wall. “You ever get used to this?”

Jack shook his head. “To watching people boil alive? No.”

Outside, the sky faded into deep violet, the desert finally cooling after another day of fire.

Jack looked out at the horizon — that endless, scorched line between survival and surrender.

He whispered to himself, “It’s not the heat that kills. It’s forgetting how fragile we are.”

The ambulance lights flickered in the parking lot, ready for the next call.