ST LUCIE COUNTY, Fla. — They run toward danger when everyone else is running away, and it's those moments of danger that so often define us.
Sheriff deputies no doubt save lives, and sometimes, they pay a heavy price in the process.
For one St Lucie County deputy though, the hardest part of the job isn't always the rescue.
WATCH: St. Lucie County Deputy Matthew Gerdes recalls heartbreaking rescue efforts following the Oct. 9 tornado outbreak
When tornadoes tore across St. Lucie County last October, Deputy Matthew Gerdes not only braved the storm to save others, but in one soul-stirring moment, became the calm and the comfort when there was nothing left to give.
Gerdes was on patrol when at least six tornadoes touched down ahead of Hurricane Milton, the strongest of which was an EF-3 tornado that killed six people in the Spanish Lakes Country Club community.
Footage from his body camera shows him running toward the storm instead of away as it barreled toward him, warning drivers on the road to seek shelter immediately.
"That tornado was coming, I could see it, it was just something I've never seen before," Gerdes said. "You hear about it, you read about it, but to actually experience it was quite traumatic. It was almost an out-of-body experience, honestly. I could feel the wind circling my body, and it's something I've never felt before. And just the sound was eerie. It was just eerie."
In those moments, Gerdes chose courage over comfort, putting himself in the path to make sure others weren't, and few would question it— his actions most likely saved lives.
“It just kind of kicked in,” Gerdes said. “We’re trained to be first responders.”
But the toughest moment came not in the rush to respond, but in the moments after.
Inside the debris of Spanish Lakes, Mary Grace Vilamontez was trapped. She was alive, barely breathing. Gerdes, along with other deputies and law enforcement, reached her and started digging. They cleared debris, called for help, and tried to keep her awake.
"I was talking to her, telling her to hold on, she said she couldn't breathe," Gerdes said. "We cleared the debris around her enough that I was able to kind of get someone underneath her."
But then they found it—a steel beam crushing her body, too heavy to move by hand. Crews scrambled to bring a jack, but blocked roads delayed them. They couldn’t get there in time.
“There was no way we were able to free her. All we could do was try to comfort her,” Gerdes said. “That helplessness will probably stay with me forever.”
Gerdes sat with her in the rain. He moved the hair from her face. He shielded her from the storm. He held her hand. And when she slipped away, she didn’t die alone.
“It’s the things I did to comfort her, to make her feel good as she passed," Gerdes said.
But Gerdes’ night wasn’t over. Nearby, he had found another man, Alejandro Alonso, deceased in the wreckage. Hours later, Alejandro’s grandson, Victor Linero, arrived at the scene. He had been on the phone with his grandfather when the line went silent.
"He said, 'I'm sorry to bother you. Sorry to bother you. I was on the phone with my grandfather, and I just heard a boom, and I'm trying to get to him, I'm trying to get to him.' And I was like, 'Absolutely, come on," Gerdes said.
Gerdes led Linero through the devastation to his grandfather’s body, allowing him to confirm it was him and say goodbye.
“It wasn’t supposed to be goodbye,” Linero said. “I was supposed to say, ‘Let’s go to my house.’ But it was goodbye.”
Gerdes stood beside him. They said a prayer.
Deputy Matthew Gerdes didn’t just save lives that day. He stayed when others couldn’t. He stood in the rubble. He bore the burden.
“We’re here to see somebody’s loved one in a traumatic event, the moment before they die,” Gerdes said.
For his courage, compassion, and unwavering presence in a moment of unspeakable grief, Gerdes was nominated for Deputy of the Year at the LEO Awards.
Though Vilamontez's life ended, and Alonso's did too, sometimes a hero doesn't change the ending. Sometimes the danger isn't just what defines us.
Sometimes a hero means standing in the rubble, holding a hand you know you can't pull free.
"That's my job. That's my job to take that burden," Gerdes said. "And it makes me very humble and thankful that I was able to be a part of that situation."
