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"Uh, Meechum? If you can hear me, I need you to pick up the radio behind the desk."
I spin toward the crackling radio as Ranger Steven's voice comes through.
Mr. Meechum hauls himself to his feet, slapping his cowboy hat back on his head. His boots thump across the floor as he circles around behind the desk to the radio hanging there.
"This is Meechum," he says into the radio, pulls it away from his mouth, frowns down at it, and then tries again, pressing a button on the side. "This is Meechum."
"Can you ask Miss Sterling if she's certain her friend has a head injury?" Ranger Steven asks.
"Positive. He had CTs in Silver Spoon Falls confirming the initial concussion just a few days ago," I say without hesitation. "He has a gash across his forehead and his pupils are slow to react. He also lost consciousness. He hadn't regained it by the time I left to get help for him."
"She says she's positive. Sounds like she knows what she's talking about, Steve."
"Well then, we've got a problem."
"What kind of problem?" I ask, gripping the edge of the desk for dear life. Please, God, don't say he's dead. Please.
"What kind of problem?" Mr. Meechum repeats.
It takes Ranger Steven several seconds to respond. "He isn't here."
My grip on the desk is the only thing keeping me upright as his words register. Atlas isn't where I left him. He's out there alone with a head injury. "I-is there any way he's with the car?"
"Could he be with the car?" Mr. Meechum asks Steve.
"We checked the car. No one in it. I'm headed back that way now. Chaz is going to start a search of the immediate area." The radio goes silent for a moment. "When the sheriff gets there, send him this way. Ambulance too."
"Uh, roger that." Mr. Meechum sets the radio down, his expression full of empathy. "It's okay, hon. They're going to find him."
"They have to find him," I whisper, tears spilling down my cheeks. There is no other option. They have to find him.
A few minutes later, the sheriff and ambulance arrive. Mr. Meechum grabs the radio before we head out to meet them. The sheriff is an older man with a gentle smile and steel in his eyes.
Mr. Meechum fills him in while the paramedics—a plump, motherly woman and a Latino man who doesn't say much—insist on looking me over. "What happened to your hands, sweetheart?"
"Nails," I mumble, holding them out for her to inspect. "I had to dig him out from beneath the porch after it collapsed."
"You're going to need a tetanus shot if you haven't had one recently. Some of these are deep." She pours saline solution over them to clean the visible dirt off, and then swabs them with betadine before wrapping them up. "I'll make sure the ER knows to give you one."
My gaze snaps up to hers. "I'm not leaving without him."
"You should have these looked at sooner rather than later," she says gently. We both know they aren't that serious. That's not why she's trying to cajole me out of here. She's worried about what they'll find when they find Atlas, and she doesn't want me to be here for it.
Well, too bad because I'm not going anywhere without him. I'll turn this tiny parking lot into a campground before I leave.
"I'm not leaving," I warn her, my voice firm. "Until he's in the back of the ambulance, I'm not going anywhere."
"Alright, sweetheart. It's all right. We won't try to force you," she promises, wearing the same expression Mr. Meechum had. Empathy, concern…pity. They all think they're going to find him dead somewhere.
"He's going to be fine," I say, refusing to accept anything less. He'll be fine because it's the only acceptable outcome. I refuse to even believe anything less than that is even possible. Atlas will be fine.
Please, Atlas. Please don't get lost out there.
I spend the next hour pacing the parking lot, just waiting for someone to tell me something. Half of the sheriff's department has been called out to look for him. So has every ranger on duty.
Mr. Meechum called Jordan earlier to let him know that I was safe. He keeps calling me, but I refuse to talk to him or anything. It's like I'm trapped in hell, and the flames are getting hotter. The longer we go without finding him, the more trapped I become.
A thousand regrets pick at me. I shouldn't have left the interstate. I shouldn't have followed the GPS. I should have turned around at some point. I should have done anything aside from keep going, confident that we'd make it safely to the other side. It was naïve of me to think that.
