Still, Bobby hadn’t said a word since Jack had climbed back into the cab after securing the gate.
Jake glanced over. His brother sat stiff in the passenger seat, arms crossed, knuckles white. His silence was worse than his usual chatter. Bobby was holding his fears and worries inside. He saw the dangers of the road just as Jake did.
Then, at the four-way—no signs, just a crossroads of back roads—Jake spotted something glinting in the ditch.
He eased off the gas. Metal. Chrome. A vehicle. He felt Bobby tense and lean forward.
Jake swung the wheel gently and slowed. The beams from the truck hit the ditch just right and his stomach dropped.
It was a red truck, nose buried deep in the water-filled ditch, the passenger side nearly submerged. The floodwater had crept up to the road, rising fast, swirling around the submerged wheels. The current was stronger than it looked.
But that wasn’t what froze Jake’s blood.
The license plate was unmistakable, with the blue-and-white wheelchair printed before the numbers.
The Mendozas’ Dodge truck.
“No,” Jake whispered. “Please, no.”
He jammed the gear into park but left the engine running. The heater blasted, but he already felt cold. He turned to Bobby. “Stay put. Don’t open the door. Don’t get out unless I tell you.”
Bobby didn’t argue. His wide eyes tracked Jake as he pushed the door open and stepped into the storm.
The wind punched him immediately. The air had taken on a chill and the rain drilled sideways into his jacket. Every step toward the ditch felt like stepping toward the edge of something terrible. He used his flashlight, its weak beam cutting through the dark. He had to look, but he didn’t want to see.
The ground sloped down sharply, slick with runoff. Jake slipped once, slid, caught himself against a tangled mess of brambles. His boots hit water, then sank. The ditch was deeper than he’d thought—water up to his knees, rushing past his legs with enough force to knock a smaller man off his feet. And still he went down until he was submerged waist high and the current, churned up by the increasing wind, threatened to sweep him off his feet.
He reached the driver’s-side window. Shined his light inside.
Water filled the cab—up past the seats. Front and rear.
No movement.
He pounded on the glass. Nothing.
Jake’s heart hammered. He looked carefully, searching for a body. Looking for red hair.
Expecting to see his sister.
She wasn’t inside. No one was inside, and he finally let out his breath. It came with a cry of relief.
His sister wasn’t here.
Neither were the people who took her.
He pulled himself back up the embankment, then he lost his footing and slipped again, went under, the water swallowing him so fast he almost didn’t realize what was happening. He burst back up through the surface, coughing and soaked, flashlight clutched in his hand.
Jake pushed back through the water, dragging himself up the bank, every step a struggle. His clothes hung heavy. He trudged back to his truck through ankle-deep water, which covered the road.
He pulled the door open and climbed in, dripping, shivering.
Bobby turned to him, tears streaking his dirt-smeared face.
“Was she—?” His voice cracked.
Jake shook his head. “No one’s inside.”
“But what if she’s out here somewhere? Walking around? Lost? What if she’s hurt? We have to look for her!”
