Back in the truck, he turned to Rena. “Get in the driver’s seat. Put it in neutral. I’ll push us out.”
“Brock, it’s too heavy—”
“Just do it!”
He stomped back through the water, bracing his shoulder against the bumper. The ground was thick, muddy, uneven, but he dug his boots in and shoved with everything he had. He prayed, prayed to a God he had always acknowledged but never counted on.
For Sam. Not me, for Sam.
The tires spun. Mud and water sprayed. The truck rocked, then slowly, miraculously, rolled back.
Brock let out a ragged breath and stumbled to the passenger side. He jumped in as Rena restarted the engine—blessedly, it held.
“Where?” she asked.
“Ellen McKenna’s house.”
She flinched. “Brock, she won’t help us. Not after what we did.”
“We’re not asking.”
Her hands tightened on the wheel.
“For Sam,” Brock said quietly. “We have to do this for Sam.”
She wiped her eyes, put the truck in gear, and backed up slowly until she could turn around and head north.
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
Ellen was going half out of her mind with worry about Avery, but was trying to keep it together for Lyla and Penny. When she was alone in the kitchen, she picked up the phone to call Rick for an update; the line was dead.
Her cell phone had no reception, but that didn’t surprise her as much as the landline. She couldn’t remember the last time the landline had gone out during a storm. She tried the radio, but all she got was static. The one time she thought she heard a voice, it was gone before she could respond.
And Jake wasn’t back.
She wasn’t as worried about Jake—he had Bobby, she had talked to them, and Jake wouldn’t risk dangerous roads. He would seek shelter and be safe—she believed it.
She had to.
But she was definitely worried about her daughter, taken by strangers, three people who had left Greg Baldwin for dead, who had shot a dog, who were desperate.
They had her child.
She cleaned the kitchen because it was that or pull her hair out. She wanted to go out and look for Avery, but she had no directionto go in. It was dark and far more dangerous now, even though the rain had lightened up. Because flash floods could take out a road or a field without warning. As she cleaned, she prayed hard that Avery would be okay. That she was fine. That she would come home in one piece.
Penny reclined in her easy chair in the living room, her eyes closed. She was an old woman, but she looked too old right now. It wasn’t the baking and cooking all day; it was the stress of worry.
“Go to bed, Grandma,” she called to her.
“I don’t want to,” Penny said, stubborn as usual. “Not until my great-grandkids are all home.”
Lyla came downstairs with an empty bowl and glass and washed them in the sink. As Ellen put away the sweets Penny had baked that day, she asked Lyla, “How is Margery doing?”
“Tired. She’s upset because the phones are down and she can’t talk to her sister, but she ate Grandma’s stew.”
“Hopefully she’ll sleep,” Ellen said. “That’s the best thing for her right now.” She had checked her blood pressure when she brought up her dinner; it was steady at 135 over 70. Slightly elevated, but consistent. Ellen was thinking that her initial stress was caused by not talking to her husband on their planned schedule. Then it didn’t help that they had driven through the storm.
Still, when the roads were clear, she would suggest that Susie take Margery to the doctor. They could monitor her blood, proteins, urine, everything they needed to make sure that she didn’t have a serious condition that could jeopardize her or the baby. And hopefully, she could talk to her husband in the next day or two.
