“I’ll take it,” I say, without a second of hesitation. Five hours. It’s better than nothing. It’s better than sitting here, helpless, while my town is in the path of a fake hurricane and my… God knows what.
She prints the new tickets. “The gate is C-22. You’ll have to run. Good luck, Mr. Clarke.”
I grab the tickets and my ID, shoving them into my pocket. “Thanks,” I manage to say, already turning away. I don’t run, but my stride is long and fast, my duffel bag bumping against my leg. The terminal is a blur of faces and concession stands, but my focus is a single, sharp point: Gate C-22. Home.
The flight to Grand Junction is a torture of anticipation. I’m crammed into a middle seat, the hum of the engines a reminder of the distance still between me and Caroline.
I pull out my phone. The screen lights up, and I open my messages. Her name is at the top of my recent contacts. I type out the words:
On my way home. See you soon.
I hit send. The message changes to “Delivered.” I stare at the screen, willing the tiny gray letters to change to “Read.” A reply. Anything. The minutes tick by. I switch my phone to airplane mode.
A cold knot of dread forms in my stomach. Caroline always has her phone. Why isn’t she answering?
The unease from the airport, the one I’d tried to dismiss as impatience, comes roaring back. Something’s wrong.
The journey is a disjointed series of waiting rooms and moving platforms. The train from Grand Junction is an old thing with worn velvet seats and large windows that look out on a landscape of canyons and rushing rivers. The sky is a strange, bruised purple, and the wind buffets the car, making it sway on its tracks.
I watch the scenery, but I don’t see it. My mind is in Willowbrook. Is she safe? Is she at the shop or at home? Did she get my message? The train feels impossibly slow, each clack of the wheels on the track a hammer blow against my patience.
By the time I reach Goode, the light is beginning to fade. The wind is even stronger here, whipping down the valley with a vicious howl. I find the rental car counter, flashing my ID again to expedite the process. I’m handed the keys to a dark sedan, and I’m on the road.
The drive is the final, grueling test. The highway snakes through the mountains, and the storm, or whatever it is, is getting worse. Rain lashes against the windshield, and gusts of wind push the car around on the road. Debris—branches, trash, rocks—litters the shoulders. I see two other cars the entire way.
It feels like I’m driving into the heart of a ghost story. The five hours Brenda predicted stretch into six. Every minute is an agony.
Finally, I see the sign.Welcome to Willowbrook. The relief is so potent it’s almost painful. But the feeling is short-lived.
The town isn’t right. The main street is deserted. The streetlights are on, but they cast a sickly, yellow glow in the gathering dusk. The wind funnels down the street, a constant, mournful shriek. Several shop windows are boarded up. The OPEN sign at the diner is dark. A trash can lies on its side, its contents scattered across the wet pavement.
My hands tighten on the steering wheel. Where is everyone? What happened here? My first instinct is to go to her house, but I force myself to think. If something is wrong, if people are hurt, the center of it all would be the town square. And the center of the town square is the apothecary. June will know what’s going on. June will know if Caroline is okay.
I park the car in front of the apothecary, the engine still rumbling. The shop’s lights are on, but the CLOSED sign is hanging on the door. I get out, the wind nearly tearing the door from my hand. I slam it shut and jog toward the entrance, my boots splashing in the puddles on the sidewalk. I’m about to try the door when a figure hurries around the corner of the building, colliding with me.
“Whoa, sorry.” August stumbles back. He looks pale and flustered, clutching a brown paper bag to his chest.
“August? What’s going on? Where is everyone?”
“Griffin? Man, you’re back,” he says, his eyes wide. “It’s crazy. The Rift… it went nuts earlier. It’s calmed down some now, but everyone’s still hiding. June sent me on a run.”
My gaze drops to the bag in his hands. It has the apothecary’s logo stamped on the side. “A delivery? In this?”
“Yeah. For Caroline.” When he says her name, my entire world narrows to that single word. “She wasn’t feeling good. June packed a few things. I was supposed to drop it on her porch, but with the wind… I don’t know.”
Dread washes over me. Not feeling good. The unanswered text. The boarded-up town. It all clicks into place, a picture I don’t want to see.
“I’ll take it to her.” I hold out my hand. It’s not a request.
August hesitates for a second, then nods, seeming grateful to be rid of the responsibility. “Okay, yeah. That’s probably better. June’s number is on the receipt if you need anything.”
He thrusts the bag into my hands and takes off down the street, his head down against the wind. I’m left standing alone in front of the dark shop, the paper bag feeling heavy, ominous. I look at the receipt. I know what this is. An Omega in distress. A pre-heat kit. Maybe a full heat kit.
The wind howls, a lonely, frightening sound. I look down the street, toward the direction of her house.
All I can think about is getting to her. The town, the storm, the danger—it all fades away.
There’s only her. I need to see her. I need to know she’s safe. I need to hold her.
