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“But—”
“That’s an order!”
His voice left no room for argument. She fell back into the seat.
Through the window, she could watch the flurry of activity. Groups of firefighters were getting orders. Some of it came across her radio. Police officers had blocked the roads, so no traffic could come through. A large truck from the county collapse unit rolled up—but still no one approached the structure. They were all waiting for the bomb squad.
She watched for any sign of survivors but saw none.
How long had it been? Twenty minutes?
Every minute counted. She knew. She’d been trained for this.
We don’t trade lives for dead bodies, Hannah.
Her father’s voice, so clear, even years later. A hard and fast rule.
Had they found evidence of a bomb last night? Had that been the cause of the “earthquake”? Her father hadn’t said—but he wouldn’t tell her, anyway.
Her breathing echoed in the empty truck. Despite the chill in the air, her bunker coat felt stifling. She couldn’t keep sitting here, wrapped in worry.
She climbed down from the cab, easing out of the truck on the side away from the rest of the crew. The chief couldn’t imprison her in the truck, but he could yell at her for disobeying orders. She’d seen her dad’s car, and all she needed was for him to hear her getting dressed down. He’d order her out of here in a heartbeat, and the only way she would leave was if she was handcuffed in a cop car.
She wouldn’t put it past him.
Her radio squawked on her shoulder, and she quickly dialed down the volume. She moved to the back of the truck and pulled her helmet onto her head, hoping it would make her less recognizable. She opened the cabinet at the back, taking down some tools, then putting them back. Trying to look like she was standing here with a purpose.
She was really watching the site of destruction.
No movement.
Across the parking lot stood the crew from company ten. She knew some of them, but not many. They wouldn’t know she’d been ordered to wait. She doubled back behind the fire trucks, walking with purpose, carrying a Halligan bar from the back of her engine as if she’d been sent to fetch something.
Yeah, right, like the guys from ten don’t have a bar on their truck.
But what else was she going to carry? The fire hose? Might draw attention.
Her radio chirped again, only loud enough for her to hear. At first she ignored the radio chatter, but then her brain latched on to the message.
Thermal imaging showed no signs of life. All rescue units were ordered to wait for the area to be cleared.
No signs of life.
Michael. Her eyes flew to his damaged truck.
Keep moving. Find a task.
What task? What could she do?
She couldn’t breathe. Had he survived last night only to die here and now?
Then she heard the clink.
At first her subconscious registered the sound and ignored it. Clink. Then she heard it again. And again. Clearly coming from beneath the wreckage. And then, a faint recognizable pattern. Clinkclinkclink. Clink. Clink. Clink. Clinkclinkclink.
Three short, three long, three short.
SOS.
