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“Everything alright?”
I swallow and try to shake some of the tension from my shoulders.
“It’s fine,” I nod. I try to mean it.
It is fine, I tell myself. Ever since Matty’s death, storms jack up my panic every time. Even when I hadn’t had someone to care for in East River, they’d made me jumpy. This is just that same nervousness, trying to make something of nothing.
Just because a storm breaks doesn’t mean you have to go into full-blown panic mode. Get your head in gear, Walker. It’s just rain.
By the time I’m headed home, however, the pep talk is feeling very thin. The ‘just rain’ is hitting the windscreen like a sheet of glass, the wipers are at full speed and are still struggling. I narrow my eyes and lean toward the dash to see through the rain. The wind is strong enough to pull the truck in all directions until my hands are white-knuckling it on the steering wheel just to keep me straight. The fuzzy radio announcer is warning locals to stay inside unless absolutely necessary.
I can barely hear the guy over the thunderous drumming on the top of the cab but one thing is for certain, it is absolutely necessary for me to get to East River.
It’s the only thing I know. It’s the only thing I can think about.
Careful to hold the wheel steady with one hand, I take up my phone again and hit ‘redial’.
The caller you are trying to reach is…
“Goddammit!”
I throw the useless piece of crap and it bounces off the passenger seat. Since Gatlinburg, I’d gotten the same message. Lizzie’s phone is either out of battery—or at the bottom of a ravine.
I grind my teeth, maps of the local woods flashing through my head. Areas with short drops or shallow valleys are easy to navigate in the dry. But add this much rain and they become slippery and dangerous. A wrong footing and you can break a bone. A bad tumble and you can hit your head or be knocked out. Not to mention water levels rising in the streams and nearby ponds.
It doesn’t have to be a river to be dangerous. Unconscious people don’t lift their faces from rising tides. Even tides only a few inches deep. Drowning is a very real possibility if you don’t know what you’re doing in those woods.
I know that only too well.
Twenty years ago, a pair of would-be adventurers had thought themselves capable. City-goers with no real idea of the danger. They’d gone out into the woods under a mild storm warning and gotten themselves lost.
Matty had been the one to find them.
Just turned eighteen, he’d been allowed to join the volunteer rescue group. He’d gone out with a dozen other experienced hikers, patrolling the woods for any sign of the missing tourists. According to their statements after the fact, Matty had found them on the southside ‘witch bridge’. It was little more than a few slats of wood propped and pinned over the southern stream by natural rock formations. It had been unstable at the best of times. The stream beneath it had become a full-fledged river. The husband had been trapped on the bridge beside a wife mid panic attack and frozen in place.
Matty had ventured out there, gotten them to move, and secured their safety… only to be left exposed on the bridge when a rising swell had knocked it out from under his feet.
It had taken three days to find him. Five miles downstream.
Shaking the memories away, I try to concentrate. I’m hot and sweaty with fear and I can feel my breathing escalating.
I’m no good to anyone, I remind myself, if I become that city wife; paralyzed and a liability.
I notice a familiar edge to the nearby treeline through the rain, and almost sigh in relief. I’m nearly home. All I need to do is find Lizzie. As soon as I know she’s indoors, somewhere safe, I’ll be able to relax.
Screw the awkward apologies and the groveling that I’ve been avoiding all week. Right now, all that matters is that she’s safe.
My first stop only delivers disappointment. The Jessop house is dark and there’s no sign of anyone inside. Getting out of the car, I run through the downpour to press a forehead against the window just to be sure.
Nothing.
“Dammit, Lizzie…” I growl, shoving soaking locks of hair out of my face. My shirt and jeans are soaked through and I shiver as I rush for the truck again.
My second stop is her work. I know the bigger danger is home, but it’s on the opposite side of town. If I charged over there and started hiking the woods, I might be risking my own skin for nothing. Then I’d become the one dragging someone else into danger.
Aiming for the Winter’s AutoRepair sign, I pull the truck to the side of the road, hit the brakes and skid to a stop just outside. I bolt from the cab without turning off the engine, the key still in the ignition.
The panel doors are down so I have to sprint around to the side door. The handle is slick with rain and it takes me two tries to shove my way inside.
