Chapter 2

The wipers beat a frantic rhythm against the windshield. The tires chewed through the standing water on Elm Street, throwing sheets of gray spray against the fences of abandoned front yards.

At the red light by St. Jude's, I dialed Pastor Reed.

"I've got the church vans, April," he said, the connection breaking up twice. "But the drivers aren't here yet. I'm calling them one by one. I'll get them to the school if the roads don't vanish."

"How long?" I asked.

"I don't know. The causeway is taking on water fast."

I ended the call and turned toward the high school.

The building loomed ahead, a dark, jagged silhouette. I pounded on the locked gym doors until Mr. Henderson, the gym teacher, pulled one open just wide enough for me to slip inside.

The gym smelled of damp wool and stale air. The generator's low hum was gone. Flashlights moved across the court, illuminating the forty-odd people huddled in the center and on the dry bleachers.

Harper was sitting near the locker room door, a clipboard held steady against her knees. She had a list started: names, medications, emergency contacts.

When she saw me, she let me pull her against me for one second, then stepped back. She didn't look like a girl who wanted to be held; she looked like a girl who had a job to do.

"Where's the bus?" she asked.

I looked at the crowd. David Hayes was standing near the center circle, holding his son, Noah. The boy's shoulders were hunched, his chest heaving as he pulled each breath through a tight, whistling wheeze.

"The buses aren't coming," I said. "Luke canceled the school run. He sent all three buses to Seabriar Resort."

David took a step toward me, his chest heaving. He kept one arm around Noah and looked toward the parking lot, as if he still expected Luke to arrive and explain himself.

"He left us here for a resort?" David whispered.

"I have two church vans coming," I said. "But right now, the road to the Hill Street emergency station is open for one truck."

I went to my F-250. My truck had a crew cab, but the emergency gear and spare batteries filled half the rear bench. I cleared the seats, shoving the med-kits into the truck bed, and opened the doors.

Harper walked beside me, her fingers catching the edge of my jacket sleeve. She looked at the front seat, then at the limited space where the medical supplies had been piled. She knew the math before I had to say it. There was no seat for her on this trip.

"Are you coming back with us, Mom?" she asked, her voice dropping lower than it had been on the phone, stripped of all its operational calm.

"I have to get Noah and Mr. Abernathy to the triage station first," I said, forcing my hands to remain steady as I strapped down an oxygen kit. "Pastor Reed is sending the vans. You hold the list, Harp."

She didn't cry. She didn't argue or demand an exception. She just let go of my sleeve, reached into her backpack, and pulled out Noah's emergency dosage card, pressing it into my palm.

"Make sure David gives him the full two puffs," she said quietly. Then she stepped back toward the gym doors. "Go."

"Noah goes first," I shouted over the rising wind. "David, buckle him into the rear passenger seat. Mr. Henderson, help me get Mr. Abernathy into the other side."

The teacher and I gripped the old man's arms, bracing him against the wind as we eased him into the truck. He was frail, his movements stiff and slow.

A woman holding an infant moved toward the door. "What about us? Are you coming back?"

"I can't promise the road will stay open," I said. "But I'm not done after this trip. Pastor Reed is finding drivers, Harper has the list, and Mr. Henderson stays on the phone with me."

"And if the gym floods?" a father shouted.

I turned to Harper. "If water reaches the court, move everyone to the upper west bleachers. Mr. Henderson opens the roof access only if there's nowhere else to go."

I put the truck in gear and turned toward the causeway. The drive was a blur of black water and blinding rain. As I crested the rise that looked out over the main highway, I saw them.

Three sets of bright, red taillights.

The Bennett buses were moving along the elevated causeway, cutting smoothly through the wind. They weren't turning toward the school. They were heading south, toward the coast, disappearing into the dark.

My phone buzzed in the cup holder.

[Harper: We can see the buses from the west windows.]

[Harper: One of the younger kids asked if they were ours.]

[Harper: I told him not anymore.]

I gripped the steering wheel and drove toward the emergency station.