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Withstanding the earsplitting growl of chain saws and the whine of a heavy-duty wood shredder, Luke watched as downed trees were reduced to chips spewed into the bed of a waiting dump truck.

One tree had fallen close enough to startle him.

Thankfully, the road crew had arrived sooner than expected, clearing the ramp quickly. Rain pelted Luke’s hat and reflective safety jacket as the crew boss shouted above the roar.

“Just need to sweep!”

Workers set out with brooms. Minutes later, the boss signaled to Luke: “Good to go!”

Luke shouted his thanks.

The wind and rain remained strong, but the intensity had decreased a bit, he thought, walking back to his car.

Allowing the crew to marshal its team and head along the ramp to the next job, Luke then moved his car. Once he was parked off to the side, he got out and opened the ramp, waving traffic through. He got back into his patrol car, radioing dispatch that it was now clear.

Wiping his face, he noticed his personal phone had text messages from Carrie.

You OK?

Are you hurt bad?

On my way to the hospital.

Hospital?

His brow furrowing, he tried to catch his breath, water dripping onto his phone screen, his mind racing.

What’s going on?

Then his car’s dash-mounted monitor beeped with a text message from dispatch.

Call your wife, Luke. She called us insisting she’d been told you were injured. She also called Central, convinced you were taken there. We’ve been unable to call her back. Storm causing problems.

He typed: 10-4 . His throat tightened with tension, concern coiling in his gut. Grabbing his phone, he tried calling Carrie.

No answer.

He texted her: I’m OK. Was out of my car. Call me.

Who would have told her I was hurt?

He swiped quickly to his tracking app, glancing at her car’s location. She was in Cedar Breeze. Good. But she must’ve been so upset by today’s story. What could’ve happened after she went to Vern’s?

All right, if he couldn’t reach Carrie, he’d better try Vern. But before he could call, his phone rang—the caller ID had a Los Angeles area code. Is it Derek? He answered.

“Luke Conway? Carrie’s husband?”

“Yes.”

“Dr. Anna Bernay in Los Angeles. Is Carrie with you?”

“No, she isn’t.”

“Carrie gave me your number as an emergency contact. She called me with an urgent request to talk. She may have been experiencing some distress, and I cannot seem to reach her.”

“How recently did she call you?”

“Half an hour or so. I was with a patient. If you see her, could you please have her call me?”

“I will.”

He lowered his phone, cursing to himself, thoughts shooting in all directions.

This is bad. I should never have gone to work, should’ve made her talk to me.

Turning back to his phone, he glanced at his tracking app again, but he looked more closely this time.

It pulsed, showing Carrie’s car was not at home but on River Road.

And it’s not moving.

Had the app stopped updating? Something was wrong. He reached for his radio, raising dispatch. They stood by for his transmission.

“I need to do an emergency welfare check on River Road.”

A few seconds of static passed, then: “Ten-Four.”

Luke activated his lights and siren.