“Presley’s car will do me,” Harper said. “The three of you have farther to go.”

“Yeah, but the road’s likely to be washed out along the river. Presley’s car won’t handle that.” Flann got a stubborn set to her jaw, a look Abby was coming to recognize.

Flann was used to being in charge, of making decisions that no one—except Harper, apparently—ever questioned. Abby wondered if Flann had always been that way, or if her training or some other experience conditioned her to be most comfortable when she shouldered the responsibility for the welfare of others. She wondered too what happened if Flann was wrong—imagining those inevitable mistakes must eat at her. A wave of sympathy washed through her.

“No one should take any unnecessary chances,” Abby said. “We’re all going to be needed at the hospital.”

Presley slipped an arm around Harper’s waist. “I’d feel better if you took the truck.”

Harper caressed her arm. “Okay. But if the three of you run into any problems on the way in, you turn back, okay?”

“I’ll look after them,” Flann said.

Since Abby didn’t know what she faced, she could hardly object to Flann being Flann and assuming she was in charge, but she wasn’t going to be a bystander either. “How about Presley drives, and I’ll watch the roads for obstacles. Flann, you can stretch out in the backseat and keep your leg elevated.”

“Wait a minute,” Flann grumbled. “I should drive. I know the roads—”

“So does Presley.” Abby plucked Presley’s keys from the table, slipped them into her pocket, and gave Flann a no-discussion glare. “If you expect to work later tonight, you need to rest now.”

Flann scowled. “I can see how you got to be chief so fast.”

Abby grinned. “By being right, you mean?”

“I was thinking more like hard-as—” Flann glanced over at Blake and Margie, who didn’t seem to be paying them any attention. All the same, she muttered, “Not quite what I was thinking.”

Presley set the roast that was to have been their picnic dinner in the center of the big oak table. “Everybody should grab a sandwich. If the power is out at the Rivers, the cafeteria won’t have food for long. Grab water from the fridge too.”

“Double-check you have flashlights,” Harper said, slicing thick slabs off the roast as Presley set out bread and sandwich bags.

“Good idea.” Abby put together sandwiches. “Blake, Margie—come and eat.”

When they’d grabbed sandwiches, she made two more and handed one to Flann. “Eat this now. I’ll pack some more for later.”

Flann took the sandwich, her fingers grazing Abby’s. “Thanks.”

“Sure,” Abby said, not entirely sure why she’d made Flann’s without even thinking about it. And that was not anything she wanted to keep thinking about right then.

Inside of ten minutes, they were ready to go. Presley walked Harper to the back door and kissed her. “Be careful. I wish you weren’t going alone.”

“I’ll be fine,” Harper said. “I’ll meet you at the Rivers just as soon as I’ve checked the homestead. Don’t worry if you don’t hear from me. Phone reception is likely to be iffy.”

Presley nodded, her lips tight.

Harper hugged her, murmuring something too quietly for Abby to hear. Presley’s expression softened and she leaned into Harper for an instant, her arms locked around Harper’s waist. Abby looked away, directly into Flann’s eyes. Flann’s pensive gaze skimmed her face and settled on hers, capturing Abby again in the dark, seductive undertow Flann exuded with effortless force. Abby broke away reluctantly and physically turned aside, not trusting herself to resist the strange pull of Flann’s attention. “Blake, Margie—remember, no searching outside.”

“We should check for Rooster,” Margie said.

Blake nodded.

“Rooster is a survivor,” Presley said. “If he hasn’t made an appearance by morning, we’ll all look for him. Abby’s right, though, it’s not safe out there until we’re sure the storms have passed.”

“You’re all going out,” Margie pointed out with her usual certainty.

“Yeah, Mom,” Blake added in solidarity.

Great, Abby thought. Now there’s a pair of them to bargain with.

“Besides,” Margie said, “if we keep an eye on the sky and promise to—”

“No deals,” Flann said, joining Abby. “You stay inside until one of us comes back. Let’s have your word on it.”

Blake and Margie glanced at each other in some kind of silent communication, then at Abby and Flann. Whatever they saw must have convinced them, and together, they said, “Word.”

“Good enough,” Flann said. “Margie, you’ve got all our numbers. We’ll call when we hit the Rivers.”

“Thanks,” Abby whispered to Flann.

“No problem.” Flann grinned. “Never try to negotiate with my sister. She always wins.”

“Runs in the family?”

“Usually.” Flann dropped her voice and leaned close. “You’ve been doing pretty well on that score with me, though.”

“I’m not counting.” Abby savored the heat of Flann’s bare arm against hers for an instant, an unexpected guilty pleasure, before snatching up the bag of sandwiches. “All right then, we’re ready.”

Harper drove out first with Presley close behind. They had to stop twice before the end of the long driveway so Presley and Abby could climb out and help Harper clear downed tree limbs from the road. Flann grumbled about not helping but stayed in the car.

When they reached the two-lane, Harper turned in the opposite direction and was gone. Abby shivered at the sudden sense of being very alone in an alien landscape. Despite it being only early evening, the sky was unnaturally dark, layered with angry black storm clouds. Their headlights were the only illumination as they traveled slowly toward the village. The farmhouses they passed had no power and stood as blackened silhouettes against the ominous horizon. Presley, both hands gripping the wheel, managed to circumvent all of the downed limbs in the road for the first few miles. When they rounded a bend, she let out a sigh. A distant glow heralded the village up ahead.

“At least some of the village has power,” Abby said.

Presley said, “Hopefully the hospital does too.”

“They’ve got the generators,” Flann said, “but they’ll only do for twenty-four hours or so.”

“I’ll get on the line with the power company as soon as we arrive and get an idea of what the local grid looks like,” Presley said.

Abby leaned forward and narrowed her eyes, trying to make out the shape in the road ahead. Her breath caught. “Pres, there’s a truck off the road.”

Presley stopped quickly, ten yards from a pickup truck leaning precariously on its side, its rear wheels barely on the shoulder and its front pointed down a long slope that ended in a ravine filled with pine trees. Abby lifted her door handle. “I’ll have to go check and see about the driver.”

Flann gripped her shoulder from behind. “Wait a minute. You’re not equipped for field intervention, and it’s dangerous trying to work around a vehicle like that. It could shift, slide down that incline, and take you with it.”

“I can’t take the chance someone might be trapped.”

“Dammit, Abby—” Flann sounded more worried than angry. “At least try 9-1-1 first. If they can be here soon, they’re the best hope for anyone trapped in the car.”

“I know that.” Abby ought to be annoyed by Flann’s objections and offended by the restraining hand on her shoulder, but she wasn’t. Flann made sense, but that wasn’t the reason she accepted Flann’s protests either. Flann didn’t want her to get hurt, and being cared for rather than caring for someone else was so unusual she’d forgotten what it felt like. Oh, her mother and Blake cared about her, but they didn’t take care of her. She hadn’t thought she needed or wanted it, but it was nice. “I’ll call them just as soon as I see about the driver. I’ve got to at least see if he’s in there and alive.”

Flann opened her back door. “I’ll come with you.”

“You won’t. There’s no way you can manage that slope on your leg.” Before Flann could argue more, Abby jumped out.

“Abby!” Flann called.

A car door slammed and Presley yelled, “Wait for me. I’m coming too.”

“Don’t try to get inside,” Flann called again as Abby and Presley slogged away through the puddles and tangled branches.

When they reached the spot where the pickup had gone over, Abby started down the steep, slick slope first, testing each step carefully as her foot sank into wet soil and loose gravel. The humid air smelled of ozone and the thick, cloying odor of drenched earth.

“Oh!” Abby’s foot slipped, her legs flew out from under her, and she barely caught herself on an outstretched hand. Sharp stones gouged her palm, and she bit back another gasp of pain.

“Are you all right?” Presley asked.

“Yes. The footing’s treacherous. Be careful.” Turning, Abby held out a hand and they helped each other down the last few yards to the truck cab. The truck canted toward them on its running board, the passenger-side wheels elevated into the air. Abby felt the hood of the red pickup truck. It was cold. The engine had either shut off or run out of gas. She pulled aside branches of a shrub caught in the wheel well and peered through the driver’s window. A dark form leaned against the door, a seat belt strap angled across the window.

“He’s belted in place.” Abby rapped on the window. “Hello! Hello, can you hear me?”

No response.

“Is there anyone else in there?” Presley asked.

“I don’t know. I can’t see past him. I need to open the door if I can.”

“Be careful,” Presley said. “If the truck slides while you’re trying to open the door, you can get caught underneath.”

“You should stand back out of the way.”