But they didn't understand that sometimes I needed to follow these feelings. They were like invisible strings tugging me toward something important, something that needed my attention. Knox had his military training to guide him, and Ransom had his art. I had these feelings and my connection to the land.
I zipped up the yellow jacket and pulled the hood over my head. The walkie-talkie went into my pocket, though the reception would be spotty at best once I got deep into the woods. Ma waved from the doorway as I stepped off the porch into the downpour.
The rain hammered against my jacket, drumming a steady rhythm as I made my way past the chicken coop and toward the tree line that marked the edge of our property. Water squelched beneath my boots, each step creating a little pool that quicklyfilled in behind me. The worms were everywhere, making the ground look like it was moving in places.
Once I reached the trees, the rainfall lessened slightly, the thick canopy overhead catching some of the water before it reached the forest floor. I didn't have a specific destination in mind, just that tugging feeling leading me forward. My feet knew where to go even if my head didn't.
I followed deer trails and creek beds, noticing how the usually placid stream that cut through our property had swollen to twice its normal size. The water rushed by, brown and angry, carrying branches and leaves in its current. I stayed well back from the edge, remembering Pa's warnings about creek banks giving way during floods.
The deeper I went into the woods, the stronger the tugging sensation became. Something or someone needed help, and somehow, I was being pulled toward it. My tracking instincts kicked in without me even trying. Broken twigs, bent grass, the way water flowed around obstacles—all of these told a story if you knew how to read it.
I ducked under low-hanging pine branches and stepped carefully over fallen logs, making my way southeast toward the old country road that cut through the back of our property. The bad twisty feeling in my gut intensified with each step, but now it was mixed with something else—a certainty that I was headed in the right direction.
The rain continued to pour, soaking through my jeans despite the protection of the yellow jacket. My boots were heavy with mud, but I kept going, following that invisible thread that pulled me forward.
The woods were alive with the sounds of the storm—raindrops pattering on leaves, branches creaking in the wind, water rushing through newly formed channels in the earth.
"Chickens know things," I whispered to myself, thinking of their worried clucking. "And so do I."
I heard the creaking metal before I saw it. Pushing through a tangle of wet bushes, I stumbled out onto the old country road that cut through the back of our property—and my heart nearly stopped.
Deputy Dan's patrol car lay upside down in the ditch, its wheels still spinning slowly like they were confused about being in the air instead of on the ground. Blue and red lights flashed weakly through the rain, reflecting off puddles and making everything look underwater.
"Oh no," I whispered, my voice so small the storm swallowed it whole.
My heart did a somersault inside my chest, thumping so hard I could feel it in my throat. My hands started shaking so bad I had to sit on them for a moment, pressing them between my thighs and the muddy ground. The twisty feeling in my stomach was screaming now—this was what it had been warning me about all along.
I forced myself to stand up and move toward the car. Water streamed down my face, getting in my eyes and making everything blurry. Or maybe those were tears. I couldn't tell the difference with all this rain.
The patrol car had crumpled on one side where it hit the ditch. The windshield was spider-webbed with cracks, and one of the doors had popped open partway. Inside, I could see Deputy Dan, still strapped in his seat belt, hanging upside down like a turtle stuck on its back.
My throat went tight.
"Deputy Dan?" I called out, my voice coming out all squeaky and high like it did when I was scared or nervous. I hated how childish it made me sound. Knox said not to worry about it, thateverybody's voice did funny things sometimes, but it bothered me anyway. "Deputy Dan? You okay?"
I crouched beside the car, rain pelting my back as I peered inside. My hands were still shaking, but I didn't have time to sit on them again. I needed to see if he was alive.
Through the cracked glass, I could see Deputy Dan's eyes were closed. A thin line of blood trickled from his forehead up into his hairline—which looked weird since he was upside down. The airbag had deflated and hung like a sad white flag across the steering wheel.
"Deputy Dan?" I tried again, a little louder this time.
His eyelids fluttered, and my heart did another flip-flop. Then those eyes—those warm brown eyes that reminded me of Hershey's Kisses—opened halfway and tried to focus on me.
"Harlow?" His voice sounded scratchy and confused.
Relief washed through me like a warm wave, making me light-headed for a second. He was alive. He knew who I was.
"Your car is upside down," I blurted out, then immediately felt stupid. Knox always teased me about my "special talent" for saying exactly what everybody could already see. But words got tangled up in my head when I was nervous, and stating the obvious was sometimes all I could manage.
Deputy Dan blinked slowly, looking around like he was just noticing his situation. "Hydroplaned," he mumbled, trying to move and wincing.
Hydroplaned. The word bounced around in my head. I pictured airplanes made of water skimming across the sky. That couldn't be right. Maybe it meant his car had tried to fly and failed.
"Don't move," I said, surprising myself with how steady my voice sounded. "I'm gonna help you."
I moved around to the side where the door was partially open, fighting against the mud that tried to suck my boots inwith every step. The door groaned when I pulled it wider, metal scraping against metal in a way that made my teeth hurt. Rain immediately poured into the car, plastering Deputy Dan's hair to his forehead.
"Can you undo your seatbelt?" I asked, crouching down so we were face to face—though his face was still upside down.
