She swallows hard.
Nods. But I can see it. She’s losing hope. And it’s tearing me apart watching it happen.
“Alright,” I say, forcing a little more energy into my voice. “Let’s try the registration table. They might have names.”
She nods again, following me this time instead of leading.
We make our way toward the front of the room where a few volunteers are working behind folding tables, stacks of papers and laptops scattered in front of them.
I step up first.
“Excuse me,” I say, leaning slightly over the table. “We’re looking for two people. David?—”
“David,” Willow jumps in, her voice urgent now. “David Harper. And my sister, Emma. She’s fifteen.”
The volunteer—a man in his forties with tired eyes and a kind expression—pauses, thinking.
“Harper…” he repeats, flipping through a clipboard.
My pulse picks up.
Willow leans in beside me, barely breathing. He scans the page once. Then again. Shakes his head slightly.
“I don’t see them on this list,” he says.
I feel Willow’s shoulders drop beside me. Just slightly. But it’s enough.
“Are you sure?” she asks, her voice small.
“I can double-check?—”
“I think I saw them.”
The words come from someone behind the table.
A woman this time. Younger. She looks up from where she’s typing, her brow furrowed slightly.
“I’m pretty sure I saw a man and a teenage girl come in earlier today,” she says. “The girl was holding onto him pretty tight.”
Willow goes still.
Then—
“What?” she breathes.
The woman nods slowly. “Yeah. They came in with one of the rescue groups this morning.”
Hope. It hits so fast I can almost feel it physically. Willow turns toward me, her eyes wide, bright—Alive again.
“They’re here,” she says, her voice lifting for the first time all day. “They’re here, Garrison.”
Before I can even respond, she jumps—actually jumps—her hands flying up to grab onto my arms.
“They’re here!”
A laugh breaks out of her, shaky and breathless and full of something I haven’t seen since before the storm.
I smile.
