He turned the key.
The engine roared to life. It sounded loud in the morning quiet. Too loud.
He put the truck in gear. He eased his foot off the brake.
The truck rolled forward. Gravel crunched under the tires.
Ryder Stone drove down the long driveway, past the barn, past the round pen where he had almost killed himself, past the gate.
He turned onto the county road. He turned south, toward Billings. Toward the bus. Toward Tulsa.
He didn't look back.
If he looked back, he would turn into a pillar of salt. Or worse, he would turn around.
He drove into the gray morning, leaving his heart in the rearview mirror, convinced that breaking it was the only way to keep it safe.
The first drop of rain hit the windshield.
Then the second.
And then, the sky opened up.
CHAPTER 9: THE RIVER AND THE ROAD
I. The Deluge
Ryder was twenty miles out of Oakhaven when the sky fell.
It didn't start as rain. It started as a solid sheet of gray water that slammed into the windshield with the force of a hammer. The wipers of Cole’s truck thrashed uselessly against the onslaught. The world outside dissolved into a blur of wet asphalt and rising steam.
Ryder slowed to forty. Then thirty.
The radio, which had been playing a low country hum, cut out. Static hissed, sharp and angry.
BEEP. BEEP. BEEP.
The Emergency Alert System tone pierced the cab.
"The National Weather Service has issued a Flash Flood Warning for Oakhaven County and the Stone Creek Basin. Rainfall rates exceeding three inches per hour are causing rapid rises in all local waterways. Residents in low-lying areas should move to higher ground immediately. Do not attempt to cross flooded roads."
Ryder gripped the wheel.
Stone Creek Basin.
That was the ranch. That was the valley.
He looked out the side window. The drainage ditches were already overflowing, brown water churning violently alongside the highway.
He thought about the ranch. Cole and Maya were on the hill. The house was high. They would be fine.
He thought about the town. Elena’s house was on the edge of the creek. It was elevated, but the road to it wasn't.
She’s fine,he told himself.She’s smart. She’ll stay inside.
He kept driving south. Towards Billings. Towards the bus.
But the knot in his stomach—the one that had formed when he packed his bag—tightened. It wasn't just guilt anymore. It was a primal, vibrating instinct. The same instinct that told him when a bull was about to turn back.
