1
JACK
MORNING MEATLOAF
“All clear.Stationone is heading out,”Chiefclipped over the radio as we loaded up into the engine.
Sand dusted my boots asIclimbed into the rig and dropped down into my seat.
Everything ached.
The last twenty-four hours had been non-stop.Itwas one chaos fest after the next.Istarted my shift with a vehicle versus tree, then immediately followed it up with a medical call that ended up being airlifted inland.
Then it was small complaints that we had to respond to.Bonfireson the beach where there shouldn’t have been bonfires.Fireworksgone wrong, turning into a small brush fire.Amedical call where we were first on the scene whileEMSwas tied up on their own call.Anothercar accident, thanks to a drunk driver.
I thought sunrise would have been a reprieve, but it wasn’t.JustwhenIthoughtIwas going to be able to clock out and go home, we got toned out for a possible drowning in progress.
A paddleboarder had gotten caught in the fast-moving current pulling away from the barrier islands and out to the channel.Workersmaintaining an oyster bed had caught sight of the person and called it into theCoastGuard.
We had been on shore to receive the paddleboarder and decide on the continuum of care.Thankfully, the guy had been fine and was just happy to be back on land.Butthe ghosts of what could have been lingered on the ride back to the station.
The shiny red and gold sign forCedarIslandFireandRescuecame into sight as the driver pulled up to the garage bay.Thestation had, thankfully, been renovated after a long fundraising campaign.EventhoughIconsidered it a second home and loved the wear and tear from decades of crews working around the clock, having floors without fifty years of residue and couches that weren’t disintegrating from chili-induced farts did a lot to boost morale.
“Wharton.”
I glanced over my shoulder as we unloaded and spottedDrewcoming in to relieve me.
“How was your night?” he asked as he bent to tie the laces of his station shoes.
One cursory glance, and he knew the answer.
“Busy as hell,”Isaid with a yawn. “Hopefully, it will be?—”
“Don’t say it," he clipped.
I snickered under my breath.Wewere a superstitious bunch.Fullmoons brought out the craziest calls the island had to offer.Abusy shift was usually followed by a slow one.Butsay s-l-o-w, and it would summon back-to-back tones raining down hellfire on the crew.
“Hope it’s easier for you,”Isaid with a chuckle.
“You going to get some sleep?”
Honest toGod, that’s whatIwanted.Forty-eight hours of uninterrupted shuteye beforeIhad to be back on shift.
“Nah.Ineed to stay awake for a little bit.Imight poke around the oldWhitlockplace,”Isaid asIemptied out my locker and stuffed my gear and travel mug in my duffel bag.
Drew’s brow furrowed as he sidled up to the locker next to mine. “Theyneed to bulldoze that house.Onegood storm and the whole thing is coming down.”
“Nah,”Isaid asIshouldered my bag. “It’sgot good bones.Itjust needs some work.”
“Make sure you’re up to date on your tetanus shots,” he called after me. “Idon’t wanna have to cover for you if you get laid up after stepping on a rusty nail.”
The morning sun would have been great ifIwere awake.Instead, it lulled me into a trance.Iwanted to stretch out in the hammock on my deck and get a catnap, rocking in the warm air.
I cranked upJimmyBuffetas loud as the old speaker on my truck would go and pulled away from the station.Tallgrasses and towering trees edged the coastline.TheAtlanticwas a crisp blue today, sparkling in the sun.Trafficheading toward the ferry was nearly bumper-to-bumper as tourists lined up to go toOcracokeIsland, but the route home was sparse.
Two quick turns andIwas bumping down my driveway.Shadowsdanced along the hood of my truck as sunbeams filtered through the sprawling branches of the two live oaks that bracketed my driveway.
I hopped out and slammed the door.Butinstead of heading inside,Irounded the mailbox and stood in the sand-sprayed street, staring up at the oldWhitlockplace.
