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The bartender gives us a “what can you do” shrug, paired with a grin. Then he says, “She’s local. Walks down from her place every Friday night.”

Henry straightens. “You live nearby, ma’am? If you have a landline, I could run there and—”

“No,” she says.

He pauses. “Okay, I understand you might not want me in your house, but I really do think I should get Ellie to a doctor.”

“Meant I don’t have a landline.”

“She doesn’t have anything,” the bartender says. “Lives off-grid, little place by the water. Five miles up?”

“Six,” she says.

“That’s a helluva walk,” I say.

“Oh, she walks farther than that,” the bartender says. “She’s miles from the nearest town and doesn’t have a car. Calls it exercise.” He mock-whispers. “At her age, she needs it.”

The woman doesn’t respond. Doesn’t even shake her head. She just takes another sip of her beer, which I’m pretty sure is the same one she’s been nursing since we got here.

Henry seems ready to keep pushing, but the bartender turns toward the door just as a sound comes. Running footsteps on gravel. They pound up the stairs and the door flies open. In stumbles a young woman, maybe the bartender’s age. A guy follows, shutting the door fast behind him.

Both of them pause, struggling for breath like they’ve been running from something, and my heart hammers as I spring to my feet.

“You two okay?” Henry says, rising slowly.

“Do we look okay?” the guy says. “We just ran through a storm.”

“Caleb…” the young woman murmurs. She pushes back her hoodie and shakes out long dark hair. “We’re fine. Thank you. Just a bit shaken up.”

The young man—Caleb—snorts. He’s not much taller than my five four, white, with dark red hair and snapping blue eyes. “There’s an accident out there. No warning signs. No lights. Just a couple of pitch-black vehicles in a pitch-black night.”

“But we’re fine,” the young woman says, firmly. She’s about my size, strikingly beautiful with light brown skin and long straight dark hair. “You braked in time. The car’s totaled, but we’re okay. That’s the main thing.”

He exhales and leans in to kiss her temple. “Sorry. Yes. That’s the main thing.”

“You said the cars are dark?” I say. “I’m the front one—I hit the tree. My electrical system is dead, but his is working.” I nod at Henry. “We made sure his hazards were on, and we checked as we were walking away.”

Caleb scrubs a wet hand over his face. “Okay, well, I guess the battery died. I didn’t mean to snap like that.”

“No, the lights should still be on.” Henry looks toward the door. “I’ll check it out.”

“It’s fine,” the young woman says. “We left our hazards on.”

Henry still chews his lower lip. “We should mark the accident somehow. Give advance warning.”

“Oh!” I say. “I have an emergency kit in my trunk. My dad put it there. I think it has some kind of hazard sign.”

“I’ve seen those,” the young woman says. “You put them behind your car in an accident.”

“Which I would have done, if I’d remembered I had the kit.”

“I’m not sure we can get your trunk open,” Henry says. “It’s crushed. We can check, of course, but we should have a backup plan.”

Henry turns to the bartender. “What have you got?”

“Uh … nothing? There was a barricade for the parking lot when this place was closed down, but after it reopened, the construction guys bought it from me.”

“What about a WET FLOOR sign?” I ask.