But as talented as she was, she wasn’t a miracle worker.
Without an incubator, without vitamins and a thousand monitors and pieces of equipment and bags of antibiotics and trained nurses, there was no hope for the tiny girl’s salvation.
In his dream, Sami was screaming and in tears.
His own screams woke himself up. And they’d have awakened the dead.
He lay there, on the trucker’s bunk, for a full two hours before dozing off again.
Try as he might, he couldn’t put the dream out of his mind. It haunted him, and he suspected it would for a very long time.
At least until he was safely at home, Sami’s pregnancy had run its course, and their little girl was born healthy and happy.
He was sure of one indisputable fact.
If Sami had complications with her pregnancy…
If, God forbid, the baby didn’t make it…
…it wouldn’t be Sami’s fault.
It wouldn’t be God’s fault.
It would be Brad’s fault.
The only way to put the dream out of his mind was to stay busy.
He’d been working the trailer for almost fifteen minutes and started a new pallet.
He was getting more and more breathing room now, as he stacked boxes all the way to the ceiling. And more room meant he could move a bit faster.
The first case he pulled from the new pallet contained twenty four containers of zip-lock sandwich bags.
That was followed by a case of plastic cups, then a case of paper napkins.
And a smile suddenly crossed his face.
It had been years since he’d been in a Walmart store, but a vague memory popped into his head.
He remembered the aisle he once turned down to purchase zip lock bags was the same aisle which contained plastic cups, napkins… and aluminum foil.
It never dawned on him before, but was now as clear as a bell.
When workers at the Walmart Distribution Center pulled orders for a particular store, they tried to make the stocking process easier by placing items on the same Walmart aisle on the same shipping pallet.
And that made sense.
When the pallet was taken off the truck and into the store to restock the shelves, it undoubtedly saved time and energy if everything on the pallet was destined for the same aisle.
He checked his watch. His fifteen minutes were up. He’d worked through his chance to warm himself up in his tractor. And it was time to get his butt in gear and get up to the roadway.
He almost passed and kept on digging.
But Brad was a superstitious sort by nature. Had been all his life.
By his estimation, if he stayed in the trailer and continued his search, and didn’t go up to the highway, his one and only chance at rescue would elude him.
The one and only driver destined to come down this roadway within the next week would undoubtedly drive past.
And without Brad standing out there in the winter wonderland to wave his arms and flag him down, he’d keep right on going.
Reluctantly, he trudged up those seventeen snowy steps back to the blacktop and resumed his normal routine.
Only he’d been out in the cold a full half hour now.
The tractor was equipped with an outside air temperature gauge.
The last time he’d been warming up inside the rig, which now seemed like forever, it had been five degrees outside.
A bitter wind had picked up while he was working in the trailer, and he estimated the wind chill to be five to ten below.
His feet were already numb; his fingers weren’t far behind.
After he cleared the new blowing snow away from his warning triangles he resumed his pacing, back and forth and back and forth.
His joints ached. His legs were heavy.
But he’d do his duty. He’d fulfill the commitment he made to himself to spend half his time on the road, watching for help that would likely never come.
Toward the end of his shift he remembered once again the dream he’d had.
He had to get out of here. Dying wasn’t an option. He didn’t place a lot of value on his own life. He could vanish from the earth and everyone would go on living, the world would keep spinning.
It would still be bitter cold.
But Sami would suffer, and possibly the baby as well.
If it weren’t for them he might just crawl into the trucker’s bunk and blow his brains out so the cold would no longer bother him.
But he couldn’t do that to Sami.
Or to his baby girl.
-28-
Once his fifteen minutes on the highway was up it took every bit of willpower Brad had to climb into the tractor and crank over the engine.
He wanted instead to climb back aboard the trailer to resume his search for aluminum foil.
But despite the heavy gloves he wore, his fingers were numb. If he didn’t warm them soon he’d be risking frostbite.
And that wouldn’t do anybody any good.
It took only a couple of minutes for the tractor’s cabin to start to warm. He took off his gloves and placed his hands directly onto the heater’s vents.
Then he closed his eyes and soaked in the warmth.
Fifteen minutes came and went much too fast.
It was time to place the gloves back on his hands and get back out there.
This time he’d be in better shape, though. He could feel his fingers again. And a close inspection revealed none of the tell-tale lightening that would have indicated they might be frostbitten.
He’d dodged a bullet.
His feet, because they were still confined to his boots, weren’t warm but at least were less cold.
After he found the foil, he’d devote one of his breaks to taking off his boots and examining his feet.
But right now there just wasn’t time.
The highway was calling his name.
As he emerged from the tractor and climbed down to the ground, he heard something coming from the highway above him. It sounded like… it was a vehicle.
He dropped a glove in his wake as he fairly sprinted up the seventeen snowy and very slippery steps back to the blacktop.
He only slipped once, but recovered nicely and only lost a couple of seconds.
It wouldn’t have mattered, though. By the time he made it up out of the gully the vehicle, whatever and whoever it was, was long gone.
He was now more dejected than ever.
And angry too.
How could anyone just drive on by without stopping to investigate the mysterious orange triangles with Brad’s name on them? Shouldn’t it be obvious that was a warning sign? A personalized distress signal?
Where was the humanity?
Brad would have stopped, just long enough to see if someone needed help.
Hell, everyone Brad knew would have stopped under similar circumstances.
Then he became mad not at the driver, but at himself.
For it wasn’t the unidentified driver who’d gotten Brad into this predicament. It was Brad himself. There wasn’t another person in the world he could fault for his misfortune; no matter how much he wanted to share the blame.
It wasn’t an eighteen wheeler he’d heard. He was sure of that.
He went and inspected the tire tracks. They weren’t from a passenger car. They were too wide. Maybe a pickup truck, but it would have to be a four by four to sport such knobby tires.
A pickup truck would have a difficult time navigating these roads unless it was purposely carrying a lot of extra weight in its bed.
He finally decided it was probably a jeep.
He didn’t know a single person who drove a jeep.
So it was a stranger. Someone who, even if he noticed the triangles spelling out Brad’s name, wouldn’t associate it with anything.
Yes, he could have stopped. But how was he to know who Brad was or that he was missing?
He was likely on his own mission, probably gathering provisions, and l
ikely hurrying to get off the roads before they got any worse.
And Brad couldn’t blame him, whoever he was, for watching out for his own well being.
For a brief moment he wondered whether he should have painted the triangles with a more universal message of distress.
Perhaps “SOS.”
It was too late now. There was only one other triangle in the box, and the folding feet which held it up were broken.
“BRAD” it would have to be.
-29-
Hopefully the next guy to come along, if there was one, would recognize it for the distress signal it represented.
Hopefully he’d stop and take a couple of minutes to investigate the signal.
But Brad couldn’t pin his hopes on that. He had to find a way out of here. He’d gotten himself into this mess, and by God, he’d get himself back out of it.
He checked his watch. He still had three minutes left to go on his highway shift.
But it was close enough.
He shuffled dejectedly off the highway and back to his rig.
As much as he craved the warmth the tractor would provide, he had something more important to do.
He climbed inside the trailer instead.
The first thing he noticed was his flashlight. It had dimmed considerably since his last shift in the trailer. He shook it to see if it helped, but it dimmed even more.
He wished he’d brought a spare pair of batteries.
Regular flashlight batteries were hit and miss these days. They’d long before exceeded their expiration dates, but on the better brands the long freeze extended their effective life.
Most of the name brands still worked, but not for very long.
Hannah and Sarah, when stocking the mine many years before, foresaw that problem and stocked over a hundred rechargeable batteries, as well as several battery chargers.
The rechargeables didn’t carry a charge quite as long as an off-the-shelf battery, but could be recharged over and over again.
All the truckers carried a high quality flashlight with them on their runs, complete with a set of fully charged batteries for it.
Sarah had asked him when he mounted up just before he left if he wanted a spare set of batteries, “just in case.”
He’d smugly replied, “Nah. Don’t need them. Nothing’s gonna happen to me.”
Famous last words…
He’d have to work fast, since he figured he only had about twenty minutes of light left.
It only took ten before he found a full case of Reynolds Wrap heavy duty aluminum foil.
Maybe his luck was changing after all.
If he had more space in the trailer and some music, he might have danced a little.
Instead, he shouted, “Hallelujah! Thank you Jesus!”
He didn’t take the whole case. That would be stupid. He tore it open, took out a single roll, and scrambled out of the trailer.
The flashlight went out as he was exiting.
A quick look at his watch told him it was time to climb those seventeen steps once again.
He opened the tractor’s door, tossed the foil onto the driver’s seat, and trudged up to the highway one more time.
His routine didn’t change this time. He still cleared the snow from his triangles and made sure they were securely anchored.
He still paced one hundred steps to the north, then turned around and paced ninety nine steps to the south.
Only this time he was in much better spirits.
This time he didn’t even feel the bitter cold.
This time he actually had something to look forward to.
This would be his last shift of the day on the highway. The sun was setting soon. He could tell only because the light brown spot in the dark brown sky was edging closer and closer to the western horizon.
As his fifteen minutes ticked down to none, he fairly danced down those seventeen steps to the Kenworth and climbed quickly aboard.
It suddenly occurred to him he was getting his hopes up on a plan which had very little chance for success.
He might be setting himself up for an awful heartbreak.
But he really didn’t care.
For the first time since his accident he had a ray of hope.
Yes, it was dim. But it was there.
And under the circumstances he’d take what he could get.
-30-
Once Brad’s fingers thawed he tore off a small piece of aluminum foil and wedged it between the connecter points of the battery and the connector points of the radio.
He knew more than likely he’d short the damn thing out.
But maybe it would work. And maybe was better than not trying at all.
He turned the radio on and was surprised to see the tiny green power light near the power switch come to life.
It was flickering, and nowhere near as bright as it normally was. But it was something.
He keyed the mic and hoped for the best.
“Whoever can hear me, this is Brad. Come in somebody.”
Four miles away, on State Highway 83, Rusty’s radio came to life.
He heard mostly static, but was able to make out a few words… hear me… come…
As uncertain as the message was, the voice was unmistakable.
It was definitely Brad.
He responded, “Brad, I copy, but you’re breaking up. Repeat, and tell me your location.”
All Brad heard was heavy static.
At the compound Rachel was working the base radio. She didn’t hear Brad’s transmission, but heard Rusty’s response loud and clear.
She screamed.
Half a dozen people came running.
No one knew what she was screaming about. Although most of them were carrying hand-held radios, Rusty’s transmission was out of their range.
Only the base station, connected to the huge antenna on the side of Salt Mountain, could copy him from several miles away.
She resisted the temptation to ask Rusty about the call. She wanted to badly, but didn’t want to tie up the airways before Rusty got the information he was looking for.
She bit her tongue and bided her time.
As people gathered around her, though, she owed them an explanation.
Through tear-filled eyes she choked, “Rusty’s talking to Brad. He’s alive.”
Debbie said, “Thank God! Somebody needs to go get Sami.”
-31-
Little Markie was Hannah and Mark’s only son, and at “almost eleven” was trying to prove his worth among the others.
“I’ll get her,” he yelled.
He took off like a shot down the corridor, shouting, “Aunt Sami, Aunt Sami.”
Sami, resting peacefully in her room, wouldn’t be there for long.
The rest followed Rachel’s lead and stood around, patiently awaiting the next transmission.
It seemed that of all the drivers on the road, only Rusty was close enough to Brad to hear him.
Brad was disheartened, but shouldn’t have been. After his first transmission, the static he heard might have been a response. In the back of his mind he knew that, but had been hoping for something more.
He tried again.
“If anybody can hear me, this is Brad. I’ve left the roadway but I’m okay. I’m on Loop 481 a few miles from I-10. Be careful, the road is blocked just beyond a blind curve. I’ve got plenty of food and fuel. Come get me, but be careful.”
Rusty had pulled over and parked after the first transmission. He had no idea where the signal was coming from, but didn’t want to risk driving out of range.
Once again he heard mostly static, mixed with an occasional word or two… roadway… I’m okay… careful… blind curve… come get me…
At the compound, the gathering crowd couldn’t hear a thing. Not even the static.
Rachel looked up at Karen, who had a hand on the young girl’s shoulder.
“Karen, would you mind taking over for me? I don’t want to screw this up.”
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The two switched seats. Both women knew that Karen, having worked the control center for years, had much more experience in dealing with crises.
Karen didn’t mind taking over, but made a mental note to talk to Rachel later to see if she could shore up the young girl’s self-confidence.
Rusty waited a couple of minutes before calling in.
“Control, this is Rusty. Did you copy all of that?”
Karen said, “Only your half, Rusty. Fill us in.”
At that moment Sami walked up behind Karen. She appeared weak in the knees and was flanked on either side by Hannah and Sarah.
“I only made out a few words, but he sounded fine. He didn’t give me his location, but said he was okay. He said something about a blind curve and a roadway.”
“That’s all you got?”
“That’s it. Everything else was static.”
Karen thought for a moment about her next course of action. She was well aware that if Frank were here he’d already be putting a plan into action.
But he wasn’t. It was up to her.
“Rusty, if you’re on the move, stop immediately.”
“I’m already at a stop. I didn’t want to lose his signal.”
“Good. What’s your location?”
“Interstate 10, westbound. Mile marker 355.”
“Ten four. I want you to stay there for now. If Brad calls you again break off with everybody else and answer his call. See if you can get a highway number from him.
“In the meantime, try to call all the other searchers. Find out who is within your hearing range. Try them one at a time, and when they answer you, get their present location. Then report back to me.”
“Ten four.”
As Rusty went about his tasking Karen stood and walked over to a huge grid map hanging on an adjacent wall.
She ran her finger along Interstate 10 until she came to a small green number: 355.
She took a red push pin and pushed it into the map.
Rusty’s location.
While she waited for an update she went to Sami and hugged her.
One by one, she heard Rusty calling out to the other searchers who responded. Those were the drivers who were between Rusty and the control center. Everyone else was too far away.
One of Our Own: Final Dawn: Book 11 Page 10
