Chapter 10 #3
Mac’s voice cuts through our conversation, crackling with urgency. “Chief, we really need you down here. We’ve got a structure fire on Oak Street, possible entrapment, and we can’t coordinate with police for crowd control or ambulance for medical backup.”
Luke runs both hands through his hair, frustration clear on his face. “I’ll be there in fifteen minutes, Mac. Just do the best you can.”
“Luke, wait.” I catch his arm as he starts to move past me. “You need someone who can get your emergency services talking to each other again. I can do that.”
He stops, really looking at me for the first time since Mac called. “You’re serious.”
“Dead serious. I’ve built communication networks that can withstand server failures, power outages, cyber attacks. A storm knocking out your internet and overloading your cell tower? That’s manageable if you know what you’re doing.”
Something shifts in Luke’s expression—a mix of hope and desperation. “You really think you can fix this?”
“I think I can jury-rig something that will get your people talking to each other until the main systems come back online.” I look at him seriously. “But I need to see what we’re working with. And we need to move fast.”
Luke realizes what I’m offering, and something fierce and grateful flashes in his eyes. “I’ll get dressed.”
* * *
The storm hits us like a physical force the moment we step outside. Rain lashes at us horizontally, driven by winds that nearly knock me off my feet. I’m soaked through in the thirty seconds it takes to run from the cabin to Luke’s truck, my hair plastered to my head, water streaming down my face.
“Jesus!” I gasp, slamming the passenger door behind me.
“Mountain storms don’t mess around.” Luke starts the engine, the wipers immediately working overtime against the sheets of water cascading down the windshield. “You sure you want to do this? It’s going to be chaos down there.”
“I’m sure.” I buckle my seatbelt as he reverses out of his driveway. “I’ve dealt with worse.”
“Worse than emergency services going dark during a natural disaster?”
“Try a server farm catching fire during Black Friday while hackers are simultaneously attacking the backup systems.” I wipe water from my face with the back of my hand. “At least your emergency responders want to help people. I had to coordinate with people who only cared about quarterly profits.”
The drive into town takes twice as long as usual. Luke has to navigate around downed trees, flooded sections of road, and debris scattered by the wind. By the time we reach the outskirts of downtown, I can see why Mac sounded so panicked.
Autumn Ridge looks like a war zone.
Maple Street is partially underwater, storm drains backing up and sending murky water cascading over the sidewalks and into storefronts.
Cars are stranded in the middle of intersections, their hazard lights blinking uselessly.
I can’t help but be glad my parents should be home by now and not at the cafe.
Through the rain, I can see smoke billowing from a three-story brick building despite the downpour—electrical fire, probably, from flooded basements shorting out power systems.
But what strikes me most is the chaos in the emergency response.
Fire engines, police cars, and ambulances crowd the street in dangerous isolation.
There’s no coordination, no unified command structure.
Vehicles are parked haphazardly, emergency responders running between scenes without clear direction.
“This is a clusterfuck,” Luke mutters under his breath, then immediately looks at me. “Sorry.”
“I’ve heard worse. And you’re right—this is a clusterfuck.” I’m already assessing the scene from the truck, cataloging the problems. “Your entire emergency communications infrastructure has failed. They’re operating in complete isolation from each other.”
Luke parks as close as he can to the fire station and immediately jumps out, his 6’2” frame moving between vehicles as he tries to coordinate by voice alone.
I can see him shouting instructions over the storm noise, but it’s primitive and dangerous—like trying to conduct an orchestra by yelling over a thunderstorm.
I watch from the truck as Luke approaches a group of firefighters gathered around Engine 1. Even from here, I can see the tension in their postures, the way they’re gesturing frantically. Luke starts talking to them, but the wind and rain make it impossible for me to hear what’s being said.
Then I see Mac break away from the group and jog toward Luke, his mouth moving urgently. Luke’s posture changes immediately—becomes more rigid, more focused. Whatever Mac is telling him, it’s not good news.
I roll down the truck window, straining to hear, but the storm swallows their words. All I can make out are fragments—something about “can’t reach” and “no coordination” before the wind shifts and carries their voices away completely.
Frustrated, I get out of the truck and start moving closer, immediately getting drenched again. The rain is so heavy it’s like walking through a waterfall, and I have to squint to see where I’m going.
As I get closer, I can finally hear pieces of their conversation.
“—structure fire on Oak Street, but I still can’t reach dispatch to coordinate with police for crowd control,” Mac is saying, his voice tight with stress. “And we’ve got reports of a multi-vehicle accident on Route 7, but I can’t confirm if an ambulance is responding.”
“What about radio contact?” Luke asks, having to raise his voice over the storm.
“Spotty at best. We’re getting maybe every third transmission.” Mac gestures helplessly toward his radio. “It’s like trying to coordinate through soup cans and string.”
That’s when a police sergeant approaches, rain streaming off his hat brim. “Chief Harrison! We’ve got reports of accidents throughout the county, trees down on major roads, possible entrapments. But we can’t coordinate response without communications!”
I watch Luke’s face as the weight of the situation hits him. People are in danger, and his emergency services are operating blind. In the distance, I can hear sirens, but they’re scattered, uncoordinated—everyone responding to everything because no one knows who’s responding to what.
“Luke!” I shout over the noise, waving to get his attention. “I need a laptop and a mobile hotspot!”
He turns, water streaming down his face, his hair plastered to his skull. “What?”
“I can establish an emergency communication network using available infrastructure!” I have to yell to be heard over the storm. “But I need access to your station’s computer systems!”
Mac appears beside Luke, looking skeptical and exhausted. “Chief, with all due respect, can a civilian really fix emergency dispatch?”
Luke looks between Mac and me, then makes a decision. “She’s not just a civilian. She’s a systems architect.” He points at Mac. “Get her whatever she needs. Right now.”
“But Chief—”
“Mac.” Luke’s voice cuts through the storm with authority. “She knows what she’s doing. Trust me.”
Mac looks at me for a long moment, taking in my soaked clothes and determined expression. Then he nods. “Yes, sir. This way, ma’am.”
* * *
The fire station communications room is cramped and outdated, but it has the basics I need. Mac leads me to a desk with an ancient desktop computer and a tangle of radio equipment that looks like it hasn’t been updated since the 1990s.
“This is what we’ve got,” Mac says apologetically. “I know it’s not much.”
“It’s perfect.” I’m already pulling off my soaked jacket and sitting down at the computer. “Do you have internet access?”
“Satellite backup. Should be working even if the main lines are down.”
“Good. And I need someone to find me a laptop—something with wireless capabilities. This desktop is too limited.”
Mac nods and disappears, leaving me alone with the radio equipment. I slip on a headset and start cycling through frequencies, listening to the chaos. What I hear makes my stomach clench.
Fragmented communications. Overlapping radio traffic. Emergency responders stepping on each other’s transmissions. Fire trucks arriving at the same scene while other emergencies go unattended. Police requesting backup that never comes because the message doesn’t get through.
“Ma’am?” A firefighter appears with a laptop under his arm. “Assistant Chief Thompson sent this.”
“Perfect. Thank you.” I take the laptop and immediately start setting up. “What’s your name?”
“Ryan Kowalski, ma’am.”
“Call me Hazel. And Ryan? I’m going to need you to run some cables for me.”
For the next twenty minutes, I work with focused intensity, my fingers flying over both keyboards as I build a jury-rigged communication network.
I start by mapping all available infrastructure—the satellite uplink, backup radio frequencies, even the weather service channels that are still functioning.
The key is redundancy. When primary systems fail, you need multiple pathways for information to flow. I create a mesh network using the fire station’s satellite connection as the backbone, then bridge it to the police station’s backup radio system and the hospital’s emergency frequencies.
“Okay,” I say finally, pulling up the interface I’ve built. “Ryan, can you get Mac back in here?”
Mac arrives, still dripping wet from coordinating outside.
“Did you fix it?” he asks immediately.
“I’ve created a temporary solution.” I point to the screen, where a real-time communication interface is displaying multiple channels of information.
“I’ve routed emergency communications through three different pathways—satellite uplink, backup radio frequencies, and a mobile data bridge using cell towers that are still functioning. ”
Mac leans closer, his expression shifting from skepticism to amazement. “You’re using the weather service frequencies?”
“As backup channels, yeah. They’re designed to function during severe weather, so they’re more robust.” I pull up another window.
“And I’ve created a unified command interface that all departments can access.
Fire, police, ambulance, and what’s left of dispatch can all see the same real-time information now. ”
Mac watches as I demonstrate the system. “This shows all active calls?”
“All the ones I could reconstruct from the fragmented radio traffic. Plus I’ve set up automatic routing—when a new call comes in, the system will assign the closest available unit and notify all relevant departments.
” I look up at him. “It’s not perfect, but it should get your people talking to each other again. ”
Mac takes the headset from me and keys the radio. “All units, all units, this is base. Communications are restored on emergency frequency seven. All departments switch to frequency seven for unified coordination. Repeat, frequency seven for unified coordination.”
The response is immediate. Clear, organized radio traffic starts flowing through the system. Suddenly, there’s order instead of chaos. Fire units can coordinate with police. Ambulances know where they’re needed. Dispatch—what’s left of it—can see everything happening in real time.
“Holy shit,” Mac breathes, staring at the screen as status updates flow in from across the county. “You actually did it.”
“It’s a Band-Aid solution,” I warn. “It’ll hold until your main systems come back online, but it’s not permanent. And it’s only as good as the infrastructure supporting it.”
“How long will it last?” Mac asks.
“Depends on the storm. If the satellite connection stays up and the backup radios keep functioning, it could work for hours. Maybe longer.”
Mac is already coordinating response through the new system, his voice calm and professional as he directs units to specific locations. The chaos outside is resolving into organized emergency response.
“Here,” Ryan says, appearing beside me with a department sweatshirt in his hands. “You’re soaked through. Get changed before you catch pneumonia.”
I look down at myself and realize he’s right. My clothes are completely drenched, and I’m starting to shiver despite the adrenaline. “Thanks.”
I duck into the station’s small bathroom to change, pulling the dry sweatshirt over my head.
It’s huge on me, hanging past my hips, but it’s warm and smells like clean laundry and faint smoke.
When I look in the mirror, I barely recognize myself—hair wild from the rain, cheeks flushed with excitement, wearing a fire department sweatshirt like I belong here.
For a moment, I let myself imagine what it would be like to actually belong here. To be part of this team, this community, this life Luke has built. But that’s dangerous thinking, and I push it away as I head back to the communications room.
Mac is still coordinating response when I return, but his movements are smoother now, more confident. The system is working. People are getting help. Lives are being saved.
“How’s it looking?” I ask quietly.
“Better. Much better.” He’s watching the status updates on the screen with professional satisfaction.
“We’ve got three accidents cleared, the structure fire under control, and search and rescue coordinated for two missing persons.
None of that would have been possible without this system you built. ”
I’m about to respond when Mac’s radio crackles.
“Base, this is Engine 2. We have a situation at the Oak Street structure fire. Part of the ceiling collapsed and we can’t locate Chief Harrison. Repeat, we cannot locate Chief Harrison and are unable to establish radio contact.”
The sweatshirt I’m adjusting suddenly feels too tight around my throat. “What?”
Mac’s face goes white as he grabs his radio. “Engine 2, this is base. Clarify your status. Are you saying Chief Harrison is missing?”
“Affirmative, base. Chief was conducting interior operations when we had a partial collapse. He’s somewhere in the debris field, but we can’t reach him, and his radio isn’t responding. We need immediate backup for search and rescue.”
My world tilts sideways. The communications room suddenly feels like it’s spinning around me. Luke is trapped. Luke could be hurt. Luke could be—
“Where?” I demand, grabbing Mac’s radio before he can respond. “Where exactly is he?”
“Hazel, you can’t—”
“Where is he, Mac?” My voice comes out sharper than I intend, but I don’t care. Nothing matters except getting to Luke.
Mac looks at my face and makes a decision. “Building collapse on Oak Street. Four blocks from here.” He pauses, keys his radio again. “Engine 2, this is base. Additional units are en route. Keep us updated on search progress.”
“Copy that, base. Beginning systematic search now.”
Mac turns to me, his expression grim but determined. “I’ll drive you.”