Chapter Fifteen
Sommer
When Sommer descended the mountain, the exertion had been a lightning bolt of nerve pain that shot from her foot, up her leg, and into her sciatica. And there it blazed for most of the trek back to base.
To say she had been elated to be down was an understatement.
But those feelings were weighed down by the blanket of concern she had for the kids.
Wendy had moved off to the side to radio in her headcount.
Sommer heard the comms person ask Wendy what her confidence was that they’d searched the trail thoroughly. Wendy said thirty-five percent, and Sommer had to sit with that number.
That number was probably based on some formula Wendy had learned in search school, the leader's field experience that took in things like light quality, volunteer behavior, but mostly it sounded like “vibes.”
That was okay with Sommer; she’d save more than a few lives with vibes.
But after all that effort—and it was effort to scale that particular trail at night in complete silence, so they might hear the children off on either side—thirty-five percent felt low.
Sommer tried not to take it personally.
Marna had leaned in. “You only get a hundred on that test if you come back with kids.”
Sommer nodded then took a swig from her water hose. She was getting low and had to suck hard to fill her mouth.
She turned to Abbie, who had her phone out. Abbie said without looking up, “The closest hotel with rooms available is farther away than home.”
Marna stood wide-legged, looking like she could sleep standing up. “It’s the number of people they have out on the mountain.”
“Amazing,” Abbie grinned as she swiped her phone shut. “This really makes me feel good about our community.”
“Heartwarming,” Marna murmured. “I’m going to set up my tent by the car. None of us can drive.”
“You don’t think we should go to my house?” Sommer asked. “If we’re all singing with the radio, we should be okay.”
“You’re a nurse,” Marna said. “You deal with traffic accidents all the time. You know better than that. Sleep-deprived is as hazardous as someone who's been doing shots.”
There was a commotion at the other end of the tent, and everyone stilled and watched, holding their breath, crossing their fingers.
And then things settled back into the same rhythm as before.
“Ladies,” Wendy said, speaking to their group, “thank you for coming out in the middle of the night. Your help was greatly appreciated. There’s food and beverages available in the support tent. Take a nap in your cars to make sure you can drive safely.”
The team hugged and said good-bye; then it was done.
No resolution.
“This sucks,” Abbie said as they turned to leave. “I know you two are used to this because your shift ends at the hospital and you hand your patients over to the next round. But I want to know the kids are fine before we go.”
“We did our part.” Marna draped her arm around Abbie’s shoulder as they walked toward the dirt road where they’d left Sommer’s car. “We get out of the way for fresh eyes—”
“And feet,” Sommer added.
“And feet,” Marna agreed. “And we go home and say a prayer.”
“I’m sleeping in here with the hatch up.
” Sommer sat on the back hatch of her SUV, glad to get her pack off her tired shoulders.
There, she took off her shoes and socks, climbed into her sleeping bag, drew her sleep mask over her eyes, and passed out, not waking again until a parade of cars drove back toward the highway.
Pulling back her sleep mask, she found Abbie sleeping in the back beside her.
Marna was stuffing her tent into its storage bag. “What time is it?” Sommer asked.
“Four,” Marna said. “My stomach woke me. I thought maybe we could get some food on the way back to your house.”
They were still wrung out, and the entire drive—from mountainside to fast food to the suburbs was mostly silent.
When Sommer was within sight of the graveyard on her road, she said, “That was quite the opportunity. I mean, it would have been icing on the cake to find the kids, but it still felt good to be out there.”
“It’s like 9-11,” Abbie said beside her on the front passenger seat.
Marna drew her chin back. “In no way was that like 9-11.”
Abbie twisted in the seat to look back at her. “In a small way.”
“I’ll listen. How is that like 9-11?” Sommer didn’t bother with her blinker as she pulled into her drive. The through traffic followed the curve at the stop sign. She had almost zero cars run by her house, which she found peaceful.
“Remember, on Manhattan, when the towers came down, there was what? Half a million people on the island who needed to get home to pets and kids?” Abbie asked.
Sommer came to a stop next to her walkway and put the car in park. “Still not following.”
“The largest rescue in human history happened,” Abbie said.
“The officials made the call. We need you if you have a boat. The boats came roaring toward the island, picking people up from Lower Manhattan and delivering them to safety. Anyone who had a boat, they just stopped what they were doing and headed out to help.” She put her hand on her heart.
“It gets me emotional every time I think of it.”
“You're comparing this search to 9-11?” Marna unclasped her seatbelt.
“For the family, it was a catastrophe,” Abbie said. “And we all stepped up to help. We used our skills to do our best. Sommer did it running on pure adrenaline and goodwill.”
“Well, that and a triple espresso if I were being totally honest.” Sommer opened her door and climbed out, taking a moment to touch her toes and wiggle her hips.
Abbie climbed out of the vehicle. “Fine. Well-caffeinated goodwill.” She circled toward the back. “Do you remember those guys in shorts and flip-flops at the beginning?”
“I’m not sure how far they got,” Marna said, dragging her pack from the back and moving it to her car.
“They obviously didn’t know what they were doing,” Sommer said, using her fob to open the hatch, standing beside Abbie as it slowly rose.
“The story I made up in my mind is that they were at their girlfriends’ houses, and it would have been a bad look for them to stay behind while their dates went out to hunt for the kids in the wilds in the middle of the night. ”
“Flip-flops,” Marna said as she came to join them.
Abbie reached in and grabbed her pack. “They surely didn’t last long, but at least they showed up.”
“That describes my sex life of late.” Marna laughed.
“9-11 is a stretch,” Sommer said, dragging her own bag out and slinging it over one shoulder. “But I get the sentiment of a community rallying to help, Abbie. I’d do it again.”
“Same,” Marna said. “I need to use your bathroom before I go.”
“Yeah, come in. I made some lavender lemonade, and it’s delicious.”
Stiffly, the women climbed the steps and moved through the front door.
“Living room lights on,” Abbie said as she led the way in. “Lights on,” she said clearly.
When nothing happened, she turned to Sommer. “What’s the name of your voice assistant?”
“I don’t have any eavesdroppers in my house.
I appreciate my privacy too much.” Sommer dropped her pack against the wall and made her way into the room to scoop up her black cat, Squiggles, to pet briefly until he leaped from her hands and dashed from the room.
“Squiggles hates the smell of bug spray,” she said.
“When did you develop this aversion to a voice assistant? You had one at your last place.” Marna flopped onto the couch and spread her arms wide across the back.
“I did in my apartment because Michael wanted to have it,” Sommer said, finding a place in her recliner.
“But now that I have my own place, I can decide who listens to me and when. I just don’t want that around.
I hate it. I don’t like being tracked. I don’t like being taped, stored, and stalked across all of my devices.
I don’t want AI to know who I am and what I do in my everyday life, so when I’m thinking I need to get myself some new toe clippers, I suddenly start getting some advertisements for toe clippers.
If I want toe clippers, my toes are my own business. ”
Abbie said, “So you—you don’t have anything here that you can ask questions or play your playlist?”
Sommer said, “I’m capable of looking things up if I need them.
I can turn on my playlist if I want to. I don’t need to have a disembodied voice in my life.
Back when I was living with Michael, he would sit there and scream at that damn machine, scolding it.
‘I said to turn the lights on! Turn the lights on!’ He’d growl at the thing as if it were a wayward child being disobedient.
As if changing his voice to sound authoritative and menacing, it would make the machine obey him better.
I’m sure it was tracking how crazy it made him.
I hated it. It would put Michael in a foul mood, and then I’d have to deal with his mood because a stupid machine wouldn’t turn something on. ”
“Besides that, you know, as a woman, I’m pretty opposed to them,” said Marna. “I don’t have it at my house either.”
Abbie said, “Why don’t you have it? What has it got to do with being a woman?”
Marna said, “Have you noticed Tech Bros don’t give these machines non-gendered names? They’re not called Sam. They’re not called Charlie. They had every opportunity to name these whatever they wanted. They didn’t even have to give them human names. They could have just made things up.”
“They could have named it a tree or a bird,” Sommer said, “Finch, fetch me a good romantic movie.”