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  The light reflected in her rearview mirror was blinding. She blinked twice to clear her vision. "Go around me," she muttered beneath her breath.

  Though there were a handful of vehicles in the lane to her left, they were further up the highway. The idiot behind her had plenty of room to cross over and drive past her. Maybe the rain was messing with his vision.

  She cranked up the wipers and checked her speed. "I'm doing the limit, buddy. Go around."

  "Mom, who you talking to?"

  She eyed Colton in the rearview mirror. "Myself."

  Behind her son's head, the headlights flared. The guy was right on her tail.

  Back off, buddy. You're not going to make me go faster.

  From the high position of the lights, she guessed he was driving a truck. Should she pull over and let him pass? She couldn't see much ahead. No signs to indicate an off -ramp.

  She racked her brain. What was the last sign we passed?

  God, she hated driving at night.

  She opted to pull over at the first exit. It was pitch black outside. The highway lights did little to illuminate a road or wide shoulder where it would be safe to pull over. From what she could recall last time they travelled the highway, the next main exit was a ways down the road. They were in the middle of nowhere.

  She drove another five minutes. The truck stayed on her bumper. It was unnerving to have someone so close behind her. What if she had to slam on the brakes?

  And why is this driver so persistent?

  The thought niggled at her. Being followed like this made her think of those horror movies in which the unsuspecting friends are harassed by a trucker, then tortured and killed.

  Don't pull over until he's gone.

  Rebecca slowed the car to under the speed limit. Hopefully the guy in the truck would give up on following her. It wasn't as if her little Hyundai was sheltering him from the onslaught of rain.

  Go past me, asshole.

  Yes, Mr. Truck Driver had now graduated from buddy to asshole.

  "Are we there yet, Mom?"

  "Not quite, Colton."

  "I wish it wasn't raining."

  "Me too, honey." More than you know.

  Up ahead a highway light illuminated a gravel road. It probably led to private property, but that didn't matter. It was a perfect place to pull over, providing there wasn't a chain across the road.

  She blew out a pent-up breath. Yes! Finally!

  She signaled right and reduced her speed. The truck slowed with her, and her heart skipped a beat. "Go around us."

  She pulled onto the gravel road, the tires kicking up water. The truck pulled in right behind her. She slapped the steering wheel and muffled a curse. Of all the roads to choose, she'd picked the one belonging to the owner of the truck. Really?

  She attempted to pull over on the dirt road, but it was barely wide enough for one vehicle. She had no choice but to keep moving. Somewhere ahead there must be a place where she could turn around. She hoped the truck driver wouldn't be too annoyed that she'd turned off on his land. Some people were very protective of their property.

  There was a dull thud and the car lurched.

  What's this guy doing?

  "Mom?" Colton cried out. "What was that?"

  "It's okay, honey. The road's a bit rough."

  It wasn't the road that had made the sedan lurch. The bastard truck driver had hit the back bumper of her car.

  Rebecca's pulse raced with fear. She thought about all the horror movies she'd watched growing up. The ones with the psychopathic truckers who hunted down innocent victims with their big rigs.

  Jesus!

  Checking the mirror, she watched in horror as the headlights from the truck behind her grew larger. He was taking another run at her. She pressed her foot to the gas pedal, weaving along the unpaved road until they were enclosed by bushes and trees. She had the high beams on her car to guide her along the rough road, but the rain made visibility almost nil.

  She was lost. There were no signs. No houses. No streetlights.

  "Mommy, why are you driving so fast?" Ella asked.

  "I want to get to the hotel," she said in a faux cheerful voice.

  God, how she wanted to get to a hotel. Or a gas station. Anywhere there were people. And a phone.

  She thought about her cell phone. It was in her purse, which had landed on the floor of the passenger's seat when she'd veered around the last wild corner.

  "Mom, there's someone behind us," Colton said in a nervous voice.

  "I know."

  "How come he's so close?"

  "He wants to pass us, but there's no room."

  The truck loomed closer. With the trees and brush around them keeping away much of the rain, she could make out a row of lights on the top of the truck, the kind hunters used. With these and the truck's headlights on high, the light converged into one eye-piercing beam.

  She tilted the rearview mirror so the light wouldn't be in her eyes.

  The truck hit them again, harder this time.

  In the back seat Colton let out a yelp. "Mom?"

  "Sit back, honey. I'll find a place to turn around."

  Branches whipped at the side of the car as she steered it deeper into the woods. She wanted to cry. Scream. Turn around and go home. But those weren't options. All she could do was follow the road to God knows where and pray that there'd be help at the end.

  What did the trucker want with them?

  She glanced in the rearview mirror. Ella was awake now, playing with her Barbies, oblivious to the danger that was hot on their trail. Colton wore a fearful expression. Oh God. He knows.

  "It's okay, honey. We're―"

  The truck slammed into them. She heard Ella and Colton scream. There was nothing she could do except scream with them as the car pitched forward toward a dense wooded area and branches scraped along the outside of the vehicle.

  The front end slammed into a solid mass, the impact knocking the breath from Rebecca's lungs. As rain climaxed into a crescendo on the roof, she was thrown into the steering wheel. Pain rippled through her chest and ribs, and she fought to stay conscious. Her vision wavered, distorting everything in front of her.

  Colton…Ella…

  Darkness engulfed her.

  Chapter Eleven

  Edson, AB – Friday, June 14, 2013 – 10:30 PM

  Marcus had a mere hour and a half left on his shift. For some reason he was feeling antsy. He blamed his edginess on all the coffee he'd had during his shift. Tiredness had crept into every joint of his body, and caffeine was one of few stimulants he could use nowadays.

  Leo had given him a hard time this shift, telling him he should cut back on the caffeine so that maybe Marcus would finally sleep.

  Marcus stared into his empty mug. Maybe Leo's right.

  He definitely felt jittery. Last time he'd felt like this he'd been injecting himself with codeine. Stronger drugs had followed.

  Look where that got you.

  Quitting hadn't been easy. He still had cravings. He remembered quite clearly the sense of ethereal peace he'd felt while flying high. Nothing had bothered him. Until he found he couldn't function without it. Without the rush that burned through his veins.

  He'd almost lost Jane as a result of his addiction.

  The phone rang, and a small light on it flashed. It was an inner office call. Shipley.

  "Need something, Pete?"

  "Time for your weekly piss."

  Marcus sighed. This game was getting old.

  "Fine. I'll be right there."

  As he headed for the men's washroom, he wondered what in God's name had possessed him to promise a weekly drug test.

  You needed the job. That's why.

  Besides, Leo had suggested it was the only way Pete Shipley would welcome him to the center, and it wasn't like Marcus had a lot of options. His very public and humiliating suspension from EMS had limited his choices. Since he could no longer work as a paramedic, 911 was the closest thing t
o the rush he'd once felt working the job. He'd whizzed through the training in no time.

  Now he was whizzing in a cup on command.

  Suck it up, Marcus. You made your bed.

  He pushed open the washroom door.

  "Here," Shipley said, handing him a sealed plastic cup. "Make it fast. I've got work to do."

  "Urine my way."

  Shipley gave him a tight smile. "Good one."

  Marcus headed for the closest stall.

  "Keep the door open," Shipley said.

  "Yeah, yeah, I know the drill." Marcus glanced over his shoulder. "Wanna watch?"

  Shipley's face turned beet red, and he shifted uncomfortably. "Hurry it up."

  Marcus had to go, but he held it in and whistled one of Ryan's favorite songs. This is the song that never ends… It was from a TV show his son had watched when Ryan was a preschooler. The song was a never-ending loop. Fun for kids, but irritating as hell to adults.

  It had the same effect on Shipley.

  "Jesus Christ, what's that garbage you're whistling?"

  Instead of answering, Marcus continued whistling and finally filled the cup halfway. As an added bonus, he splashed a little on the side.

  What's a little urine between friends?

  "Hurry up. And can you quit with the whistling?"

  "I could," Marcus said, "but then I'd have to kill you."

  "Ha ha. Very funny. You done?"

  "What, this little pissing contest? Yeah. I think I won."

  Shipley's mouth was pinched tighter than a Scotsman's wallet. "Pass it to me."

  Marcus planted the cup in Shipley's palm. The man's eyes flared when he realized the cup was wet. Shipley used his fingertips to pick the cup up by the lid. He set it on the counter, washed his hands thoroughly, then picked up the cup with a piece of paper towel.

  "Same time next week?" Marcus asked innocently.

  Shipley clenched his jaw but said nothing.

  Marcus smiled. "Nice doin' business with ya."

  The fury that raged in Shipley left no doubt in Marcus's mind that his supervisor was imagining various methods of tortuous payback. He'd better watch his back.

  Shipley exited the washroom, leaving Marcus alone and somewhat dissatisfied. He washed his hands, stared at his reflection for a few minutes and tried to ignore the twinge of fear.

  He enjoyed goading Pete Shipley, but one day he'd go too far. And where would that leave him? Without a job. With no one to be accountable to except maybe Leo. Without a life…or a reason to keep living.

  Marcus shook his head. "Enough of that."

  He leaned in close, noting the bags under his eyes had deepened. There were craters in the craters, and no amount of Prep H would change that fact. He needed to sleep.

  "No rest for the wicked," he reminded his reflection.

  Then he went back to work.

  Ten minutes later, all hell broke loose.

  While Marcus finished dispatching emergency crews to the scene of an overturned oil truck, Leo was handling a fire.

  "Okay, ma'am," he heard Leo say. "What's the address of the fire?" There was a pause. "An apartment building? Is anybody inside?"

  Marcus flew into dispatch mode, connecting to the fire department, while the casuals contacted Ambulance and Police. All the while, Leo kept the caller on the line, relaying information to Marcus and Shipley as it came in.

  The call was a bad one―a gas fire in a large four-story apartment building in downtown Hinton. The building was engulfed in flames, and an unknown number of people were trapped inside. Others, visibly wounded and in shock, sat in the grass across the street and watched their lives as they knew it go up in flames.

  "There's one fire truck in the immediate area," Marcus said to Shipley, who was hanging over his shoulder.

  "How many of ours are available?"

  "Edson is down to two trucks. The others were sent to the overturned rig between here and Hinton."

  "And one was sent to a barn fire over an hour ago," Leo interjected, one hand muffling the microphone of his headset.

  Shipley stood with hands on hips. "Fine. Taylor, send both our trucks."

  A shiver teased Marcus's spine. "Maybe we should hold one back in case we have another emergency."

  "Things'll slow down after this."

  "We don't know that."

  "Well, aren't you little Miss Doom-and-Gloom."

  "I have a feeling―"

  "A feeling?" Shipley snorted with derision. "You want me to make a call on a feeling?" His eyes narrowed. "What are you on, Taylor? You should know by now that we're not Edmonton. We rarely see this much action in one night. I think we've filled our quota."

  Marcus opened his mouth to argue, then shut it. Shipley was his supervisor, and that trumped a weird premonitory feeling, something he'd never experienced before, though he did see ghosts. Jane. Ryan. The children in the woods in Cadomin. He'd first seen them a few days before his wife and son had been killed. He'd never told a soul about those kids. Not even Leo.

  "You still with us, Taylor?"

  Marcus blinked back the memory of pale faces staring at him through the cabin window. "Yeah. I'm on this."

  He relayed the address of the fire to the station in Edson, then connected to EMS. Seconds later, two ambulances were on their way. A third was being sent from Edmonton.

  "There are two STARS helicopters on standby to take the most critical burn victims to the U of A Hospital," Leo stated.

  A niggling sensation crawled over Marcus's skin.

  Leo frowned. "You okay?"

  "I think I've had too much coffee."

  Whatever it was, it burned in the pit of his stomach and began rising in his throat until he thought he'd puke.

  "I need to step out," he said, flagging down one of the casuals. "I'll be back in a couple of minutes."

  "Where you going?" Shipley demanded.

  "Break room. I need some water."

  His supervisor eyed him with suspicion. "Long as that's all you're drinking."

  "Wanna test me for that too?" Marcus snapped. "Fine. Go ahead."

  "I'm just saying."

  "Well, don't."

  Marcus stalked off in search of a clean glass.

  Chapter Twelve

  Near Cadomin, AB – Friday, June 14, 2013 – 10:49 PM

  Rebecca first became aware of the drumming. It filtered through her consciousness, sounding an alert in her brain like a blaring home security alarm. Except there was no sound, merely a growing sense of danger.

  Wherever she was, it was dark. And cold.

  Something pressed against her chest. It was difficult to breathe. She tried to open her eyes, but something wet dripped into them. She groaned and fire coursed through her chest, making it hard to breathe.

  What happened?

  Was she ill? Did she have the flu?

  The pressure on her chest eased off a bit, and she raised her head, blinking back the wetness. She tried to wipe away the…sweat? A knife-sharp ache rippled through the fingers of her right hand. She glanced down, but she couldn't see a thing. She tried to flex her hand and almost passed out. At least two fingers were broken.

  She moaned. Where am I?

  It took a few minutes before reality hit her.

  She was in the car. The faint light in front came from lights on the half-obscured dashboard, which she could now make out. Still, it wasn't bright enough to take a full inventory of the damage. She reached for the interior light and turned it on. Her eyes skimmed across the dashboard and windshield. Both were intact.

  She gasped. I was in an accident.

  Then it hit her. She hadn't been alone.

  "Colton?" she cried out. "Ella?"

  There was no reply. Had they been thrown out of the car?

  Oh God…

  "Colton! Answer me!"

  Fighting panic, she attempted to turn in her seat, but a searing pain in her chest and ribs made her cry out. The steering wheel was lodged against her ribcage, pinn
ing her in the driver's seat. She reached down for the side lever, hoping to tilt the seat back and give her room to breathe.

  The lever was broken.

  She stretched out her left hand, trying to reach beneath the seat for the other lever that would slide the seat backward, but there was no way she could reach it.

  Rebecca was trapped.

  She looked down and saw blood on her shirt. She had no idea where it had come from. She tentatively touched her chest with her left hand. She nudged her ribs and sucked in a hard breath. Broken. Or at the very least sprained.

  She touched her forehead and her fingers came away bloody. Possible concussion? She tried to recall what all the television shows said about that, but all she could remember was not to fall asleep. She smacked her cheek with her left hand. Stay awake!

  The dashboard lights faded, and the engine made a knocking sound, so she turned off the ignition.

  "Ella? Colton? It's Mommy. Are you all right?" Tears trickled down her cheeks. "I need you to say something."

  Again, no answer.

  A wave of nausea swept over her.

  "Do not get sick," she whispered repeatedly.

  Throwing up would weaken her further. She needed every bit of strength to get her children out of the car and back to safety.

  Oh Jesus…the truck.

  Was it still behind her, waiting? Was some maniac going to stroll over to the car, rip open the door and haul her outside? Why was he doing this to them?

  She saw no sign of the truck in the rearview mirror, and she couldn't make anything out beyond the windshield. The rain was too heavy. Surely if he was still out there, she'd see the lights from his truck.

  He's gone. He hit us and then left us to die.

  Her feet were numb. The steering wheel was probably cutting off her circulation. That couldn't be a good thing.

  The interior light flickered. Please don't go out.

  She peered through the side window. She couldn't even make out the moon or stars in the sky. They must be in the middle of some dense brush and trees.

  She jiggled the handle, but the door wouldn't open. "Shit."

  A low moan sounded behind her.

  "Colton? Ella? Are you okay?"