“There’s been an accident, a car rolled over. It’s off the expressway. I didn’t see anyone get out. No one got out.”

“Sir, where did this happen?”

“On the expressway,” the caller said.

“Sir, there are three different expressways.”

“It’s right here on the expressway I’m on. It’s…four-ninety,” he said.

I-490 ran east and west, from LeRoy to Victor. “Sir, four-ninety is 37 miles long. Can you be more specific? Which direction are you traveling?”

“I’m headed toward the city. I can see the city from where I am.”

“Sir, this is very important. Whether you are going east or west, you will be headed toward the city. What is the exit you just passed, or the exit you are coming to?”

“I don’t see an exit. We’re between exits,” he said.

I kept re-bidding his cell phone, trying to triangulate the location to as close as possible to where he was. When I tried pulling up the information, all I was saw was a single cell tower, which told me absolutely nothing. “Sir, what was the last exit you passed?”

“It was snowing too hard, I’m not sure. I couldn’t see.”

I muted my headset. “Supervisor!”

Milzy came over to my pod of telecommunicators. “What have you got, McKinney?”

“Caller witnessed a rollover somewhere on four-ninety. He has no clue where he is, which direction, and--”

“Rebid the call?”

“--re-bidding isn’t finding him.”

Milzy called out, “Anyone have a vehicle rollover on four-ninety?”

“Event thirty-seven-twenty-eight,” someone said.

I looked at that event, nodded at Milzy that I was all set, and un-muted my headset, “Sir, what color was the vehicle that rolled?”

“Ah, it was a red SUV. I pulled over. I don’t feel safe though. Cars are sliding all over the place.”

I read through the job. Saw that one of the other telecommunicators who took the call indicated a red SUV had rolled off onto the median, people trapped. Fire, police and ambulances were already on the way.

“Sir, I want you to do what is safest for you. If you don’t want to remain pulled over, then don’t,” I said.

“So I should leave?”

“I’m saying it’s up to you, sir. Whatever you feel safest doing, you should do,” I said, and asked him his name and then for his phone number.

“I’m calling from my cell phone.”

“I understand that. What is the phone number?” I verified with him that the location for the event was near the same location where he was initially pulled over.

I disconnected that call, and was about to go available for the next call, when sitting up at the supervisor pod, Milzy called my name. “Can you come up here for a second?”

I removed my headset, stood and glanced around the room. Still in queue, I wondered what was up. Supervisors listened in on some calls. Quality control and all of that. They had to grade a number of calls per employee each month. I’d been here minutes, we were busy, and on overtime. Milzy wouldn’t call me up to the pod unless it had to do with something else, something more substantial.

“What’s up?” I said, taking the two steps up to enter the pod. The telecommunicator, fire and EMS and police dispatchers encircled the supervisors who sat in the center of the operations floor.

“Come here,” he said. He motioned with a finger, and pulled out the chair next to him. “You’re going to want to sit down for this.”

Sit down? I tried to swallow, couldn’t. “What’s going on?”

“It’s about you,” he said. I stared at his face, looking for any hint of a smile that this was all a gag.

“Me?”

“I hate to tell you this. There’s no easy way to say it,” he said.

“Milzy, just cut the shit. What’s going on?”

“Your daughter has something to tell you,” Milzy said, and looked across the small table. I followed his gaze.

Charlene wore a 9-1-1 uniform. That powder blue shirt, the collar brass complete with a badge and a nameplate with my dead son’s name on it that simply read: CASH MCKINNEY.

“Char, what--Milzy, what’s she doing here?”

Charlene reached across the table and set her hand on top of mine. “Daddy, you’re dead…Daddy. You’re dead. Daddy! Daddy!”

Chapter Seven

“Daddy! Daddy!”

When my eyes opened, I tried to jump forward. Something had me around the chest, holding me back. I screamed, struggling against it in an attempt to free myself.

“You’re having a nightmare, Dad. It’s okay. You’re okay.”

“Chase!” Allison unfastened a seat belt, knelt in front of me. “It was a bad dream. It’s okay.”

I know my eyes were opened wide. I looked around. At first, I thought I saw computer terminals from work and people around me in blue uniforms. The scene melted into a row of seats a couple of feet across from where I sat. Dave stared at me. Sues had her head on his chest. He still brushed her hair with his hand, with his bloody hand. We were on a plane, headed south. I got it. It came back. “How long was I asleep?”

“Almost an hour, Dad,” Charlene said.

I unfastened my seatbelt and stood up, helping Allison to her feet. “I’m okay,” I said. “Sit back down. Buckle up. I’m going to check on our pilots.”

“Okay.” Allison sat back down, but in my seat, next to my daughter. She wasted no time securing herself to the chair. They snuggled close.

“I’ll be right back. You guys good?” They nodded. “Dave, you need anything?”

He shook his head. “I’m okay. I don’t know, a blanket? Water, if you can find any?”

Water. Food. We’d need both, and soon. “I’ll see what I can find.”

There really wasn’t anywhere to look. We were on a plane. If there was water anywhere, it would be around where they were all seated. I saw some strapped down boxes along the sides, by the very tail. I’d explore them once I made sure Palmeri and Erway were good.

I stood just outside the cockpit. Our pilots chatted, laughing. “Ladies,” I said.

Erway jumped, and spun around. “Scared me, Chase.”

“Didn’t mean to, sorry about that.” I held up my hands and smiled. “Wish I bore gifts. Like coffee.”

“Coffee,” Palmeri said, and moaned. “A cup would be amazing right now.”

“A pot,” Erway said.

“A pot.” Palmeri nodded.

“How we doing?” I said.

Palmeri cocked her head to one side. “Pretty smooth. Take-off went well. Thing’s a box, but it flies nice. I’m keeping at just over two hundred miles an hour, and just under ten thousand feet. I go too high, we won’t just be cold, we’ll need oxygen masks.”

Might explain why I fell asleep so easily. Lack of oxygen. It was that or just sheer exhaustion. “I’m going to search the plane, look for blankets and water, or for anything useful.”

“Sounds good.” Erway gave me a thumb’s up. “And, hey, if you find any coffee--”

“I know, I know. I’ll pour you two the first cups.”

“Holy shit, I don’t believe it,” Palmeri said.

I stuck my head forward between them. “What?”

Palmeri didn’t speak. She pointed to her far left and slowly followed the airplane about to pass by us. “That a commercial airline?”

“Yes. Yes it is,” Palmeri said. “A seven-forty-seven.”

“We going to hit them?”

“No, they’re at least two thousand feet above us, and they’re pretty far away.” Palmeri still readjusted her grip on the wheel. “Just where the fuck are they going?”

“Can we ask them?” I said, and pointed at the radio.

“Can try,” Palmeri said.

“They must see us too, right?” Erway strained against her seatbelt, as if the extra half an inch would give her a better view of the passing airplane.

Palmeri snatched up the handheld radio that resembled a C.B. “This is Sherpa to the Boeing seven-four-seven, Sherpa to Boeing…”

Static. Nothing. Palmeri looked at me, and shrugged. She tried again.