my arm, ready to drag me away from t

rhythm of hel

es from the icy road. It was a private machine, not a police or medical chopper. The door

Eth

et away from her," he commanded, his voice calm bu

is hand steady on my ar

holding back streamed down

gaze intense. "The dream... it

ady assessing the bus. "It's unstable," he yelled over the rotor w

l rescue team from the next county over, but they're

a stark contrast to the memory of Andrew's botched

d rigging lines, my phone

uspicion. "Where is Andrew? I don't trust them. I want my son

I said, my patience gone. "Listen

by some private security goon!

to get the first passenger, a terrified elderly woman, into a harness. Debra was blocking the aisle, gestur

ge County had arrived, alerted by Officer Ryan Hughes, the first Chicago PD officer on the scene, who had

orking in tandem with Ethan's paramedic, a swift, efficient operation taking shape. They s

A young couple. A group of teenagers. Each person brought to saf

hey cleared the entire front and middl

tthew, at th

move, pointing at Matthew, then at herself, her voice

s the cliff. The cables, which had been holding the bus s

the rescue chief yell

moved to my side, his face

just seconds ago. Andrew, Molly, and her son Caleb stood beaming, holding a blue

ro and our brilliant boy

nd son were moments from death, he was posi

, like a thunderc

ebra and Matthew still inside, plunged into the abyss. It fell in horrifying silence fo

le

his face, walked over to me. His v

eed to retrieve your husband. We need

, the picture of Andrew's smiling face burned into

my voice hollow. "But h