Deputy Owen Mercer had driven Route 17 so many times that he knew every bend in the road.
He knew where deer usually crossed at sunrise.
He knew which section flooded after heavy rain.
He knew the abandoned gas station near Mile 47, the rusted guardrail beside the river, and the old grain silos that appeared on the horizon just before the highway reached Pine Hollow.
That morning, however, something was different.
The storm had passed only a few hours earlier.
Broken branches covered the shoulders.
Puddles stretched across parts of the asphalt.
The sky was still gray, and a low layer of fog drifted between the fields.
Owen was returning from a call when he noticed something moving beside the road.
At first, he thought it was an animal.
Then the shape stepped out of the fog.
Owen immediately took his foot off the accelerator.
It was a child.
A little girl.
She was walking along the highway completely alone.
Her yellow raincoat was several sizes too large and covered in mud. One sleeve was torn near the elbow.
She had no shoes.
Her bare feet were dirty and scratched.
In one hand, she carried a small plastic flashlight.
It wasn’t turned on.
Owen stared at her for half a second before hitting the brakes.
He pulled onto the shoulder and activated his emergency lights.
The girl stopped.
She looked directly at the flashing blue lights behind his patrol car.
Something about her expression made Owen’s chest tighten.
She wasn’t surprised to see him.
She looked relieved.
As though she had been searching for those lights.
Owen stepped out slowly.
“Hey there,” he called.
The girl didn’t move.
“I’m Deputy Mercer. You’re safe. Can you tell me your name?”
She stared at him.
She couldn’t have been older than five or six.
Mud streaked her cheeks.
Her hair was tangled and wet.
There was a small cut above her eyebrow.
Owen crouched several feet away instead of approaching her.
“Are you hurt?”
The girl’s lower lip trembled.
Then she asked a question that Owen would remember for the rest of his life.
“Are you the blue lights?”
Owen frowned.
“The blue lights?”
She pointed at his patrol car.
“Yes.”
Her shoulders suddenly relaxed.
Owen moved closer.
“What’s your name, sweetheart?”
“Maeve.”
“Maeve what?”
“Maeve Collins.”
Owen repeated the name into his radio.
Dispatch immediately began checking missing-person reports.
Then Owen noticed something else.
The girl kept looking behind her.
Toward the fields.
Toward a distant line of trees.
“Maeve,” he said gently, “is somebody with you?”
She nodded.
Owen’s pulse quickened.
“Who?”
“My brother.”
Owen stood.
“Where is your brother?”
The little girl pointed toward the fog.
“He’s waiting.”
“Waiting where?”
Maeve looked confused, as though she couldn’t understand why the answer wasn’t obvious.
“Under the bells.”
Owen stared at her.
“What bells?”
But Maeve had already begun shaking.
Her knees buckled.
Owen caught her before she hit the ground.
She was ice cold.
He wrapped her in a blanket from the patrol car and called for paramedics.
As he lifted her into the back seat, Maeve grabbed the front of his uniform.
“Please.”
“I’m right here.”
“Don’t forget Caleb.”
Owen felt a chill that had nothing to do with the morning air.
“Caleb is your brother?”
She nodded.
“How old is he?”
Maeve raised three fingers.
Then she closed her eyes.
Within minutes, an ambulance arrived.
The medics found that Maeve was badly dehydrated and exhausted. Her feet were covered in cuts, and she had several bruises, but there were no obvious life-threatening injuries.
She was taken to Pine Hollow Medical Center.
Owen followed.
During the drive, dispatch finally called him.
“We’ve got a possible identification.”
Owen grabbed the radio.
“Go ahead.”
“A Maeve Collins, age six, and Caleb Collins, age three, were reported missing yesterday.”
Owen’s grip tightened around the steering wheel.
“From where?”
There was a pause.
“North Cedar Valley.”
Owen glanced toward the landscape outside his window.
North Cedar Valley was miles away.
“What’s the situation?”
Another pause.
Then the dispatcher spoke more quietly.
“Storm-related structural collapse. Family residence was destroyed.”
Owen said nothing.
“There were fatalities.”
“Parents?”
“Yes.”
Owen closed his eyes for a moment.
“And the children?”
“Missing since the storm.”
Owen looked toward the ambulance ahead of him.
The little girl had apparently traveled miles through fields, woods and flooded roads.
But she had not been alone.
Somewhere behind her was a three-year-old boy.
Waiting “under the bells.”
By the time Owen reached the hospital, the sheriff’s department had already begun organizing a search.