Chapter 2 - Mile Marker 214
“Major Bennett, we need you at the bus!”
The radio call snapped me away from Natalie's phone.
I turned toward the overturned charter bus.
A medic was waving frantically.
Whatever Natalie knew would have to wait.
People came first.
“Don't leave,” I told her.
Her expression tightened.
“I won't.”
I ran.
A boy of perhaps ten was still trapped inside the rear section of the bus. His mother had already been pulled out and was refusing transport until her son was safe.
The vehicle rested at an angle that made every movement dangerous.
I climbed through the emergency opening with Staff Sergeant Alvarez behind me.
Inside, luggage hung from overhead racks. Broken glass glittered across the ceiling, which had become our floor.
The boy was pinned between two seats.
“Hey,” I said.
His eyes found mine.
“My mom?”
“She's outside.”
“Is she okay?”
“She won't stop asking about you, so I'm going to need you to help me get you back to her.”
His lower lip trembled.
“Okay.”
“What’s your name?”
“Ethan.”
“Ethan, I'm Claire.”
“Are you a soldier?”
“I am.”
“Does that mean you know what you're doing?”
Alvarez looked at me.
I almost smiled.
“Usually.”
We worked slowly.
When we finally freed him, he grabbed my sleeve.
“Don't leave me.”
“I won't.”
I carried him toward the exit.
The moment his mother saw him, she screamed his name.
That sound stayed with me.
Not fear.
Relief.
Pure relief.
She wrapped herself around her son while snow collected in her hair.
Watching them, I thought unexpectedly of Dad.
I hated that.
By 21:00, every passenger had been accounted for.
Walt was on his way to the hospital.
The tanker had been stabilized by specialists.
Nobody had died.
It felt almost impossible.
I found Natalie near a news vehicle.
“You stayed.”
“I said I would.”
Her camera operator was gone.
“Where's your crew?”
“Sending footage.”
I removed one glove and rubbed my frozen fingers.
“What did you mean?”
Natalie looked toward the emergency personnel around us.
“Not here.”
“You showed me a photograph.”
“I know.”
“With my father.”
“Yes.”
“What am I supposed to understand from that?”
She studied my face.
“You really don't know.”
“Natalie.”
She inhaled.
“Erica contacted me six months ago.”
That was not what I expected.
“Why?”
“She wanted help.”
“With what?”
Natalie looked down.
“Jason.”
The wind seemed suddenly louder.
“My brother?”
“Stepbrother.”
I noticed the correction.
“What about him?”
“She thought he was in trouble at work.”
“What kind of trouble?”
“She wouldn't say at first.”
Natalie had become an investigative correspondent after leaving Colorado. I knew that much from occasional family mentions. She covered corporate investigations, public corruption, disasters.
The kind of stories that ruined dinners.
“She sent me documents,” Natalie continued. “Financial records. Internal emails. Contracts.”
“Jason works for a logistics company.”
“Northstar Transit.”
I nodded.
Then my stomach tightened.
“What?”
Natalie looked toward the overturned bus.
I followed her gaze.
On its side, partly obscured by snow, was the charter company's logo.
Northstar Transit.
I stared at it.
“No.”
“Claire—”
“Jason doesn't manage buses.”
“No. But his division manages safety compliance.”
I felt cold in a way the blizzard couldn't explain.
“What are you saying?”
“I'm saying Erica found evidence that safety reports were being altered.”
“By Jason?”
“I don't know.”
That mattered.
Natalie was careful.
She wasn't accusing him.
Not yet.
“What does Dad have to do with it?”
“That's the part I don't understand.”
She opened the photograph again.
Dad stood outside a restaurant beside Jason and Erica.
The date stamp was six months earlier.
“That's just dinner.”
“Look behind them.”
A fourth person stood near the restaurant door.
I zoomed in.
“Who is that?”
“Martin Keller. Northstar's chief financial officer.”
“So?”
“He resigned two weeks after this photograph.”
“Why?”
“Officially? Personal reasons.”
“And unofficially?”
“He was preparing to report manipulated safety records.”
A chill crawled along my back.
“Where is he now?”
“Nobody knows.”
I looked again at the photograph.
Dad.
Jason.
Erica.
Keller.
“What did Erica tell you?”
“That if anything happened, I should contact you.”
I stared at Natalie.
“Me?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“She said you were the only person in the family who wouldn't protect Jason from consequences.”
That sounded like Erica.
She and I had never been close, but she had never treated me like competition either.
“Why didn't you contact me?”
“Because Erica disappeared from the story.”
“What does that mean?”
“She stopped answering.”
“When?”
“Three months ago.”
“She was at dinner tonight.”
Natalie looked sharply at me.
“You're sure?”
“Dad sent me a photograph.”
“Show me.”
I opened the message.
Natalie examined it.
Her expression changed.
“What?”
“That's not tonight.”
“It came tonight.”
“Claire, look at the tree.”
I looked.
“What about it?”
“The photograph behind Jason.”
A framed family picture sat on a table.
Natalie enlarged it.
I recognized the photograph.
It had been taken the previous Christmas.
Then I noticed Jason's watch.
Same one he'd worn last year.
“Dad sent me an old photograph.”
“Yes.”
Why?
Before I could answer, Natalie's phone rang.
She glanced at the screen.
“My producer.”
She stepped away.
I stood in the snow trying to make sense of it.
Dad had told me not to come home.
Jason supposedly didn't know.
Erica had contacted Natalie.
Northstar safety records.
An overturned Northstar bus.
And Dad had sent me an old Christmas photograph pretending it had been taken tonight.
Coincidence was possible.
But coincidence had limits.
Alvarez approached.
“Major.”
“What?”
He pointed toward the news vehicle.
“You might want to see this.”
Inside, a monitor showed national coverage.
The rescue footage was already airing.
There I was.
Covered in snow.
Pulling Walt away from the tanker.
I hated seeing myself on television.
The anchor said my name.
My rank.
Then:
“Major Claire Bennett had reportedly volunteered for holiday duty, allowing several younger soldiers to spend Christmas with their families.”
Alvarez smiled.
“Your dad's going to see that.”
My stomach sank.
Dad.
I grabbed my phone.
Twelve missed calls.
Three from Dad.
Four from Jason.
Five from an unknown number.
Then another call arrived.
Jason.
I answered.
“Hello?”
Nothing.
“Jason?”
Breathing.
Then:
“Claire, where are you?”
“At work.”
“I can see that.”
The television.
“What happened?”
His voice sounded wrong.
“Are you okay?”
“Did you talk to anyone?”
My eyes moved toward Natalie.
“About what?”
“Just answer me.”
“Why?”
“Claire.”
His voice cracked.
Not anger.
Fear.
“Did a reporter talk to you?”
I said nothing.
That silence answered him.
“Oh God.”
“Jason, what is happening?”
He lowered his voice.
“Listen to me. Don't tell Natalie anything.”
My blood went cold.
I had never told him Natalie was there.
“How did you know her name?”
Silence.
“Jason?”
Someone spoke behind him.
A woman.
Erica.
I couldn't hear the words.
Then Jason said sharply, “Give me that.”
There was movement.
A muffled argument.
Then Erica's voice came clearly through the phone.
“Claire?”
“Erica?”
“Don't believe what Jason tells you.”
“Erica—”
“I tried to warn you.”
The line crackled.
“Warn me about what?”
A door slammed on her end.
Then Erica said something so quietly I almost missed it.
“Your father didn't keep you away from Christmas because of Jason's promotion.”
My hand tightened around the phone.
“Then why?”
Another sound.
Jason shouting.
Erica's breathing quickened.
“Because there was someone at that dinner you weren't supposed to see.”
The call disconnected.
I immediately called back.
No answer.
Again.
Nothing.
Natalie came running toward me.
“Claire.”
“What?”
Her face had lost all color.
“The network just pulled archived footage connected to Northstar.”
“So?”
“They found something.”
She turned her laptop toward me.
Security footage filled the screen.
A Northstar facility.
A timestamp from six months earlier.
Erica entered.
Then Jason.
Then my father.
Natalie paused the footage.
“Keep watching.”
A fourth person stepped through the door.
I leaned closer.
I knew that face.
Everyone in my family knew that face.
Because for twenty-two years, we'd been told he was dead.
My mother's brother.
May you like
Uncle David.
And the timestamp showed he had walked into that building six months ago.
