Chapter 99
Nora's POV
The rain showed no signs of letting up. If anything, it was coming down harder, turning the collapsed section of highway into a muddy disaster zone. I held my camera steady, the red light indicating I was streaming live to NPR's platform.
"We're here at the scene of a major road collapse," I said into the camera, keeping my voice steady despite the chaos around me. "Emergency services have just arrived, and rescue operations are underway."
A black Lincoln Navigator pulled up to the edge of the scene, hazard lights flashing as it stopped. Ethan got out, a large waterproof bag slung over his shoulder, moving quickly through the downpour. He spotted us immediately and jogged over.
"Sir," he said, slightly breathless, "brought the equipment you requested."
Julian nodded and took the bag. He pulled out two heavy waterproof rain jackets. Without a word, he draped one over my shoulders, his hands lingering briefly as he adjusted the hood for me.
"Thank you."
Julian turned to Ethan, his voice shifting to that crisp, authoritative tone.
"Arrange a bus immediately to transport stranded passengers to the nearest rest stop. Then notify the County Road Management and Emergency Services. I want every road in this area inspected tonight. Set up warning signs, implement traffic control if necessary. Public safety is the first priority."
Ethan nodded, already typing rapidly on his tablet. "Yes, sir."
Emergency vehicles began arriving in succession—tow trucks, county road maintenance crews, a fire truck's lights cutting through the gray curtain of rain. Workers in orange vests started setting up traffic cones and LED warning signs, preparing to winch the damaged vehicles out of the pit.
Julian crouched at the edge of the collapse, examining the broken pavement. I angled the camera to capture the scene over his shoulder, narrating quietly for the viewers. The road base was loose, soil washed away, the asphalt surface covered in spiderweb cracks. Even to my untrained eye, this was clearly the result of years of neglect.
"This isn't just weather damage," Julian said, more to himself than to me. "This is systemic negligence."
Ethan appeared beside him, tablet in hand. "Sir, we're getting reports from across the region. Multiple road collapses, shoulder slides. No casualties so far, but—"
"How many locations?"
"Seven confirmed. Could be more."
Julian's jaw tightened. He stood, brushing dirt from his hands, and I could see the anger simmering beneath his controlled exterior. This wasn't just about one sinkhole—it was systematic neglect, the kind of corner-cutting that put lives at risk.
A familiar voice called my name. I turned to see Vincent parking his car outside the police line and hurrying over on foot.
"Hey, Vincent, why did you come back?" I asked.
"Couldn't leave you out here alone," he said, his expression apologetic.
I felt a rush of gratitude mixed with guilt. "Vincent, you didn't have to—"
"Yes, I did." He glanced at Julian, then back at me, something knowing in his expression. "Though I see you're not exactly alone."
Julian's attention shifted to Vincent, assessing him with that cool, measuring gaze. "You're her colleague from NPR?"
"Vincent Woods." Vincent extended his hand, which Julian shook once, firmly. "Heard there's another collapse site north of here. Power's out in that area too. Thought we should check it out, maybe get more material for our report."
"The rescue operation here is under control," Julian said, keeping his tone neutral. "If you need to cover the other sites, go. But—" he looked at me, "—stay in contact. Phone on, location sharing enabled."
I nodded and gathered my equipment as Vincent headed toward the car. Before I could follow, Julian gently caught my wrist.
"Be careful," he said quietly, aware that Ethan was nearby with that knowing smirk he thought I couldn't see. "These roads aren't stable."
"I know. I'll be fine."
---
The northern road was worse than I'd expected. Trees had come down in the storm, blocking the narrow lane, and a small landslide had sent mud and rocks cascading across the asphalt. A line of cars sat stranded, drivers and passengers standing in the rain, some trying to clear debris with their bare hands.
Police had set up barriers, and an emergency crew was working to clear the blockage, but progress was slow. What struck me most was how many civilians had joined in—farmers with their pickup trucks, middle-aged people with shovels, a group of teenagers hauling branches to the shoulder.
"This is what Julian meant," I murmured, setting up my tripod. "The work that never gets seen."
Vincent was already recording, capturing the scene. An older man in a veteran's cap caught my eye, and I approached with my microphone.
"Excuse me, sir? Can I ask you a few questions?"
He looked up, face weathered but kind. "Sure, miss. What do you want to know?"
"How long have you been out here?"
"Since the call went out, about two hours ago. Veteran's Association coordinates this kind of thing. We got farmers, road crew, volunteers from three towns over." He gestured at the organized chaos around us. "Can't just sit around waiting for someone else to fix things. This is our community."
I recorded his words, feeling a lump form in my throat. These people—muddy, exhausted, working in the pouring rain—they were the ones Julian had talked about. The ones who kept things running when the system failed.
Vincent appeared at my elbow. "We should do a feature on this. Show people what real community response looks like."
"Yeah," I agreed. "We should."
We stayed until the road was passable, documenting every stage of the cleanup. By the time we finished, it was nearly eleven at night, and I was so tired I could barely stand.
Back in Vincent's car, I pulled out my phone and saw six missed calls. All from Julian.
I dialed his number.
He answered on the first ring. "Nora."
Just my name, but I could hear the relief in his voice, the tension bleeding out.
"Sorry," I said. "We were filming, and I didn't hear the phone."
"Are you safe? Where are you?"
"Heading back to town. The northern site is clear now." I hesitated. "How are things on your end?"
"The situation is under control. As for those responsible for this incident, they won't escape." There was anger beneath his words.
"By the way, I saw your live stream earlier," he continued. "You looked good. Professional. Focused."
I remembered the state I'd been in—hair plastered to my head, mud on my face, completely soaked. "I looked like a drowned rat."
"You looked beautiful."
The words hung in the air between us, and I was suddenly very aware of Vincent sitting three feet away, pretending not to listen.
"I, um—" I cleared my throat. "We're about twenty minutes from town."
"I've arranged a room for you at the Riverside Inn. Vincent too, if he needs one. And a car to take you both back to Silverton tomorrow."
"Okay. Thank you."
"Text me when you get to the hotel. I need to know you're safe before I can sleep."
"I will."
"Goodnight, Nora."
"Goodnight."
I ended the call and stared at the phone in my hand, feeling Vincent's amused gaze on me.
"Just a friend, huh?" he said.
I felt embarrassed and didn't answer. Didn't know how to explain.