The first person I check with is Tabitha, because I know she attends Gwen's yoga classes and they've forged something of a friendship.
She answers her phone, sounding tired, but confirms with a nervous voice that she hasn't seen or heard from Gwen.
The results are much the same when I call Rosie and Skylar in turn.
All nervous. All tired and all pleading with me to give them an update and promising to do the same if they hear anything.
Truth be told, I don't know who else to call. I phone the emergency shelter, but no one with her name has checked in.
As I turn to join Emmett and West, I hear the crunch of tires pulling up to the barn. It's Tripp Coleman, driving right toward me.
He steps out of his car, wearing a sweatsuit, sneakers, and the world's most dramatic eye roll. "My God, you're fucking everywhere," he groans.
"What are you doing here?" I grumble before realizing he's the only person I haven't called that might know where Gwen is.
"Well, despite the fact that you clearly think I'm a shitty person, I've been up watching the news all night, and I figured I might as well help out since I'm here. So I went down to the community hall, and they sent me here to help load straw bales."
I'm shaken. Why was he even still here? I'd expected him to burn straight out of town and never look back.
He wants a relationship with you too . Gwen's words filter in from my memories.
But all I do is correct him with "Hay bales."
"What-the-fuck ever, man. As if it makes a difference. Just let me do my thing."
He goes to brush past me, but I grab him by the arm, stopping him in his tracks. He looks down at my hand, like I've somehow gravely offended him.
"Don't touch me," he spits, clearly still furious with me for what happened with Gwen.
"Tripp, for fuck's sake, can we please put our differences aside for a moment? I need you to tell me honestly if you've seen Gwen."
"Why would I have seen Gwen? She's made it clear she only wants to spend time with me if it's in your presence."
My breath hitches as my lungs tighten. My god, I've fucked up so badly.
"She's missing," I rasp. "She went to bed at the house last night, and this morning she's not there. Her truck's not there either."
The look of disgust on his face morphs into one of concern. "You haven't heard from her at all?"
"No," I groan, gripping the back of my neck just for something to do with worried hands.
"We had a disagreement, and both took a moment to get some air. And now I don't know where she is.
She's not answering her phone. Her last text to me said she'd be at home.
None of her friends know where she is. I just thought that you might have some idea. "
The tension in his shoulders loosens, and they drop down subtly. "I'm sorry, but I don't know where she is. I haven't heard from her since we had a coffee yesterday afternoon."
Both my hands rake through my hair as I turn in a circle, looking around myself as if I might be able to see her somewhere near the tree line or find her at the top of the driveway.
Like she might pop up and be fine. But instead, the woman who is the love of my life is missing during a major natural disaster.
It doesn't feel real.
I feel a hand clamp onto my shoulder from behind and turn to see Emmett with a somber expression on his face. "Dude, go. I got this. You have zero game. If there's a girl who actually likes you, you need to go find her."
I press the heels of my palms into my eyes. Leave it to fucking Emmett to shit-talk me at a moment like this. Strangely, it's comforting. If he went all soft on me, it would only stress me out more.
Tripp chuckles and it rankles me, but Emmett doesn't let him get away with it. "What are you laughing at, pretty boy? The hay bales are over there. Get to work." Emmett points toward the barn, effectively dismissing Tripp before turning to follow him.
And I watch them walk away.
There's a part of me that's surprised Tripp showed up here today. It makes me realize that I don't know him as well as I thought.
Maybe Gwen was right.
And maybe I'll never get the chance to tell her as much.
From up in the air, I have a clear view of the devastation. And while I usually fly feeling relatively cool, calm, and collected, today my heart is in my throat. My nerves are so raw that, even strapped in, I can barely sit still.
When I took off from the airstrip, Gwen was still nowhere to be found. I checked again with the community center, told the other pilots to keep their eyes peeled for her truck, then made my way to the fire service aircraft and got to work.
Without knowing where she is, there's nothing I can do, and feeling this out of control is one of my worst nightmares.
At least if I'm helping, I'm doing something. Because, god, I really need to be doing something so I don't just collapse.
From this altitude, I can see the damage this fire has wreaked. It stretches over the back side of the sprawling mountain, through the valley, and up over the next. It wraps around the side, encroaching on the main feeder highway in and out of Rose Hill.
I don't know exactly how many hectares we're at now, but in the privacy of my cockpit, I curse under my breath, admitting to myself that this is bigger than I thought. So much worse than I imagined.
I should be working on an indirect attack to set our firebreak. We have clear orders—a plan. Create a buffer zone to slow the spread.
But for the first time in my life, I don't give a fuck about being responsible. My focus is single-minded—and it's not on the job. It's on Gwen.
I can't work without finding her. Hell, I can barely breathe, and it has nothing to do with the ominous blanket of smoke. All I can think about is getting a good look at Clyde's place to see if she might be there.
It's not part of the strategy Dale and I discussed before attacking the mountain.
But the truth is, I might let it all burn if it means finding her.
If Gwen is gone, nothing else matters.
Having checked along the highway, I give in to my instincts and turn my aircraft toward the peak of the mountain, knowing that I won't have to go far over that side to get a good look at Clyde's property.
The engine hums and my seat shakes as I fly low over the burning brush and glowing embers. I see the blue tin roof that adorns Clyde's small log house, and I sit forward in my seat, pressing the plane faster to catch sight of it as quickly as possible.
It appears that much of what surrounds Clyde's home has been burned to a crisp. The earth scorched black. The trees reduced to ash…but not his house. The yard surrounding it has miraculously held the fire line.
My limbs feel like lead and I find myself praying for another miracle. Eyes scanning frantically, fingers gripped tight.
I draw closer, and I see it.
Her truck.
Nausea twists in my gut and I have to fight the urge to throw myself from this plane just to get to her. What was she thinking?
I drop lower, hoping to catch sight of her, wanting to both shake her and hold her tight in equal parts.
I take one pass over the house, realizing that the opposite side is not as severely burned. It appears the area around the creek off toward the back of his property has been less affected.
Then I catch sight of her—a flash of silvery-blond hair pulled up in a high ponytail. I turn hard, looping back around to circle the property, and based on the way she holds a hand up to her forehead, I know she sees me.
Relief and dread hit me all at once. I found her. But she's closed in. The property is surrounded by flames on all sides.
Frantically, I search the area, wondering if there's somewhere I can land. I want to go down there and pull her out myself, but it's futile and I know it. It's too densely forested. There's nowhere for me to put a plane down here.
Picking up my radio, I call for backup. I share my coordinates and let the guys know there's a civilian trapped on an evacuated property.
Within seconds, I get confirmation that aerial support is on its way.
I start laying out a plan for how to have her make an exit from the property. The radio confirms that they'll be ready to send a rescue vehicle past the blockade and up in that direction. As long as there's a clear path, they will go in and escort her down.
As I watch the markers for other planes approaching on the radar, I push away the fear coursing through my veins and all the worst-case scenarios playing through my head.
If they need a clear path to get her out, I'll make one myself.