Every Second

80

Coyote Mountains, New York

Kate and Strobic hiked faster out of the woods than they did going in.

Fueled by adrenaline at having helped rescue the Fultons, they were driven to get the story and photos to headquarters. Trotting and leaping over rocks, they sailed through the rugged terrain.

With each step, Kate composed her story in her head, while in her heart her prayers went with Lori and Billy and the thought of the helicopter hoisting them skyward in the rescue basket.

I hope they make it! They’ve got to make it!

Arriving breathless at the pickup truck, they set out to work. Strobic called up his strongest photos and began adjusting and cropping them. Kate began writing on her phone, fingers blurring as she concentrated on every detail of how they found the Fultons, their condition, their surroundings and Lori Fulton’s words.

They worked at top speed while the radios crackled.

“We’ve got a solid signal, are you ready to file?” Strobic said.

“Ready.”

Kate sent her story to New York without proofing it. Better to send raw copy in while they could and let the desk clean it up. Strobic showed her the dramatic pictures he’d sent.

After Strobic read Kate’s story, he said: “Looks good. Another exclusive for Newslead. Want to go to Albany, try to get the family in the hospital?”

“I think the story’s still here-”

They both jumped at a sudden transmission squawking from the scanner.

“…explosion at Jenny’s Mountain Gas & Diner, on Red Hawk Way, Mile 35…multiple injuries… Columbia SWAT on scene…request fire and all available EMS…”

Strobic pushed his Silverado hard.

Six miles from the diner they’d caught up to a fire truck, sirens screaming, lights flashing as it roared to the scene with Strobic behind it.

The area still afforded a good signal and Kate’s phone rang with a call from Reeka in Manhattan.

“Where are you, Kate? We’ve got reports from our stringer of an explosion and gunfire with fatalities at a gas station, Jenny’s-”

“Jenny’s Mountain Gas & Diner, on Red Hawk Way!” Kate shouted over the siren. “We’re on it! About five or six miles-no wait-Stan says now we’re two or three miles from it!”

“Good. Nice job on the rescue story and pics you just sent. Is it exclusive?”

“Totally.”

“Excellent. Keep us posted on the diner. We heard people have been killed. We need to confirm the toll, so get back to me ASAP!”

They’d gone another two miles when the fire truck in front of them slowed.

Up ahead in the distance they saw the diner and the havoc-tangles of emergency vehicles’ lights wigwagging, a tour bus surrounded by a smoky haze, and police choppers overhead.

Immediately in front of them a state police car blocked the road. It moved, allowing the fire truck to pass, then returned to obstructing entry. A trooper standing at the point raised his hand, halting Strobic.

Kate shouted that they were news media.

“Park it on the side, go up to the tape!” the trooper said.

Strobic pulled the pickup to the shoulder alongside the dense forest. He and Kate grabbed their bags. They hurried down the road to the yellow tape, catching the smell of gas and burning plastic from the destroyed vehicles.

“Looks like a war zone,” Strobic shouted over the circling helicopters as he raised his camera and shot the scene.

Kate walked the full line of the tape, searching for a spokesperson or official. She saw no one. Paramedics and firefighters were tending to a dozen bleeding people outside the diner. Investigators in plain clothes were talking to other civilians while taking notes. K-9 units were probing the luggage in the tour bus storage compartments. Studying the mayhem, Kate continued walking all the way to the far side where she spotted Nick Varner talking to a county commander and an older man who looked like he was the tour bus driver.

Varner was taking notes.

Kate waited until his attention shifted, then gave a little wave with her notebook. Varner glanced at her then resumed working.

Determined to talk to him, Kate stood her ground.

Several long minutes later, Varner went to Kate at the tape.

“Did you get them? Is it over, Varner?”

“We’re still sorting things out.”

“Bull. You know what happened here. What’s the toll?”

“I told you, we’re still putting it all together.”

Kate tapped her notebook to her leg.

“Come on, Nick. I held back on reporting that you had intel about a planned attack. I played fair with you. And we helped find Lori and Billy Fulton.”

“I heard that. We still need a statement from you.”

“It’s in the story I just filed. I’ll show you, on the condition you tell me what happened.”

Varner’s jaw tightened. Kate could only imagine the words running through his mind.

“Show it to me,” he said.

“Are you going to help me?”

“Show it to me.”

She cued up her story on her phone, and he read through it.

“Well?” she said.

Though he was reluctant, Varner kept their deal and cooperated, summarizing how a trooper had identified one of the suspects and how it led to the discovery of the others at the diner; how the suspects planned to board the Canadian tour bus bound for New York and elude the dragnet with upwards of forty passengers as hostages or victims. He outlined how SWAT teams moved into place and took out three suspects.

“Unfortunately, one suspect managed to explode his device.”

Kate wrote fast as Varner continued.

“About ten civilians were injured, three critically, and others suffered minor flesh wounds from shrapnel. Four of the five suspects were killed, the fifth is uninjured and in custody. One suspect charged at SWAT team members in suicide fashion, detonating the device. Fortunately, it went off between parked cars, which absorbed most of the blast. It could’ve been worse. Bomb techs have removed other unexploded IEDs from the dead suspects.”

“So it’s over, Nick?”

“We’re still investigating, but, yes, we think it’s over, Kate.”