Page 103 of Absolution

Then I stand, already dialling the emergency line and press the phone to my ear.

“911, what’s your emergency?”

“My name is Kyle Greyson. I just got the address of a cabin near Echo Reach, outside Kerrville. My ex-wife and her partner are there. I haven’t been able to reach her, and I just saw a flood advisory for that area on the news.”

“Okay, sir, I understand. Can you give me the exact address?”

I read it off the text Monica sent. The dispatcher repeats it back and then types something quickly. I can hear faint radio chatter in the background.

“There was significant flash flooding in that area last night,” she says. “We’ve had multiple rescues in the Echo Reach vicinity, particularly near the Guadalupe River. Most of the active flooding has passed for now, but water levels are still unstable in some low-lying areas. Power and cell towers have been impacted, so that could be why you’re not able to reach her.”

“So, what do I do? I need someone to check if they’re okay.”

“We’ve got search and rescue teams deployed in that region. They’re going cabin to cabin where possible, but it’s remote terrain. If your wife and her partner are safe and sheltering in place, the best thing they can do is stay put until responders reach them.”

“But what if they’re not?”

“Sir, I understand. I’ll flag this address and relay it to our Kerr County teams. Do you have a description of the people, names, any medical conditions?”

I give them everything. Jackie. Charlie. Her age, his, I don’t know much about him. I mention the kids, not with them, but waiting for her to come home.

“We’ve logged everything. A unit will make contact when it's safe. In the meantime, we advise you not to attempt to reach the location yourself. Roads in and out are unpredictable, and we don’t want to create another rescue situation.”

“So, I just wait?”

“For now, yes. But you're not being ignored. We'll call you with any updates.”

I hang up slowly. My hands feel cold.

And then I sit. Staring at the screen.

Waiting.

I sit still for a long time, just staring at the wall. The dispatcher’s words replay in my head. “Don’t create another rescue situation.”

But what if they’re hurt? What if no one gets there in time?

I don’t move for several minutes. Then I get up.

Not to storm off. Not to drive blind into rising water like some idiot.

I pull up my laptop. Find a local map of the area. I start cross-checking it with the GPS coordinates Monica’s text sent. I find a list of active shelters. Emergency coordination numbers. I call the Kerr County Sheriff’s Office directly and ask if the Echo Reach cabins are in their jurisdiction. They confirm, and I give the address again.

“We’ve dispatched a crew to that area,” the deputy says. “But it’s a slow process, especially without confirmed distress calls.”

I ask if they’ll let me know if they make contact. He says he’ll add my number to the file but they’re short staffed so it may take a while.

Thinking for a second, I go to the hall closet and pack a bag. Just in case. It’s not reckless. I’m not going to play hero. I’m just… not sitting here doing nothing.

In the living room, Mom sees the duffel bag slung over my shoulder and immediately says, “Tell me you are not going out there.”

I kneel in front of the kids. “I spoke to the rescue team and the police,” I say calmly. “They’ve already sent people to where your mom is, and they promised to keep me updated.”

Jemma clutches my sleeve. “So why are you going?”

“Because the sheriff’s office is stretched thin right now,” I explain. “They’re coordinating all the rescues out of a community centre in Kerr County. The route there is safe. I'm not going anywhere dangerous. I just want to be closer. Help if I can. And the second I know anything, I’ll call. I promise.”

All three of them nod, silent, then rush into my arms, wrapping themselves around me so tight I can barely breathe.

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