My feet slugged through the rain-soaked soil and sand, over the large pieces of wood frame and metal that had once been a large building. Trucks were overturned more than a hundred yards away.

I froze when I came upon a group of trees. A man was twisted in the branches, every orifice filled with pea gravel. I swallowed back the bile bubbling up in my throat. I reached up, barely able to touch the sole of his boot.

“Sir?” I said, barely able to speak above a whisper. I’d never seen anything so gruesome.

His foot swung, lifeless.

I covered my mouth and continued walking, calling out America’s name. She’s okay. I know she is. She’s waiting for me. The words became a mantra, a prayer, as I crossed the countryside alone, trudging through the mud and grass, until I saw the red and blue flashes of an emergency vehicle.

With renewed energy, I ran toward the chaos, hoping to God I wouldn’t just find America, but that I would also find her unscathed. She would be just as worried about me, so the urge to calm her fears was just as strong as the need to find her safe.

Three ambulances were parked along the turnpike, and I ran to the closest one, watching paramedics load up a young woman. Seeing that it wasn’t America, relief washed over me.

The paramedic glanced at me and then did a double take, turning to me. “Whoa. Are you hurt?”

“My shoulder,” I said. “I pulled a splinter out of it the size of a Sharpie.”

I looked around while he assessed my wound.

“Yeah, that’s going to need stitches. Probably staples. You definitely need to get it cleaned up.”

I shook my head. “Have you seen a pretty blonde girl, early twenties, about this tall?” I asked, holding my hand up to my eye.

“I’ve seen a lot of blonde girls today, pal.”

“She’s not just a blonde girl. She’s gorgeous, like epically beautiful.”

He shrugged.

“Her name is America,” I said.

He pressed his lips together in a hard line and then shook his head. “Girlfriend?”

“We slipped off the turnpike and went into a ditch. We took shelter under an overpass, but I’m not sure where I am.”

“Vintage Charger?” he asked.

“Yeah?”

“Must have been that overpass,” the paramedic said, nodding to the west. “Because your car is three hundred yards in that direction.”

“Did you see a pretty blonde waiting close?”

He shook his head.

“Thanks,” I said, heading toward the overpass.

“No one is over there. Everyone who took shelter at the overpass is either at the hospital or the Red Cross tent.”

I slowly turned around, frustrated.

“You really need to get that cleaned out and sewn up, sir. And we still have weather coming in. Let me give you a ride to the hospital.”

I looked around and then nodded. “Thanks.”

“What’s your name?” He closed the back doors and then knocked one door with the side of his fist twice.