Russell looked toward the map.
Then checked the emergency message.
The route currently being considered wasn't the quarry road.
But he made a note and passed the warning along for verification.
I felt relieved.
Grandpa would have done the same.
Not because I knew everything about the road.
But because I knew enough to suggest that a responsible adult check before sending heavy equipment toward it.
Behind us, Danner shifted impatiently.
“How much longer before somebody gets that bus?”
Russell lowered the microphone.
“We're waiting for confirmation from the responders.”
Danner stepped closer.
“Can't you tell them to hurry?”
Russell stared at him.
For a moment, I thought he might laugh.
He didn't.
He simply said, “They're doing the best they can with the information available.”
Danner looked away.
The irony was almost unbearable.
An hour earlier, he'd mocked the idea that the old pipe required careful operation.
Now he was standing inside the equipment shed, impatiently waiting for the radio it supported to carry news about a school bus.
The man who claimed nobody cared what my grandfather thought had become dependent on something Grandpa understood better than he did.
But I didn't say anything.
I remembered Grandpa's advice.
Being right doesn't excuse treating other people badly.
And besides, the children on the bus mattered more than my anger.
Aunt June arrived twenty minutes after the first radio contact.
She came through the equipment shed door wearing dark green clinic scrubs beneath a heavy winter coat, her hair escaping from the bun she usually wore at work.
She was breathing hard.
The moment she saw me, she crossed the room.
“Owen!”
I barely had time to answer before she wrapped her arms around me.
“Are you hurt?”
“No.”
She pulled back and checked my face.
“Are you sure?”
I nodded.
“I'm okay.”
Her eyes moved toward the county officials.
Then toward the radio.
“What happened?”
Russell began explaining.
He described the power outage, the school bus, the failure of the primary communications equipment, and the emergency messages being passed through the backup relay.
Aunt June listened carefully.
She knew the station.
Grandpa had shown her the equipment, and she'd participated in several emergency preparedness demonstrations over the years.
She wasn't a radio technician.
But she understood the purpose of the system and the importance of keeping trained operators in charge.
When Russell finished, she looked toward Danner.
“Why were you here?”
Danner straightened.
“County infrastructure inspection.”
Her eyes narrowed.
“Without an appointment?”
“We issued notice.”