Free Search and Rescue by Gail Anderson-Dargatz

ONE
    I felt that familiar ache in my stomach as I drove to my date. I knew something was wrong. More than that, I knew I had to head down Pine Road.
    The restaurant where my date Trevor waited for me was in the other direction, on Lakeshore. Still, I followed my instincts and turned right. Like it or not, my mother had taught me to take that gut feeling seriously. I was glad I did. When I drove into that quiet suburb, I saw a car burning. The hood was up, and flames burst from the engine.
    A young guy stood several yards away, staring at the fire, scratching his head. His eyes were red, like he was about to cry. That beater on fire was likely his first car.
    I pulled over and opened my car door. “You okay?” I called across the road.
    â€œI guess,” he said. “My car is trashed though.”
    I got out of my Honda Civic, embarrassed that I showed too much leg. I was dressed for my date, not work. My red skirt was short, cut well above my knees. My high heels made my legs seem even longer.
    The kid paused to take me in as I stood. Then he recognized me. “Hey, you’re that reporter. You took pictures of my soccer team at the high school this fall.”
    â€œThat’s me,” I said. I hunt down stories for our weekly newspaper, the Black Lake Times . Today was supposed to be my day off, but here was news.
    â€œShit,” the guy said. “Just my luck. Bad enough this happens. Now everybody will know about it.”
    He was right. A photo of this car on fire would make the front page.
    I grabbed my camera and notepad. Then I slipped on my coat as I walked toward the burning car. We were well into November, and the evening air was cold.
    The kid didn’t wear a jacket, just jeans and a T-shirt. He shivered. I held out my hand to shake his. “I’m Claire Abbott.”
    â€œI know,” he said. He wouldn’t take my hand. “I see your name in the paper all the time.”
    I clicked my pen and got ready to jot down his name. “And you are?”
    â€œYou can get my name from the cops.”
    I shrugged off his rude behavior. People often snubbed me. A person in an accident didn’t want his photo in the paper. I understood, but this was my job. I had to fill the newspaper every week. In a town as small as Black Lake, that was tough.
    I aimed my camera and took a shot of the guy’s burning car. “Have you phoned for a fire truck?” I asked him.
    â€œOf course I have,” he said. “You think I’m stupid?” He held up his cell phone. “They’re on the way.”
    â€œIf you need anything—”
    The teen turned his back on me, not letting me finish.
    I waited for the fire truck by my car. I knew I’d get a better photo when the firefighters arrived. I didn’t have to wait long. Within minutes, the fire truck wailed down the street and stopped behind the burning car.
    The fire chief, Jim Wallis, jumped out. His team of volunteer firefighters followed, all of them wearing their gear. They hooked the truck hoses to the nearest hydrant. With that water, they quickly put out the fire. I got my front-page shot of the firefighters hosing down the flames.
    Once the men had the fire under control, the chief crossed the road to see me.
    â€œSo Radar strikes again, eh?” Jim asked. “You always have to be the first at a fire, don’t you, Claire? You’re making the fire department look bad, you know.”
    Jim called me Radar after that character on the old TV show M*A*S*H . Radar was the kid with the teddy bear. He knew what was happening before anyone else did. Like Radar, I was often the first on the scene when someone was in trouble.
    Jim shook his head and chuckled. “You’re just like your mother.”
    I cringed. My mother was convinced she was a “remote viewer.” She thought she could see with her mind events that were happening far away. Mom often called up the police with