The Lost and Found

Chapter 1 - A Snow Storm in July

Temperatures were below normal for this time of year. It had started out a routine day in the unbearable heat of the July holiday, only to yield to a sudden dip in degrees around 5 p.m. The wind had been aroused and brought with it a freak snowstorm that would silence the typical fireworks displays and send travelers off the roadways in record numbers. The volunteer fire department, ambulances and police vehicles sounded their sirens in unison as they scurried to the worst of the accidents as quickly as they could in the white-out conditions without becoming victims themselves.

Philip Greentree had lived here his entire life. As a volunteer firefighter in the area for nearly thirty years, to his recollection he had never experienced a blizzard in July. Truth be told, he hadn't remembered experiencing a blizzard like this in any season. Snow, yes—on rare occasions—but never a blizzard. He prayed to God for the safety of the travelers he was headed to rescue. He prayed for wisdom and guidance. He prayed for the driver of the fire truck, that he would make it to the scene safely. He prayed for the snow to stop. He prayed for God to keep his eyes open. A flash of light caught his eye. "Stop the truck!" he yelled. "There's a car upside down right there."

The driver, Don, protested, "But that's not our call, Phil." He began to slow the truck while reminding Phil of the 12-car pileup that was waiting for them on the freeway.

"Just stop, Don. Let the other trucks handle the pileup for now. This one is alone and getting buried in the snow."

"Jeez, this snow," Don said, putting the truck in park. "Ever see anything like it?"

"I see flames! Come on boys, let's get this guy out of the car quickly, before the whole thing goes up!" Philip beat on the side of the truck to get the attention of the guys in the back. The next few minutes blurred by as they descended upon the burning car. The taillights told them it was a Mustang. The damage written in the mangled metal told them the driver was probably dead. The stereo was still blaring Toby Mac's latest release as they worked frantically to remove the car's only occupant.

Phil barked orders and Don doused the flames with retardant, while two others carried the stretcher to the scene. "Oh, dear God, it's Johnny!" Phil cried. "Get over here with that thing!"

"We gotta hurry, guys—the car's gonna go up any second!" Don hollered. "We ain't got time to be pussy-footin' around."

"I got him out!" Phil yelled back. "Let's get him to the truck! NOW people!"

The men strapped Johnny to the stretcher and hurried up the bank to the roadway. They laid him on the pavement and shielded his body with theirs just as the fuel tank blew pieces of the Mustang in every direction. Phil sent the others back to the car to put the fire out while he and Don proceeded to work on their patient.

"Come on, Johnny," Phil whispered. "Don't you be dead. You hear me? Stay with us."

"I got a pulse, Phil. It's weak, but it's there and steady," Don said.

"That's it, boy, stay with us. We'll get help coming; just hang on with me, okay?" Phil pleaded. He spoke into the radio, demanding an ambulance to his location. He turned his head to hide his tears from his friend.

Then, the gravely injured man whispered, almost inaudibly, "It's...time."

"He said something, Phil. I couldn't make it out, but I swear he said something!"

Phil turned to see the blood-encrusted lips barely moving. He leaned in to hear. "Come on, Johnny. You saying something to me?"

"It's—" he labored through the pain "—time."

"What does that mean, Johnny? Don't you die on me here! Don't you break my baby's heart like that! You hear me? Stay with me, son!! Damn it, stay with me! Good God, Don; where the hell is that ambulance?!?"

The snow began to taper off as the blaring sirens could be heard in the distance.