Amy Duncan had exactly thirteen minutes left before her life changed forever.

Of course, she didn't know that. She only knew that her life was just too busy some days, and today was definitely turning into one of those days. The day had started out with a bang when the three-year-old woke up in a temper, the twelve year-old dropped a bombshell about baseball practice that afternoon, and the sixteen year-old argued with everyone because of her new falling-out with her boyfriend. Then the eighteen year-old's car wouldn't start, forcing Amy and her husband Bob to both be late for work after driving all four kids to their various schools and daycare. Work had been a nightmare of understaffing and a high patient census in the Emergency Room where she was a nurse. And now . . .

Now, she was pulling into her own driveway with the full and certain knowledge that she wouldn't be getting out of her mini-van any time soon. She leaned on the horn and was rewarded with the sight of her youngest son running out down the driveway with his gear bag in one hand and a half-eaten Sloppy Joe in the other.

Thank goodness for the slow-cooker, she thought. At least Bob and the kids would get dinner.

Gabe threw his gear bag in the back seat and climbed in front beside her. The Sloppy Joe had vanished, but his bulging cheeks gave evidence that it wasn't completely gone yet.

"There's this thing called chewing," she scolded. "You should try it."

He grinned and held up both free hands before grabbing at the seatbelt and buckling himself in.

Amy understood that to mean "but now I have both hands free to buckle up". She shook her head, smiling.

Gabe gulped down the rest of his supper. "Safety first. Right, Mom?"

"Sure," she chuckled.

Eleven minutes left.

"Are you sure practice hasn't been cancelled?" she asked. "There's a nasty storm coming. Looks like it could hit any minute."

"Nope, no calls from the coach."

"You know you're going to get wet," Amy said, as the first fat raindrops hit the windshield. She frowned. Powerful spring storms were nothing new to a woman who had lived here in the Rocky Mountains her entire life. But being familiar with the storms didn't mean she liked being out in them. She glanced in the rearview mirror and watched the trees whip back and forth in the sudden wind.

"Gabe, turn on the radio, please. I want to hear if there are any weather warnings or watches."

He complied. The van was filled with a blast of classic rock at full volume.

"Really, Mom? And you yell at us to turn our music down?"

"Hey, it's a law: Lynyrd Skynyrd must be played at full volume at all times. Just pop the CD and find a radio station."

Eight minutes.

A moment later, she was reassured that they were under a severe thunderstorm warning, but no tornado watch. She didn't need the National Weather Service to tell her that she was driving through a severe thunderstorm. No, she figured that out from the gale-force winds and a sky that had suddenly gone dark at 6:30 p.m. "Gabe, Honey, I think we're going to turn around," she decided. "There's no way you'll have practice tonight in this weather."

"But, Mom—"

"But nothing, Mister. Can you imagine standing in the middle of the baseball field with an aluminum bat in your hand during a thunderstorm?"

"Gabe Duncan, Human Lightening Rod?"

Three minutes.

Amy nodded. "If Coach Goodwin gets mad, he can argue with me." She slowed the vehicle and started looking for a place to turn around. It was a lovely, tree-lined street with few houses. Normally, she enjoyed the beautiful mix of maple, oak and pine trees and the peaceful feeling she got whenever she drove through here, but tonight she found herself wishing for a few less trees and a few more strategically-placed driveways.

Lightning tore through the sky, blinding her for a second.

"This is bad, isn't it?" Gabe asked in a hushed voice.

"I've driven in worse," Amy told him, risking a glance in his direction. She tried to sound calm, but she was definitely nervous about any storm that managed to blow up so quickly. She turned the wipers on high and hunched forward, trying to see. Forget about a place to turn around; they needed a place to pull over and stop. NOW.

She and Gabe both heard the crack at the same time. Up against the night-like sky, she saw the splintered trunk of one of the trees –maple, she thought crazily –as the top part of the tree snapped off and plunged toward her vehicle.

"No, no, no . . . " Amy heard her own voice ring out, mingling with her child's scream. For a split second, she wondered whether to slam on the brake or to floor the gas pedal and try to shoot through the gap. Then instinct took over and she was stomping on the brake, gripping the steering wheel with all her might and willing the van to stopstopstopSTOP—

Sharp, stinging pain spread across the top of her head. Her face was suddenly wet with cool rain and warm blood as her entire world shrank to include nothing but leaves and bark and glass and the raging storm outside – which was no longer outside but was now somehow inside and her head hurt and there was blood all over her right hand and why couldn't she turn her head or move at all and why was her baby boy keening endlessly in a high-pitched wordless wail?

Breathe.

Amy drew a long, shaking breath and told herself to be calm. "Gabe, settle down!" she snapped. "I need you to talk to me, Baby. Are you hurt?"

"I don't know!"

"Okay, okay. Okay." He was answering her. That was good. He was conscious and able to process what she was saying.

He was alive.

Thank you, Jesus. From out of the blue, Amy suddenly thought of her father's favorite saying: There are no atheists in foxholes.

She could move her right arm a little bit. Her fingers closed around the straps of her purse where it lay on the floor between the seats. Her cell phone was in there somewhere.

"Hey! Are you all right in there?" Someone was peering in the window at her through the tangle of tree and twisted metal. "I've called 9-1-1."

Out of the corner of her eye, Amy could see a young, earnest-looking face surrounded by wet, dark hair. Thunder boomed.

"I'm all right," she told him. "My son is hurt. Please get him out."

"Yes, Ma'am." The face disappeared. There was movement on the other side of the van.

"Okay, I'm going to pull you out the backseat window," Their rescuer said. "I've got you; can you push up with your feet?"

"But my Mom—"

"I'm not hurt, Gabe," Amy said hastily. "I'm just stuck. Let him get you out of here before this storm gets worse. I'll be fine."

Still unable to turn her head, she could barely see her son's feet moving upward as the stranger guided him upward and out. Soon, the earnest young rescuer was back at her window. "Your turn," he said . "I'm going to pull you out the same way I got your son out,"

"No." If she could have moved, she would have shaken her head for emphasis. "Where's Gabe?"

"I put him in my truck. He's safe."

"No, he's not. This storm could blow another tree over, or you could be struck by lightening, or it might even become a tornado. Please, just get him somewhere safe."

"I'm not leaving you here!"

"Please." Amy hated the begging tone of her voice. "Listen to me," she pleaded. "I am not hurt, I'm not crazy. I'm a Mom, and my kids are the most important part of my life. Please, keep him safe."

"But—"

"What would your mother want if it was her stuck here and you sitting out there in a stranger's truck?"

Silence. Then, "I'll be back. I swear."

Amy breathed a deep sigh of relief. She was alone and terrified, but her son was on his way to safety. Her other kids were home safe with their father, and help was on its way. She wasn't badly hurt –

Then the pain hit, and it hit hard.

Amy Duncan screamed in agony as it rippled through the base of her neck, almost between her shoulders. Oh, God. This was bad, she realized.

Really bad.

******GLC******

Just to clarify, this story takes place before the announcement of Baby #5. It's going to be longer and a lot darker than most of my other stories, and it's a very personal story for a whole lot of reasons. I appreciate any reviews and suggestions.

This is dedicated to EMS workers everywhere who put themselves on the line every day, and especially to my own Knight in Shining Turnout Gear. Love you, Ken.