As number two rubbed his gritty eyes and cussed in his mind while driving his SUV back home, he felt the grueling effort of working in this kind of weather. It took a lot out of him, even though he had taken pretty short gigs. But with the weather lousy across a wide area, driving a heavy two-trailer semi with a tight time window was not easy.
His muscles ached, and he yearned to get back home, eat like a pig, and crash in bed. He idly pondered taking Mimi next to him, as she would be exhausted too. Yeah, despite her being heavily pregnant, having her next to him all night long was something that made his soul sing.
Heavy snowfall showed no indication of stopping anytime soon, and number two knew the yard was most likely pretty damn snowy. He cussed under his breath, "Fucking hell, damn savings," as the light poles were lit farther apart, meaning every other one was shut down, and those that were on seemed kind of weak.
Maybe it was the weather, or maybe there were some damn energy-saving bulbs that did not light up enough, but saved money. He swore to himself to enjoy life once this was over: no more need to work or think about how to spend every damn penny, no more calculations about how much he had to work or what to buy from the shop.
As he drove on, something lit up the road ahead, and there was a slight rise, so once he got on it, he would see what was going on. The road was oddly quiet; not many cars had come across, if any, and he was driving home at 7 pm. As he finally reached the apex of the slight rise, he saw a flock of emergency vehicles, barricades, and signs for a detour.
"Great, goddamn it, what damn path this will be then," he muttered as he turned onto the detour and started driving down the utterly dark road, which had been plowed at some point, but there was still snow on the ground.
His speed was very moderate, as he had never driven this route, and, in the darkness, he had no idea how the road bent, even with strong lights in his car. The weather certainly did not make it any easier.
After an extra thirty minutes of driving, he finally reached the main road and continued his journey home. He was incredibly tired and irritable, but the thought of a hot meal, a decent coffee, and a change of clothes soon at home offered some comfort. Perhaps he'd even have a shot of bourbon, or maybe blood – he wasn't entirely sure.
He had little desire to return to work, especially with a free weekend and potentially the entire next week ahead, unless unforeseen sick cases arose. Drivers sometimes call in "sick" after a weekend of drinking and partying.
However, the company had a dim view of such behavior, and those drivers were often laid off fairly quickly if a pattern emerged. Some left vowing revenge, while others were confident they'd find employment with less stringent companies, as such alternatives did exist.
For Salvatore, however, the company had always been quite discerning about the jobs they took and the type of company they partnered with. They prioritized responsibility, adherence to all regulations and laws, and refused any shortcuts, even if it meant a larger paycheck. They upheld their own morals and standards.
Furthermore, some of the shadier companies were known to transport borderline illegal cargo or fail to notify the proper authorities. For example, some companies transported waste chemicals in old tanks, risking leakage, with inexperienced drivers.
Occasionally, these trucks ended up in ditches or spilled hazardous chemicals, necessitating extensive cleanup efforts to protect both nature and people. Therefore, such operations were out of the question.
His current company, conversely, paid well and ensured drivers took adequate breaks, didn't drive for excessively long periods, and didn't endure too many consecutive hard shifts. As he finally pulled into the driveway, he found it completely blocked by snow.
With a sigh, he realized he wasn't in the mood for shoveling. Instead, he focused, cast a spell, and with a surge of energy, cleared a path to the garage. He drove his car inside and shut off the engine.
"Damn, it felt good to be home," he thought.
He got out of the car, grabbed his lunchbox and jacket, and walked towards the door leading into the house.
He took the elevator, not bothering to tell anyone that he was home yet. As he finally got out, he walked into the wing. It was empty, and there were no sounds from the kids. This was weird, but then again, the weather was really lousy, and Number Two knew just how long it might take to get the kids ready, listen to those reports, and then drive back home.
He flicked the lights on and left his lunchbox on one of the shelves. Number Four hadn't come in yet, nor had Wulfe, because their boxes weren't on the shelf. It was no wonder, considering everything. Number Two wasn't sure if Wulfe could even make it, given his flight.
As he took out one of his meals and dug in, sipping hot coffee, drinking ice-cold Coke, and eating thick steaks, he felt a strain in his muscles. Next up was a shower, and then he might crash, not bothering to wait for the baby or the kids. He ate with gusto, devouring plate after plate until he felt nice and full and quite tired as well. It was time to hit the showers and then maybe go to sleep.
Working for money was no easy feat, and Number Two realized, as he started to reminisce about old times, that he had never done much very physical work. He had been a doctor or an assassin or an interrogator, but not a driver, a builder, or any job that would require this much physical effort.
Despite him being quite fit, there were a ton of muscles that protested. After a long drive and being so focused all the time, it took its toll as well. Driving a truck was not as easy as one might think, especially in weather like this.
As he put his dishes in the machine and walked to one of the bedrooms, a shower seemed like a pretty damn good idea. He was bone-tired, and sleep was in the cards as well. He took his sweaty clothes off and went to shower, enjoying it as the hot water ran over his tired body and sore muscles.
Number four arrived home and noticed that the yard had been cleared at some point; it was nearly 8 p.m., and he was hungry and tired, and he couldn't wait to see the kids and spend some time with the baby.
As he trudged to the house and into the wing, he was surprised when number two entered the kitchen, his hair wet, and he furrowed his brow. "Oh, I thought you were Baby."
Number four felt something unsettling in his heart, his expression sharpened, and he said, "What do you mean? Isn't she home yet? It's 8 p.m.; she's never been this late. "
Number two was silent, reaching with his telepathy to his wife, but there was no response. It felt nasty. He put a little more oomph into it, and he could barely sense her; she was alive, barely. What the fuck?
"I can barely feel her; what has happened?" he muttered and continued, "There was an accident on the road from Roseau to here, one they would have taken...."
Number four said, "You don't think so, but no one has informed anything."
Number two approached number one and said, "Hey, have you heard anything from Mimi, Mariella, or the kids? They aren't here, and we can't reach them; I can barely sense them."
He kept a sliver of hope in his heart that Mimi was doing something with crystals or hiding herself from him, but dread was building in his heart. Number one teleported into the kitchen, looking tired.
"No, I haven't. What's going on?" His voice was strained, and he tried to reach Mimi through their special bond, but he could barely feel her.
"There was an accident on the way home," number two explained quietly.
After 30 minutes, Damon called the police, who confirmed the accident but said there was no sign of Mimi or their car. Men were bursting at the seams; it was time to act. Number four went to Medbay and began packing several sports bags full of supplies, while Number one went to retrieve that special drone, which they would use to map the area and locate their family.
Number One told the others, "You stay put; we three will go there and check things out, and we'll keep you updated."
He was worried about the brutal weather and the fact that first responders had spent three hours clearing a mile-long strip full of cars and victims. Despite this, he steeled his heart and pulled on his gear, grabbing one of the bags and the drone. He was trying to keep his medical mind on, be logical, and make the right decisions about who would be there. He was reverting to his old habits, worshipping Maria and forgetting about Mimí.
They packed into the car and began driving in silence; Wulfe's flight had been delayed, and he would return home tomorrow, but he had promised that if Mimi and the kids arrived in Minneapolis, he would go straight there. He had been very concerned when he had a difficult time feeling or sensing Mimi.
The atmosphere in the car was somber, and they had a full bag of medical supplies, a few tanks of bump and centrifuge liquid, and a good collection of dental supplies, but number four was in medical mode and knew how to prioritize, not allowing Number One to use everything on Mariella or her children if they were not the most injured.
They had done one small thing at a time when Number One was having one of his crises, and Number Two knew that this was the real situation, so Mimi was out of the game. What had they done? They had made a potion for protector's insurance, which was Mimi and Wulfe's idea. This means that if the protector is unable to fulfill their duties, the potion will transfer them to other pack members.
And Salvatores had insisted that Mimi delegate their protector duties to numbers two, four, and five in the event of an emergency, implying that those three Salvatores were now on possession of Salvatores ' radar and number two could easily see each of their situations.
They had not told number one because it had not occurred to them, and secondly, this was insurance; if number one had radars as well, he might twist them or use them to ensure salvatores cared for Mariella. He may also overexert himself, such as with his healing capacity.
The drive took 45 minutes until they arrived at the accident site, which was still full of emergency vehicles, and police were directing traffic. As men exited the car, number one approached Ben. Sheila's son.
Number one said to Ben, "We believe Mimi and Mariella are somewhere here, so we have a special drone to find them. We will start at the other end and see if we can locate them."
The police nodded and said, "Be my guest. It is over a two-mile radius, as one damn university guy conned himself into truck-driving gigs, used drugs while driving, and had no idea how to drive a truck. He plowed through traffic over a two-mile distance as his trailer went out of whack and slammed into cars."
Number Two clenched his jaw. That was a big-ass truck, and it had been hitting their car. His analytical mind began to compile what could have happened: the semi was in the other lane, and its trailer had begun to swing and swerve. Now, his mind spun through different scenarios quickly, and his ice-cold eyes zeroed in on the ravine.
"Have you checked the ditch?" He inquired, and the police officer replied, "Well, we are starting here, and we got that way; we check one part at a time, so it takes time."
Number one was already digging with the drone, and he turned it on.
Number four said, "Let's start the other end, put 20% of its check in the ditch, and do a thermal sweep. We are so warm, despite the weather; it should pick up something."
Number one programmed the drone, and the machine rose to a certain height before dispersing into about 50 pieces.
One of the nearby firemen commented, "Nice; we could use one of those. Where did you get it?"
Number One watched the feed intently. "A friend made it; it is a custom piece. He gave it to us to be tested."
All three men were huddled with their eyes fixed on the screen, hoping and fearing to find them.