Evan braked. The tow truck's rear wheels found loose gravel, slid toward the shoulder, and caught again. He kept the wheel straight until the truck settled, then engaged the amber recovery lights and scanned both mirrors before reversing along the shoulder to a safer position. He could not see a pedestrian clearly from inside the cab, but he could see how near the floodwater came to the white line.
He took a flashlight and the reflective emergency blanket from the rear compartment. The moment he opened his door, rain struck his face like thrown gravel. He pulled the hood up over his head and moved slowly toward the figure.
"Hey," he called. "Stay away from the road. I'm coming to you."
The figure turned, and the flashlight found a girl with pale hair stuck to her cheeks, no shoes, and a dress almost transparent with rain. She held her arms close to her ribs as though something inside her might break if she let go. Her feet were red from the stones. Evan stopped several paces away, lowered the flashlight so it would not shine in her eyes, and showed both hands.
"I'm Evan. I fix cars. I'm not going to grab you." He waited for any sign that she understood. "Are you hurt?"
She shook her head once. Then, after a moment, she whispered, "I'm cold."
He unfolded the blanket and offered one corner. "I believe you. Here, this helps a little. Can you put it around your shoulders?"
She took it with stiff fingers. He wanted to wrap it around her himself, but he remembered Natalie's advice about frightened children: tell them what you are doing and let them control what they can. When the blanket slipped, he asked permission before adjusting it.
"Where's your family?" he asked.
She looked past him toward a narrow access road where the pavement ended beneath an overgrown line of trees. "Mommy said stay in the car."
Evan followed her gaze. The road looked empty. A ditch separated it from the highway, and water flowed through the culvert with a force he did not like. Fresh tire tracks cut across the muddy entrance, but there was no vehicle where the tracks ended in darkness.
"Was there an accident?"
"I don't know. The gray car stopped."
"Did your mom get out?"
Her eyes filled. "A man took me out. He said she went for help."
For a moment Evan forgot the rain on his face. He looked across the road, toward the trees, then back at the girl. She was shivering so badly that the edges of the foil blanket made a thin crackling sound.
"Do you know that man?"
She hesitated. "Maybe."
He did not press her. He dialed 911 and gave the nearest mile marker, the direction of travel, the flooding, and the child's condition. The dispatcher asked him to repeat the location twice because the storm interfered with the line.
"We have a child around ten years old, barefoot and soaked through," Evan said. "She says a man put her out of a gray car. I don't see the car."