The Call
"Back?" Callum's laugh had no humor in it. "You people blacklisted me, Foster. Every firm within four hundred miles got a call about me. You made sure of that."
"I know. I know what we did." Foster's voice cracked. "There are people under that platform, Callum. We don't know how many yet."
Callum closed his eyes. Somewhere behind him, a stretcher wheel squealed against asphalt.
"I told Bram Halsey in this exact spot that bracket seven-B would fail under sustained load within a decade. That was seven years ago."
"I know."
"You signed the inspection that said I was wrong."
Silence stretched long enough that Callum thought the call had dropped.
"I signed what I was told to sign," Foster said finally. "Please. The board's authorizing emergency consulting pay, whatever you want, just come look at the site before anyone else touches it."
"Get someone else."
"There is no one else who's seen bracket seven-B's original corrosion data. You are the only person alive who ran those numbers by hand."
Callum hung up.
He stood there a long moment, watching a fire crew maneuver a torch up toward the twisted support arm, sparks scattering into the dark like something almost pretty.
His phone rang again. Naomi this time.
"Cal." Her voice had the flat, controlled tone she used at the hospital, the one that meant she was holding something back. "Where are you?"
"Route Nine. There was a collapse. I saw it on the scanner—"
"Cal." She cut him off, and now he heard it, the tremor underneath the calm. "Junie's class field trip was today. Riverside Elementary. Their pickup point was the Route Nine platform at seven p.m."
The world went very quiet.
"She should've been home two hours ago," Naomi said. "The school isn't answering. Nobody's answering."