Chapter 5 - THE VOICE THAT SHOULDN'T EXIST
Z
For six years, I had dreamed about Daniel's final words.
Sometimes he told me to run.
Sometimes he asked for help.
Sometimes he said nothing at all.
But every dream ended with the same sound.
An explosion.
Then silence.
Now Samuel Reed was telling me that a voice from that night had been transmitted live near the Maine coast.
I wanted to believe it was impossible.
I wanted to believe someone had misunderstood the recording.
Mostly, I wanted to go back to the quiet nurse I'd been twelve hours earlier.
The one nobody noticed.
The one who could finish a shift, drive home, and lock the memories away.
But that woman had disappeared when Holloway said my call sign.
And I couldn't make her come back.
The investigators obtained the recordings through proper channels.
I was permitted to listen to selected material relevant to identifying the transmission.
Jonah sat across from me.
Holloway stood beside the door.
The audio began with static.
Then a mechanical click.
Then a voice.
“Evacuation priority changed. Medical station remains on hold.”
I closed my eyes.
I knew that voice.
Not Daniel's.
Major Conrad Sloane.
The officer responsible for logistics coordination during the Kestrel mission.
He had retired two years after the disaster.
According to the official report, he had not been directly involved in evacuation decisions that night.
Yet there was his voice.
Clear.
Calm.
Authoritative.
Jonah paused the recording.
“Are you certain of the identification?”
“I recognize it. But it needs independent verification.”
He nodded.
“Agreed.”
Holloway looked down.
His hands were trembling.
For years, he'd believed the evacuation delays resulted from equipment failure.
Now the recording suggested an intentional command decision.
Not necessarily a crime.
But a decision that had never appeared in the official account.
Jonah continued playback.
A second voice spoke.
Daniel.
My brother.
“Negative. We have critical casualties. We cannot maintain position.”
I covered my mouth.
Six years.
Six years since I'd heard him speak.
His voice sounded exactly as I remembered.
Impatient.
Clear.
Alive.
The recording continued.
Sloane answered.
“Hold evacuation. Priority cargo transfer in progress.”
Daniel's voice sharpened.
“What cargo?”
Static.
Then a third voice.
“Medical team must remain until transfer is complete.”
The recording ended.
I stared at the table.
Priority cargo.
The words meant nothing by themselves.
But I remembered the aircraft.
The one that should have arrived.
The one that never came.
Jonah asked whether I wanted a break.
I nodded.
He walked with me into the hallway.
We stood beside a vending machine that hummed like a tired refrigerator.
For a while, neither spoke.
Then he said, “My sister died in a mountain rescue accident eleven years ago.”
I looked up.
“I'm sorry.”
He nodded.
“I spent a long time looking for someone to blame.”
“Did you find anyone?”
“No.”
He looked toward the corridor.
“There were mistakes. There was bad weather. There were decisions people wished they'd made differently.”
I studied him.
“Does knowing that help?”
“Some days.”
“And the other days?”
He smiled sadly.
“I go to work and try to make the next decision well.”
I looked down at my scarred arm.
“That sounds exhausting.”
“It can be.”
He turned toward me.
“But it doesn't mean we have to do it alone.”
For a moment, I couldn't speak.
Then I asked, “Why are you telling me this?”
Jonah considered.
“Because everybody keeps calling you Angel Six, and I think somebody should remember you're Annie.”
My eyes filled.
I looked away.
“Thank you.”
He nodded.
“You're welcome.”
By morning, the search team had located three more survivors.
Two had minor injuries.
One was seriously ill from exposure and required urgent treatment.
The remaining two members of the recovery group were unaccounted for.
The weather was improving.
But the search area remained difficult.
At Pine Harbor, the staff worked without rest.
Linda coordinated patient flow.
Danny managed supply deliveries.
Commander Hail arranged additional clinical support.
Teague stayed on duty long past his scheduled shift.
For once, he didn't complain.
At seven in the morning, I found him sitting alone in the staff room.
He looked up.
“Keller.”
“Doctor.”
He hesitated.
Then said, “I owe you an apology.”
I remained by the door.
He rubbed his face.
“I was cruel.”
I said nothing.
“I called you names. I made the others laugh. I treated you like you were incompetent because you didn't behave the way I expected.”
I looked at him.
“Yes.”
He swallowed.
“I was wrong.”
The room was quiet.
I studied his face.
He seemed sincere.
But sincerity wasn't the same as change.
“Thank you for acknowledging it.”
He nodded.
“I'd like to make things right.”
“Then stop doing it to anyone else.”
He looked up.
I continued.
“Not just me. Danny. The new corpsmen. Anyone who seems nervous or doesn't know how to challenge you.”
Teague lowered his eyes.
“You're right.”
I nodded.
Then left.
I wasn't ready to forgive him.
But I was ready to stop measuring my worth by his opinion.
That afternoon, the investigators identified the source equipment used to rebroadcast the Kestrel recording.
It had been installed aboard the research vessel before the explosion.
The installation appeared deliberate.
Someone had wanted the recovery team to hear the transmission.
Someone had also attached a message requesting Angel Six.
I stared at the report.
“Why me?”
Holloway looked exhausted.
“We don't know.”
Then his phone rang.
He listened.
His expression changed.
“What happened?” I asked.
He lowered the phone.
“Major Sloane's attorney just contacted investigators.”
I felt my heart race.
“Why?”
Holloway swallowed.
“Sloane says he wants to give a statement.”
I stared.
Then Ray added, “But he insists the order didn't originate with him.”
Outside, the rain finally stopped.
And the question that had haunted me for six years changed.
May you like
It was no longer simply why Daniel had died.
It was who had decided that something else mattered more than the people he was trying to save.
