The battery could have been completely dead. The device could have been damaged by years in storage. Even if it turned on, there was no guarantee I could connect to a satellite from inside the house.
I pressed the power button.
Nothing happened.
My heart sank.
Then the screen flickered.
A dim logo appeared.
I almost cried from relief.
I carried the phone to a bedroom window where I had a clearer view of the sky. After several tense seconds, a signal indicator appeared.
The immediate relief was followed by another question.
Who could I call?
I considered calling Sarah, but she was on the other side of the country. Even if she immediately believed me—and I knew she would—it would take hours for her to contact the right local authorities. Michael might overhear enough of my conversation to realize what I was doing. He would have time to move the truck, invent a story, or claim that I was confused.
