Wild Heat
Page 56
“Oh no, I've seen you before. Six months ago, actually.”
Maya's heart pounded hard. “Are you sure about that?”
Jenny's mouth twisted. “I've never been more sure of anything.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
LOGAN RAN up the trail at a fierce pace, his lungs burning, sweat pouring into his eyes and down his chest. Smoke and ash fell from the sky, blanketing his clothes and skin in a dark, sooty layer of burned-up brush.
On the run from his house, with Maya following bravely behind him, he'd noted the astonishing growth of the wildfire. There must have been a thousand acres between these trails and the original burning point, and yet they were close enough now, he could see new smoke columns rising.
The fire was moving closer with every minute that ticked by. Time was not on his side. He didn't have the leisure of running every trail split to locate Joseph. He had to guess right the first time and pray he wasn't already too late.
It was not yet noon, and the wind had picked up speed, blowing more powerfully than usual for midday. Another strike against Joseph, against each and every one of the hotshots on this mountain working to put the wildfire out. If the winds kept up, they would send the flames straight into town, which was crammed full of tourists for the summer. Wildfire always looked for a way down to the flatlands, to the houses and cars and campgrounds, which were full of fuel. With only two main highways snaking out of town, the enormous traffic jams would make casualties inevitable.
Hitting a Y in the trail, Logan made a split-second decision to take the right fork north, even though Joseph tended to favor the other direction when hiking. If Joseph had suited up, it was because he intended to fight the fire. This trail would lead directly to it.
A quarter mile later, a fire whirl lifted off the hillside below him. Logan jumped back against a rock and watched the fire and ash rush up the hillside.
Barely breaking stride at the close call, he continued up the trail until he saw that the small meadow up ahead was burning. Without gear—without even so much as a fire shelter clamped onto his belt—he couldn't go much farther. He prayed that Joseph had realized the trouble and was turning back as well.
A familiar sound buzzed through the sound of crackling flames. Moving closer to the fire, he scanned the area for a sign of life.
A bright yellow body moved in front of the orange wall of flames and Logan shouted, “Joseph,” only once, knowing better than to waste any more breath trying to be heard over the imploding gases.
Without any protective gear, it was borderline crazy for Logan to go in and pull Joseph out. But had their positions been reversed, he was certain that Joseph would have risked his life in the same way.
Logan sprinted off-trail, making a beeline for the man to whom he owed his life. His debt would never be repaid, not even if he got Joseph off the mountain today in one piece.
Fully intent on wielding his chainsaw, Joseph didn't notice when Logan ran up behind him. Knowing better than to tap on the arm a man holding heavy, deadly machinery, Logan picked up a rock and threw it at Joseph's leg.
Joseph's head whipped around, his mask covered in black ash, and seconds later he'd moved far enough away from the flames to put down his chainsaw and flip up his mask.
“Logan, what the hell are you doing out here? This fire's a killer. It's no place for a kid. Get back to the cabin.”
Logan instantly understood that Joseph had traveled back to a time when he was lead hotshot and Logan was a teenage kid acting stupid. This wasn't the place to try to talk Joseph back to the present, not while a killer was on the loose.
First, Logan had to get him to safety. Then they'd work on putting the pieces together and figuring out what had happened today.
“You've got to follow me out of here, Joseph. Now. It's not safe.”
Joseph had never once backed down from a fire. He had the scars from second-degree burns to prove it. But Logan couldn't wait for his agreement. He moved behind Joseph and put his hands on his shoulders, scorching his palms on the heat of the thick fire-resistant fabric, pushing Joseph in the direction of the trail, off the meadow.
Joseph struggled over the rocky hillside under the weight of his gear.
“Give me your pack,” Logan said.
Joseph growled, “Like hell if I'm letting you carry my gear.”
The wind howled across the mountain, taking the smoke—and flames—with it. In an instant, Logan had Joseph's pack off and in the dirt. Squatting down, he reached in and pulled out the fire shelter, praying it wasn't too old to be useful.
Heat singed his shin and he grabbed Joseph in a bear hug and pushed him to the ground, struggling to deploy the shelter over both of them in the whipping wind, his feet to the fire, his boots jammed into the straps at the foot of the shelter. It took every bit of his strength to hold it down as flames and wind rushed over the aluminum and fiberglass tent.
Joseph's breathing was ragged beneath him, and Logan hoped he hadn't caused the man any broken bones or other injuries that would prolong their hike back to the cabin.
Logan had only deployed his shelter once before in all the years he'd been a hotshot. It wasn't something a guy wanted to repeat. The sensation of being micro-waved alive was even worse with two men under the silver aluminum and fiberglass cover. Radiant heat was one thing, but direct flames could burn right through to their skin.
Still, Logan knew damn well that the most likely cause of death for a firefighter was getting scared and throwing off a shelter.
He held fast to the hand-and-foot holds even as the temperature soared. The nickname “shake'n'bake” was well deserved.
And then, as quickly as they came, the flames rushed over and off them, the wind taking them up the hill. Logan held fast in case another fireball was about to roll across the trail. He lay over Joseph for several minutes, until he was certain the fire had jumped them for good.
Slowly, he pushed back the shelter, closing his eyes against the ash raining from the charred trees surrounding the meadow. He held out a hand to Joseph and pulled him up. In one glance, he could see Joseph's mental fog had cleared.
“What the hell just happened?”
“I'll tell you soon. Do you think you can run?”
Joseph looked at him like he'd lost his mind. “Of course I can.”
“Good. Head back down to the cabin as fast as you can. I'll follow behind.”
Joseph shot downhill through the meadow back to the trail at a pace that belied his years and mental wanderings. It was five minutes of good, hard running before Logan felt safe enough to slow their pace. Moving alongside Joseph, he put his hand on his arm.
Maya's heart pounded hard. “Are you sure about that?”
Jenny's mouth twisted. “I've never been more sure of anything.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
LOGAN RAN up the trail at a fierce pace, his lungs burning, sweat pouring into his eyes and down his chest. Smoke and ash fell from the sky, blanketing his clothes and skin in a dark, sooty layer of burned-up brush.
On the run from his house, with Maya following bravely behind him, he'd noted the astonishing growth of the wildfire. There must have been a thousand acres between these trails and the original burning point, and yet they were close enough now, he could see new smoke columns rising.
The fire was moving closer with every minute that ticked by. Time was not on his side. He didn't have the leisure of running every trail split to locate Joseph. He had to guess right the first time and pray he wasn't already too late.
It was not yet noon, and the wind had picked up speed, blowing more powerfully than usual for midday. Another strike against Joseph, against each and every one of the hotshots on this mountain working to put the wildfire out. If the winds kept up, they would send the flames straight into town, which was crammed full of tourists for the summer. Wildfire always looked for a way down to the flatlands, to the houses and cars and campgrounds, which were full of fuel. With only two main highways snaking out of town, the enormous traffic jams would make casualties inevitable.
Hitting a Y in the trail, Logan made a split-second decision to take the right fork north, even though Joseph tended to favor the other direction when hiking. If Joseph had suited up, it was because he intended to fight the fire. This trail would lead directly to it.
A quarter mile later, a fire whirl lifted off the hillside below him. Logan jumped back against a rock and watched the fire and ash rush up the hillside.
Barely breaking stride at the close call, he continued up the trail until he saw that the small meadow up ahead was burning. Without gear—without even so much as a fire shelter clamped onto his belt—he couldn't go much farther. He prayed that Joseph had realized the trouble and was turning back as well.
A familiar sound buzzed through the sound of crackling flames. Moving closer to the fire, he scanned the area for a sign of life.
A bright yellow body moved in front of the orange wall of flames and Logan shouted, “Joseph,” only once, knowing better than to waste any more breath trying to be heard over the imploding gases.
Without any protective gear, it was borderline crazy for Logan to go in and pull Joseph out. But had their positions been reversed, he was certain that Joseph would have risked his life in the same way.
Logan sprinted off-trail, making a beeline for the man to whom he owed his life. His debt would never be repaid, not even if he got Joseph off the mountain today in one piece.
Fully intent on wielding his chainsaw, Joseph didn't notice when Logan ran up behind him. Knowing better than to tap on the arm a man holding heavy, deadly machinery, Logan picked up a rock and threw it at Joseph's leg.
Joseph's head whipped around, his mask covered in black ash, and seconds later he'd moved far enough away from the flames to put down his chainsaw and flip up his mask.
“Logan, what the hell are you doing out here? This fire's a killer. It's no place for a kid. Get back to the cabin.”
Logan instantly understood that Joseph had traveled back to a time when he was lead hotshot and Logan was a teenage kid acting stupid. This wasn't the place to try to talk Joseph back to the present, not while a killer was on the loose.
First, Logan had to get him to safety. Then they'd work on putting the pieces together and figuring out what had happened today.
“You've got to follow me out of here, Joseph. Now. It's not safe.”
Joseph had never once backed down from a fire. He had the scars from second-degree burns to prove it. But Logan couldn't wait for his agreement. He moved behind Joseph and put his hands on his shoulders, scorching his palms on the heat of the thick fire-resistant fabric, pushing Joseph in the direction of the trail, off the meadow.
Joseph struggled over the rocky hillside under the weight of his gear.
“Give me your pack,” Logan said.
Joseph growled, “Like hell if I'm letting you carry my gear.”
The wind howled across the mountain, taking the smoke—and flames—with it. In an instant, Logan had Joseph's pack off and in the dirt. Squatting down, he reached in and pulled out the fire shelter, praying it wasn't too old to be useful.
Heat singed his shin and he grabbed Joseph in a bear hug and pushed him to the ground, struggling to deploy the shelter over both of them in the whipping wind, his feet to the fire, his boots jammed into the straps at the foot of the shelter. It took every bit of his strength to hold it down as flames and wind rushed over the aluminum and fiberglass tent.
Joseph's breathing was ragged beneath him, and Logan hoped he hadn't caused the man any broken bones or other injuries that would prolong their hike back to the cabin.
Logan had only deployed his shelter once before in all the years he'd been a hotshot. It wasn't something a guy wanted to repeat. The sensation of being micro-waved alive was even worse with two men under the silver aluminum and fiberglass cover. Radiant heat was one thing, but direct flames could burn right through to their skin.
Still, Logan knew damn well that the most likely cause of death for a firefighter was getting scared and throwing off a shelter.
He held fast to the hand-and-foot holds even as the temperature soared. The nickname “shake'n'bake” was well deserved.
And then, as quickly as they came, the flames rushed over and off them, the wind taking them up the hill. Logan held fast in case another fireball was about to roll across the trail. He lay over Joseph for several minutes, until he was certain the fire had jumped them for good.
Slowly, he pushed back the shelter, closing his eyes against the ash raining from the charred trees surrounding the meadow. He held out a hand to Joseph and pulled him up. In one glance, he could see Joseph's mental fog had cleared.
“What the hell just happened?”
“I'll tell you soon. Do you think you can run?”
Joseph looked at him like he'd lost his mind. “Of course I can.”
“Good. Head back down to the cabin as fast as you can. I'll follow behind.”
Joseph shot downhill through the meadow back to the trail at a pace that belied his years and mental wanderings. It was five minutes of good, hard running before Logan felt safe enough to slow their pace. Moving alongside Joseph, he put his hand on his arm.
