“The tracks disappear over the edge of the ridge.”
He follows me to the ridge line and we peer down the rocky scree.
“What do you think?” I ask, honestly at a loss with what to do.
He’s my boss. Our primary edict is the preservation of human life. The second is putting out the fire. Sadly, the third is the wildlife and forests we serve.
6
Asher
“What do you think?” I pull at the scruff of my beard which only smears soot all over my face. It’s oily and the acrid smell burns my nostrils. My breathing mask is no longer required because the wind pushes the smoke over the ridge, giving us fresh air. Fresh air, which urges the fire to race toward my mother’s home.
Smoke billows back and forth, most of it blowing away from us, but the air is inherently unstable. Flames split wood with a crack. Dry tinder snaps as it pops in the heat. We work in a thick haze as the fire draws in fresh oxygen, devours it, and spits it into the air as acrid smoke. Flames down the hillside spin and whip in a vortex formed by the heated gas.
And we’ve lost the sun which make things ten times harder.
I spare a moment to pray my brothers are helping George prep the estate. Our mom probably gave them grief about leaving, but I’m certain they took her with them. We can rebuild her home, but we can’t afford to lose her. She’s too damn precious. She’s also incredibly stubborn. I don’t envy my brothers’ task.
Smokey peers over the edge and gives a shake of his head. He doesn’t like what he sees.
“Whoever it was…” He gives a sharp shake of his head. “They went over, that’s for damn sure.” He examines the scree. “I don’t see any tracks.”
“You think they ran over?” I turn to him, remembering what he said about the space between the prints. “Not up or down the trail?”
“The tracks say they went over.” Smokey runs a filthy hand through his smoky-gray hair. He leans out a little, but it doesn’t help. The look on his face reveals his frustration.
We don’t have time for a rescue, but we’ll do whatever’s required to save a human life, which also means the two of us aren’t supporting the fire-line.
I’m taller than him, but those few inches don’t help me to make out any sign of someone climbing down.
“Maybe they headed up?” He glances over his shoulder where the trail heads further up the ridge. He’s mulling through the options like me.
“How would they breathe? If the fire started here, and we have every reason to believe it did, the smoke would’ve been blinding—suffocating.”
“Good point.” He calls in a status update.
I’ve lost my bet with Cosmo. He’s nearly finished with his second fifty yards. The rest of the team calls in with similar results. I’m the only one slacking, but it’s for a good reason. There may be a life at risk. We can’t ignore the possibility this person is still alive.
Smokey drops the rope coiled over his shoulder and shakes it out. He gestures over the edge. “I’ll belay you. See if you can make anything out, but don’t dick around. Get in and get out.”
“On it.” I don’t need to be told twice. Getting down will be a piece of cake, but I’m not looking forward to climbing back out.
As he sets an anchor to belay me, I check my harness and loop into the rope with a figure-8 carabiner. On his signal, I head over the edge. It’s steep, and while I could scrabble down, it’s more efficient to rappel down the line in long, smooth bounces. I slowly place weight on the line, letting Smokey brace himself. He’ll mind the line as I head down.
Ten feet down, a fresh gouge tells a horrifying story.
“Someone fell, that’s for sure.” I radio back to Smokey.
“What do you see?”
“Huge gouge in the scree scraped down to soil.” I glance over my shoulder, making sure not to twist too far around and lose my footing. “Broken branches. Uprooted an entire bush” Several actually. “Whoever went over had a rough go of it.”
I bounce down the steep slope, using my quads to push outward while letting the rope slide through my hands as I drop quickly down.
“It wasn’t controlled.” I keep a running commentary for Smokey’s benefit.
The fall looks freakishly severe and I have the sinking suspicion I’m on a body recovery mission instead of a rescue. However, there’s no body at the bottom.
“Ace, what’s going on down there? I feel slack on the rope.”
“Yeah, sorry. I’m at the bottom. No body.” I see little in the growing gloom.
The glow of the fire on the ridge made it seem as if it’s midday. With the blaze hidden by the ridge above, it’s dark. I flick on my headlamp and peer around. Smoke drifts in faint curtains, wandering aimlessly down the ravine.
“I’m getting off the rope to look around.” I call up to him.
“Okay, I’m going to pull it up and finish up with the others. Keep me posted, and don’t waste time.”
“That’s the plan.”
Smokey isn’t happy splitting me up from the team, but it’s not like we don’t do that when the situation demands it. I’m in agreement about one thing. I’m not shooting the shit down here and have little interest in spending more time than required.
There’s no body at the base of the slope. Whoever fell, moved away from here. I do a quick check in a wide perimeter. Bodies can bounce. Then I see an irregularity in the soil. A long scrape, as if something dragged across the soil. I bend down to investigate.
Whoever fell, survived. Unfortunately, they’re on the move, but they’re injured. I follow the tracks to the base of several boulders and scrunch my brows when I see a pair of boots sticking out from beneath the rocks.
I’m reminded of a scene from the Wizard of Oz, except instead of a house that dropped on a witch, I have a collection of boulders piled on top of a body. There’s no way they fell on whoever this is. I pick at the rocks covering the legs and find myself impressed.
Whoever this is, they dug a trench—a fucking trench! Then covered themselves with rocks and dirt.
I give a closer look and sure enough there’s a person crammed in the cleft between the rocks.
What the ever-loving fuck?
“Hello.” I give the legs a little wiggle.
These hills are normally peaceful places, their quiet interrupted only by the whistling of the wind through and the incessant cicadas who buzz through the night.
Tonight, quiet is not the flavor of the day. There’s no soft rustling of pine needles on a gentle breeze. No chirping of birds. No scratching in the weeds as squirrels hunt for nuts buried last fall. No cicadas droning on and on.
We’re in a pressure cooker with the wind acting as the bellows to feed the fire overhead. The roar of it sounds like a freight train barreling down on us.
Whoever this is, they aren’t answering and they’re unresponsive to me tapping on their leg.
“Hey, boss.” I call out to Smokey. “Found someone.”
“Alive?”
“Unresponsive.”
“Hurry up.” There’s strain in his voice.
“What’s wrong?”
“Wind is shifting. I want us out of here. Helo is on the way.”
Well, shit.
No more polite tapping.
I push the rock and dirt off whoever this is and try to drag them out. Only, that does me shit good. They’re some sort of contortionist because I have no fucking clue how they wedged themselves in there.
Correction, how she got in there. My hiker is a woman. Long, blonde hair spills around her face, which happens to be completely wrapped in cloth. Wet cloth.
Wet cloth? A trench? I’m seriously impressed with her survival know-how.
But, what the hell is she doing here? And is there anyone else with her? I don’t like this at all. Not with the urgency threading through Smokey’s tone. Nothing riles that old man.
Nothing to do about it, I need to extricate the woman. Unresponsive, I don’t know
if it’s from injury, asphyxiation, or smoke inhalation. That fall likely gave her a concussion.
“Hey, boss?”
“Yeah? How’s it going?”
“She wedged herself between some boulders. I’m trying to get her out.”
“Still unresponsive?”
“Yeah.” I might wake her as I try to get her out from under the boulders. “We need medevac.” I’m not getting this hiker back up that steep slope, but I can carry her out. “You want to call it in?”
“You sure?”
“Yes.” I give a good long look at the thin crack she wedged herself inside.
“You get to work. We’re moving down the line. I’m not happy with the winds.”
“Gotcha.” There’s no need to ask. I know exactly what he’s worried about.
I am too.
Ravines, such as this one, have a nasty habit of turning into wind tunnels. With the fire moving down below us, there’s a very good chance we’ll be caught inside a chimney of superheated gas.
I cut the chatter and focus on the woman. If she’s unconscious due to a head injury, there’s nothing I can do about that, but if it’s smoke inhalation, fresh oxygen might rouse her enough so she can help me help her out from under the boulders.
My oxygen canister is fully charged. I pull it from my belt and contort my head and shoulders through the gap until I can fit the mask around her head.
“Miss.” Gently, I shake her as I press the mask tight to her face. “Miss, my name is Asher La Rouge and I’m here to help.” A quick check reveals she is in fact breathing.
My job is now a rescue instead of body recovery. I’ll take that any day.
Her body gives a little twitch. I gently nudge her on the shoulder and repeat myself. Most people, when they come around in unfamiliar surroundings, can be quite combative. A firm, calming tone generally works wonders. I keep repeating myself, letting her know my name and my intent.
“Miss, my name is Asher La Rouge. You fell down a ravine. I’m here to help.”
Her body convulses and a tiny cry escapes from her mouth. It’s a sign of life, and I cheer. I press against her shoulder, and repeat myself a third time.
She comes around with a screech, drawing her arms in a defensive move to cover her face.
How the hell did she manage to survive?
It’s a question I’m dying to ask, but it needs to wait. I’m very impressed by what she’s done.
Very few people survive wildfires in the open.
There are a few hard and fast rules. First, create a barrier between you and the fire, something to protect yourself from radiant heat.
The heat of a wildfire easily reaches several thousand degrees. It’s a death sentence for those caught out in the open, but place a few inches of rock between yourself and the flames and the deadly heat can be survivable.
After that, it’s all about whether there’s enough oxygen and minimizing the damaging effects of smoke inhalation.
This woman has her entire head covered in wet cloth. She’s a damn survivor and I find that not only impressive, but insanely attractive.
A woman with a head on her shoulders?
How often does that happen?
I’m nearly done clearing the rock from her legs when she wakes up, bucking and screeching at the top of her lungs.
“Get off of me!” The woman turns feral, fighting me off as if I’m attacking her rather than saving her ass.
I lift my hands and back off.
“Miss…Miss!” I try to break through her panic.
She crawls further into the tiny cleft, but there’s no place to go. Her panic is palpable as her breaths deepen and the pitch of her voice rises.
“Miss! I need you to calm down. I’m here to help.”
My shout stills her frantic movements and I don’t know if it’s because she’s given up, realizing there is nowhere to run, or because she realizes I’m here to help.
“My name is Asher, Asher La Rouge, I’m a member of a fire fighting crew. You fell into a ravine. I’m here to rescue you.” My words are slow, measured, and project calm.
Unlike my friend, Grady Malone, in my job as a wildland firefighter, we rarely run into civilians. Our job is on the front lines putting out forest fires. Grady knows how to talk to panicked civilians so he can get them out of burning buildings. This part of the job is very unfamiliar to me.
Fortunately, she stops struggling and peers up through the cleft. I remove my yellow helmet to let her see my face.
“Rescue me?” Her voice is soft, breathy, exquisitely feminine.
“Yes.” I flash a grin, it’s my best quality, and I hope it helps her to relax. “Are you injured? Do you need help getting out of there?” I’m still confused as to how she got in there in the first place.
“What…happened?” She’s a little out of breath.
“I was hoping you could tell me.” I glance up at the hill.
Did she start this fire?
Chances are good and my gut twists in anger. Too many people disrespect the wilderness, thinking they can do whatever the hell they want without regard to the consequences of their actions. She probably set the damn blaze. It’s all I can do not to reach out and strangle her, but I’m a fucking professional, a veritable saint, and right now, that means I’m her savior.
The strangulation can wait until she’s safe.
It’s fully dark now. The thick smoke blots out the moon and stars. Up and to my left, over my shoulder, a ruddy glow fills the sky. Yellow flames dance in the churning column of smoke.
For me to see flames, they have to be shooting thirty to forty feet in the air.
Maybe more.
Our little blaze is all grown up and now qualifies as a full-scale forest fire.
My headlamp provides the only illumination down in this ravine, accentuating the shadows, making things indistinct. But I can see what’s right in front of my face, in fact, I’m looking at something incredible right now, breathtaking even, as she squirms and wiggles her way free of her makeshift shelter.
“I think…” My jaw drops as the most perfect ass I’ve ever seen wiggles out from between the rocks.
Covered in dirt and soot, she’s a mess, but what a damn fine mess she is.
More than fine. The woman is stunning.
When she removes the mask and hands it to me, silky hair spills around her shoulders in flowing golden curls, but that’s nothing compared to the brilliant blue radiance of her eyes, or her full rosebud lips which I swear were made to suck dick.
Holy fuck, my mind twisted sideways fast.
I feel like a love-struck, horny, teen-aged kid who got his first look at a pair of boobs and doesn’t know what to do next. Swallowing thickly, I remind myself why I’m here, and it’s most definitely not for any of the fantasies spilling through my head.
Get a grip, Ace.
She struggles a little, which makes her ass wiggle. There’s no avoiding it. I lean in and steady her hips, planting my hands right above where my inappropriate thoughts want to put them.
Her ass is now front and center and my dick gives a little nod of appreciation. Shit, I don’t have time for this. Not now.
Out of habit, my attention shifts to her hand where I look for rings.
Score! There are none.
She slips, and I catch her, lifting her easily. She’s far enough out of her little hidey-hole that I pull her free. When I place her on her feet, her left leg crumples and she cries out, clutching at me for support.
“What’s wrong?” I glance down at her leg, but see no obvious injuries. This chick is scratched and bruised, looking worse for wear, but I don’t see blood or broken bones.
“It’s my ankle.”
Her hold on my upper arm is unrelenting as she steadies herself. That brief contact is all it takes for blood to surge straight to my eager cock.
I stand stiffly, praying she doesn’t look down, even though my bulky protective gear hides the woody I’m painfully s
porting. I resist the urge to adjust myself and bite down as I try to get a grip. I need to focus, not gawk.
“Your ankle?” I peer down at her boots.
“I sprained it on the way down. I can’t walk.”
“Does that explain why you took shelter in the rocks?”
“Yeah, I didn’t know what to do and there was no way I could hobble out of here. I just figured I’d hunker down and pray.” She gives a sheepish grin. Her eyelids flutter as she glances down. I can’t stop staring at the perfection of her face, but I remind myself I’m a professional. Not that it helps.
Every time her mouth moves, I wonder what she might taste like, or how I’d love to see her lips wrap around my very insistent cock. It’s giving her the full salute.
“Not many people would have thought to do that,” I say, trying to focus on the present and not the thoughts swirling in my head. “It’s one of the techniques my crew is taught if we’re ever caught in a fire.” I’m surprised she thought of it at all.
“Honestly, I didn’t know if it was worth it, but the idea of being caught out in the open wasn’t top on my list.” She glances over her shoulder at the boulders. “Although…I have to say…it felt like…crawling inside an oven. I just kept thinking…I was going to get cooked in there.” She’s a bit breathless, which is a cause for concern.
I try to dispel some of her fear while she catches her breath. “I can definitely see that, but much better getting a little cooked in there than burnt to a crisp out here. Mind telling me how you got down here?”
“Pure panic.”
Emotions march across her innocent face. Pain creases her lovely brow. Fear lingers in the down-turning of her full lips. But her eyes show grit, and the determination to survive the unthinkable.
This is no fragile thing.
She’s a fighter, a survivor, and damn if that doesn’t turn me on more than her perfect ass.
Maybe it’s in the set of her jaw, or the firelight flickering in her eyes, but I sense the soul of a survivor. Her fierceness, more than her eloquent beauty, steals my breath.
“Panic?” I give a shake of my head to erase the spell this woman weaves over me.
Firestorm: An Everyday Heroes World Novel (The Everyday Heroes World) Page 5
