Rocky Mountain Maverick

by Gayle Wilson

  He leaned closer to the outer door he’d been waiting beside, putting his ear against its thin metal skin. There was absolute silence outside. Giving up any pretense at patience, he turned the handle, exerting a slight upward pressure to try and prevent the telltale metallic squeal.

  As soon as the door opened, the unmistakable smell of smoke rushed into the trailer. No longer worried about noise, he stepped down to the ground, his eyes searching for the source.

  There was an eerie red glow in the direction of Mapes’s trailer. Although there were woods between, it seemed clear that’s where the fire must be. And he could hear it now, licking through the trees that surrounded the semicircle of trailers.

  By that time, he was already running. Mapes’s trailer was nearest, and next in line was Nicki’s, with the thicket of aspens he’d hidden in frighteningly close behind it.

  The nearer he got to the old man’s trailer, the thicker the air grew. Eyes stinging, he peered through the darkness, but the pall of smoke and the glow from the fire gave a strangely distorted image of what lay ahead.

  As he topped the rise that separated his trailer from Mapes’s, he could see that the old man’s was engulfed in flame. At least the far end was. And if it was set up like his own—

  The explosion rocked the eerie quiet of the night. As he’d feared, the propane tank on the trailer had been in the same location as on his. The resulting shock wave literally caused him to stumble backward. Righting himself, he hesitated a moment, shielding his eyes with his hand as debris rained down around him.

  The fire seemed to gain new life from the blast. It had begun to devour everything in its path with a great whooshing sound.

  Whatever thoughts he’d had about getting Mapes out seemed doomed as he watched the flames race from the end of the trailer that had already been involved to the other. If the old man was in there, it was too late to help him.

  Michael lifted his eyes, for the first time looking beyond the inferno of the burning trailer. Fueled by the explosion, the fire was roaring through the trees on the far side. And the next trailer—

  He was running again, heat and the smoke all around him. As he approached the blazing shell of Mapes’s former home, a figure appeared out of the smoke, silhouetted against the red glow behind it.

  Someone come to help? Or, please God, could it be Nicki?

  Fear sent adrenaline through his bloodstream. He wasn’t even aware of the pain in his damaged knee.

  As he neared the figure, he knew from size alone it couldn’t be Nicki. Too short and too thick.

  “Who’s there?” he called without slowing his stride.

  “Mapes,” the old man said. “Oh, my God. Oh, my God.”

  “You okay?”

  Reluctantly Michael slowed. He was near enough now that, with the light from the fire, he could see the cowboy’s face. Eyes wide, Mapes was staring at the burning trailer as if he couldn’t believe what was happening. He nodded in response to Michael’s question without turning to look at him.

  “I woke up, and it was on fire. Never thought about the tank blowing, but I knew I had to get out of there.”

  Almost a miracle, Michael thought, because otherwise…

  “Go down to the main cabin,” he shouted, taking Mapes’s arm and trying to get through to him. “Get the others. Bring them up to the next trailer. Beaumont’s trailer. We’ve got to put it out or it will burn them all.”

  “Nate.” Mapes turned his head and looked toward the fire that was sweeping through the trees. “You got to get the kid,” he said, almost as if he’d just realized the danger.

  “I will. Go get us some help.”

  Without waiting to see if he’d been obeyed, Michael started his awkward run again. The fire was moving through the dry woods far faster than he would have believed possible, heading straight for Nicki.

  He had to skirt around the path it took. He was panting, his eyes, nose and throat raw from the acrid air he was trying to breathe. And he cursed the damaged leg that made it seem as if he were running through quicksand, although he was pushing himself to the limit.

  He angled up the slope, cutting through the trees, desperate for his first glimpse of Nicki’s trailer. When he did, his worse fears were realized. The flames had traveled faster than he had.

  Maybe she had already gotten out. Maybe, like Mapes, she had awakened in time. Maybe the tank’s explosion had given her warning.

  Please, God, he prayed, toiling through air that felt too dense to pull into his straining lungs. Please God, let her be out.

  And then he was there. Despite the intensity of the heat, he stepped up on the single wooden step and pulled at the handle of the door.

  It wouldn’t turn. He tried for maybe three seconds, putting the full weight of his body into the effort. Nothing.

  It seemed to be locked. Which meant Nicki was still inside. He pounded on the metal with his fist, still trying to force the handle downward.

  “Nicki? Wake up, Nicki. Open the door, damn it.”

  There was no response. Although only the end nearest Mapes’s trailer was in flames, the smoke inside was probably enough that she might have been overcome, lying unconscious as the fire ate its way in.

  He had to get her out. He rammed his shoulder against the door. Although the wooden step proved a poor platform from which to launch that kind of attack, he hit the door again and then again, feeling it shudder under the force of the blows.

  Still, it didn’t give. It was hard to conceive that something so flimsy could withstand his assault, but it was.

  Giving up, he backed off the step, looking at the narrow windows. He might break through them, but he couldn’t get in and Nicki couldn’t get out. And opening them would only provide more oxygen to fuel the combustion.

  Frantic now, he looked for something to use as a battering ram. Maybe the propane tank off the back. As soon as he thought of it, he realized the potential for disaster. He even thought about going back for the truck and ramming it into the side of the trailer. There was no time for that, of course. No time for anything he could think of. No time.

  He had to force the door. It was his only chance. Having reached that decision, he climbed back onto the wooden step, pushing the handle down with both hands.

  “Nicki! Answer me, damn it. Wake up, Nicki!”

  There was no response. Once more he began slamming his shoulder against the door. It shook under the ferocity of his blows, but refused to open.

  He tried to move back a little to gather momentum. The wooden step teetered under the uneven distribution of his weight so that he was forced to jump off. It turned over as he did. Only then did he realize that the step, shaped like a small bench, wasn’t attached to the frame of the trailer.

  He picked it up and used it like a battering ram, banging it again and again against the door. The resultant metallic clangs would surely bring help, even if the door continued to withstand the assault.

  More in fury and frustration than with any conscious plan, he lifted the bench and brought the end of it down at an angle, striking the handle. There was a popping noise that didn’t seem to be related to the approaching fire.

  Encouraged, he raised the bench to the full extent of his reach before he slammed it again into the metal door. It gave unexpectedly, and both Michael and the bench fell into the choking smoke inside Nicki’s trailer.

  Chapter Fourteen

  The acrid cloud that thickened the air outside was a hundred times worse here. Because the door had opened so suddenly, Michael hadn’t had a chance to grab a lungful of it before he found himself in the airless hell of the trailer.

  There was no time to worry about it now. Every second counted, and too many of them had passed as he’d pounded on the door. He had to locate Nicki and then get her out of here. With zero visibility and without any point of reference other than the interior of his own trailer.

  He could only hope hers was set up the same. He felt his way back to the area analogou
s to that where his bunk was located. Maybe she’d never awakened, despite the explosion. Maybe she’d been overcome by smoke in her sleep.

  If she had, he realized, panic clenching his gut, it might already be too late. He deliberately pushed the possibility that Nicki could be dead out of his mind as his hands frantically searched the mattress he’d finally located.

  The bunk was empty. And there was no way to explore this end of the trailer further. The flames were already here, their heat searing his exposed face and hands relentlessly.

  As he made his way back to the exit, he tried to make sure he wasn’t missing her. Since he couldn’t see a foot in front of his face, she could be lying unconscious anywhere along the way.

  Lungs aching, he finally reached the open door. The lesser darkness outside provided some illumination, now that his eyes had adjusted to the pitch-black of the smoke-filled interior. On the floor, just on the other side of the opening, lay a crumpled shape.

  Nicki. Just let her be alive.

  He could tell from both the sound and the sudden flare of light from behind him that the fire had reached the bunk he’d just left. It picked up intensity as it fed on the highly flammable bedding. In a matter of seconds it would have consumed everything there, its insatiable red maw searching for something new to devour.

  As he bent over Nicki, he realized he would have a hard time picking her up and carrying her out. Although she was thin, she was tall, especially for a woman, and the solid muscle she had built in the months on the Half Spur would be dead weight. The quickest way to get her out into the fresh air would be to drag her through the open doorway. He stooped behind her head and gripped her under the arms.

  By now the lack of oxygen was beginning to affect him. Light-headed, he strained to turn her limp body and pull her out. He cushioned her descent as well as he could as he dragged her down the steps and away from the burning trailer.

  Only when he’d gone far enough that the air didn’t sear his lungs did he dare stop. He bent over Nicki, who was still motionless. He put the first two fingers of his right hand against the artery in her neck. Beneath them, faintly, he could feel the pulse of blood.

  The glow from the fire behind him lit her still features. She looked as if she were sleeping. Please, God, he prayed again as he tilted her head back, opening the airway, and started CPR.

  While he worked, he was aware that people were arriving on the scene, some on foot and some in vehicles. Ignoring them, he continued the procedures, clearing everything but their precise rhythms from his mind.

  It seemed an eternity before he felt the first movement beneath his lips. Nicki tried to cough and gagged instead.

  He raised his head, watching her. The instinctive effort to draw in air resulted in a coughing jag. He waited it out, knowing this was a necessary part of the process of clearing the smoke from her lungs.

  Although he had lifted his mouth away from hers, he didn’t move more than a few inches until he was sure she was breathing on her own. When he was finally satisfied of that, he slipped his arm under her shoulders and helped her sit up.

  Another explosion rent the night. He hunched his back, turning it toward the burning trailer and using his body to shield Nicki’s from the falling debris.

  Her hand came up, trembling, to touch his cheek. By the light of the fire, he could read the question in her eyes.

  “It’s okay,” he said. “You’re outside. Everything’s going to be all right.”

  “Wouldn’t open,” she whispered.

  The effort at speech produced another coughing spell. This one was prolonged enough that, as he waited it out, still supporting her shoulders, Michael turned his head to check on the progress of the fire.

  Someone had organized a shovel brigade. Silhouetted against the blaze, the dark shapes of the Half Spur’s employees toiled to throw dirt on the flames.

  And it appeared they were winning the battle. If they could keep the blaze confined to the relatively clear area beyond Nicki’s trailer, they had a chance of stopping it before it could cause any further destruction.

  “Jammed,” Nicki whispered, her voice hoarse with the effects of the smoke she’d inhaled. “From the outside.”

  Michael turned back at the words, realizing their implication. In the crimsoned reflection from the flame, her eyes were wide and very dark as they looked up into his.

  “Are you saying…you think someone tried to trap you inside?”

  She nodded, her eyes tracking to the trailer, now completely embroiled in flame.

  “Are you sure that—”

  “I’m sure the door wouldn’t open. The lock was jammed somehow.”

  A chill of horror edged along his spine. To set a fire in these conditions was bad enough. As insane as someone would have to be to do that, it was a thousand times worse to deliberately imprison someone inside to face a death that didn’t bear thinking about. The vilest kind of murder.

  “Is he okay?”

  Michael turned to find Charlie Quarrels at his elbow. Hands on his knees, the foreman bent forward, peering down at Nicki. The shapeless tee and drawstring pajama pants she wore hid her femininity as thoroughly as her daytime attire.

  “Somebody jammed the lock on Nate’s trailer,” Michael said.

  The time for games was done. There was no way he was going to leave Nicki here, not another hour. Whatever else was happening on the Half Spur, the Langworthy baby wasn’t here. He doubted any of this was related to the kidnapping. They had the blood samples and the location of the lab. All that was left was to get Nicki out of here before something else happened.

  “Whadda you mean ‘jammed the lock’?” Quarrels repeated in what sounded like genuine confusion.

  “I couldn’t get it open,” Nicki said.

  “That don’t mean somebody jammed it. Heat makes metal swell. Probably got stuck. Why the hell would somebody want to lock you in, boy? That’s pure crazy.”

  The expanding metal explanation was just plausible enough that it held both of them silent for a moment.

  “The same reason they’d want to set a fire in the first place,” Michael said.

  “You can blame that old fool for that,” Quarrels said.

  Old fool? “Mapes?”

  “I told him a thousand times. No smoking inside the quarters. He does it anyway. I warned him something like this was gonna happen.”

  Again, the explanation made sense. They were all aware of the depths of Ralph’s addiction. Besides, the old man hadn’t felt well for the past couple of days. It was possible he had disobeyed the foreman’s injunction. More than possible, Michael admitted, remembering the smoke he’d smelled as he’d waited outside Nicki’s trailer.

  “Looks like they got it under control,” Quarrels said.

  Michael glanced over his shoulder. The fire had totally gutted Nicki’s trailer and was still smoldering in the woods behind it, but it no longer raced along the ground or leaped from treetop to treetop.

  “I’m taking the kid into Granby,” Michael said, putting his hand under Nicki’s elbow. Despite his encouragement, she made no attempt to get up.

  “What for?” Quarrels demanded. “He’s okay. Ain’t you, boy?”

  Nicki nodded, her eyes on Michael’s face.

  “He’s suffering from smoke inhalation,” he said. “He needs to be checked out by someone who knows what they’re doing.”

  “Looks okay to me,” Sal Johnson said. The cowboy was standing behind Quarrels, looking down at Nicki.

  “Not exactly what I’d call a professional opinion,” Michael said.

  “He just needs to get up and walk around,” Johnson said. “I think we got it, boss.”

  “Make sure,” Quarrels said. “Thinking won’t cut it. And somebody’s gonna have to stay up here tonight and make sure it don’t flare up. How about it, McAdams? Seems like you’re the logical candidate.”

  “I told you. I’m taking Nate into town. He needs to be checked out.”

  “A
nd I told you there ain’t no need for that. You keep an eye out up here. I’ll take the kid and Ralph down to the cabin. There’s a couple of cots we can set up for them for tonight.”

  Like hell, Michael thought. Now that he thought about it, Ralph might have been another intended victim.

  The motivation behind that was less clear, however. Maybe the old man had let slip to one of the other hands that he knew about the lab. Or, even more dangerous, that he’d told Michael. If that were the case, none of them could afford to spend another night on the Spur.

  “Get somebody else,” he said, again urging Nicki to rise.

  This time, with his help, she managed to struggle to her feet. The effort provoked another fit of coughing. If nothing else, that would have convinced him that he’d made the right decision in taking her to the emergency room.

  “I’m giving you an order,” Quarrels said, his voice hard.

  “And I’m refusing it. Get somebody else to baby-sit the ashes. I’m driving the kid into Granby.”

  “You leave here tonight, don’t bother coming back.”

  Uncaring of how they might interpret the gesture, Michael wrapped his arm around Nicki’s waist, forcing her to take a step past the foreman who was standing belligerently in front of them. He needed to get her into the pickup and then get the hell out of here before somebody decided to do something overtly hostile.

  More hostile than arson and attempted murder?

  “You leave with McAdams, boy, and you got no more job on the Half Spur.”

  Nicki stopped, turning to face the foreman while staying within the support of Michael’s arm.

  “Somebody tampered with the lock on my door. It wasn’t the heat. The fire had just touched the back of the trailer when they locked me in. I’d think you’d be more interested in finding out who did that than in issuing threats.”

  “Don’t you talk to me like that. Not and expect to keep your job,” Quarrels blustered.

  “Give it to the next poor sucker who’s so down on his luck that this place is the best he can do.”