The Eagle and the Fox (A Snowy Range Mystery, #1)

by Nya Rawlyns

Josh exchanged a glance with Marcus. It had been unusually warm and dry for early April. Everything—the sagebrush, the brome, trees not yet in bloom—all of it was tinder dry.

  Marcus asked, “They say to bring anything, Polly?”

  “Just what you can.” She turned back to the kitchen. “I’ll see to organizing some food and drinks. Be there soon’s me and the kids can get the truck loaded.”

  They hit the truck running. Josh laid rubber on the asphalt as Marcus shouted above the roar of the engine, “Stop at the store. We’ll need shovels and tarps, lanterns. Cans of gasoline.”

  “Gasoline?”

  “Sometimes the only way to stop these wildfires is with a backfire.” He peered out the windshield but it was too dark to see much. The wind had mercifully died down so that was something in their favor. As they entered the parking lot, Marcus said, “Go around back. We can load the truck easier off the dock.”

  It took nearly a half hour to gather all the supplies and toss it into the bed of the pickup. By the time they were back on the main road, they could see the fire lighting up the night sky. The Barnes place was halfway between town and his ranch, with Becca’s ten acres and rustic log cabin in line of fire should it move down the valley. There wasn’t much beyond open pasture land and a meandering stream to slow it down.

  He tossed his cell phone to Marcus. “Call Becca. Tell her what’s happening. Have her get the girls and Petilune to my place and hunker down.”

  Josh barely heard Marcus speaking to his sister, explaining what was going on. At least at the ranch house the stream was right behind the back porch. They had a generator hookup and hoses that could pull water off the stream and wet down the house and run-in sheds if necessary. Becca’s place was too exposed, with no handy water source.

  Marcus said, “She knows what to do. Says not to worry, the kids will be fine.”

  Josh chewed his lip as he looked for the turnoff to the Barnes spread. It lay downslope from the highway, in a narrow valley that ran due west to east. Beyond it, low hills undulated to the north. To the south, a series of two- and three-thousand foot ridges divided the area into canyon-like features, all running parallel to each other.

  It was easy to spot the lane. Cars, trucks and vans lined the length as men stampeded in the direction of the glare coming off the other side of a hillock. Josh parked far enough off the lane so as not to impede traffic. They were going to have to find out who was in charge first and then see how best to distribute the supplies they’d brought.

  Marcus jumped out of the truck and came around to the driver side. “Listen, cowboy, don’t take this the wrong way, but I can move faster than you. How about I see what’s what, and then give you a call and you can bring all that shit closer to where they’ve set up base camp.”

  That made sense. He would only slow things up, plus the prospect of making a third of a mile walk in and back wasn’t on his dance card if he planned to do more than sit on the sidelines. He nodded and watched Marcus take off at a run.

  Polly’s van pulled in behind him. She got out and looked at the chaotic scene. Josh climbed out of his truck and hailed her. “Hey, Polly. Marcus went to get some information. He’ll call and let me know where we can go to park.”

  She waved to let him know she heard, then turned to talk to whoever was sitting in the front seat.

  Josh was too far from the fire to feel the heat, but the air had turned oppressive, still as the grave. The burn path sucked up oxygen, creating vortices that spit and crackled, sending sparks skyward. The wayward breeze created at the front of the advancing blaze drove tendrils of hot ash and bits of burning tinder ahead of the flames. He could hear it, a distant buzz punctuated by shouts and the whine of chain saws cutting down taller brush and spindly trees in its path. Anything to deny the fire fuel. From what Josh could see it wasn’t working.

  The cell buzzed. He could barely hear Marcus and wasted precious minutes trying to find a spot where he had a better connection. Eventually, he figured out where to go. Waving to Polly, he yelled, “Follow me,” and leaned down to lock his hubs into four wheel drive.

  Cresting the hump in the lane, he dove into the pasture and picked up a tractor lane that ran roughly northwest toward a wash that cut through the hillock separating the upper and lower sections. Polly tailed him closely as they bounced their way over rough ground. Once he cleared the bulldozed cut, the full extent of the disaster spread before him.

  The entire valley bowl was lit, a solid line of hellfire gobbling everything in its path. He spied a cluster of vehicles that made up a command center and parked near a state cop car. His nemesis Sorenson greeted him.

  “Glad you’re here, Foxglove. We need all the help we can get. Colton said you brought supplies?”

  Josh led the trooper to the rear of the truck. “We have a dozen shovels, some spades. Digging bars. That there generator’s the biggest we could handle, but it should run enough lights to make it easier to see.” They worked together, pulling items out as fast as they could. Men, young and old, appeared out of nowhere and carted the materiel toward a pre-determined central location.

  Sorenson grunted, “This is great. You and Marcus did good.”

  “Polly’s over there,” Josh pointed to a spot in shadow behind a line of trucks, “with food and drinks. I’ve got some folding tables I need to get over to her so she can set up.” With Ted’s help he carted the three tables to the van and left them propped against the side.

  Polly asked, “How bad is it, Teddy?”

  The state cop shook his head. “It’s moving like a bitch on steroids. You’d think it was August, the way this fucker’s sucking up everything in its path.”

  Polly said, “Dry winter. We’re hurting for rain again. You got any idea how this started?”

  Josh and Ted exchanged a glance. Josh wasn’t surprised when the trooper said, “Well, I’m no Fire Marshall, but I’m pretty sure this was set.”

  Polly mumbled, “Unh-huh,” and went back to helping her kids and the restaurant’s cook set up the food tables.

  Josh asked quietly, “How do you know it was set?”

  “Found accelerant a half mile back, down in that gully that runs crosswise under the highway. Gas can.”

  “You thinking what I’m thinking?”

  Ted frowned and shook his head. “I ain’t thinking anything right now. First things first. We’ve got to try and save the Barnes’ house and barn if we can.”

  Josh opened the door to the back seat of his truck and yanked out two large canvas bags. He held them up and said, “Medical supplies, everything Marcus had at the store. Most of it is first aid stuff, but we brought betadine and a shitload of equine and bovine antiseptic and wound salves. Compression bandages, Vetwrap, shit like that. Best we could do.”

  Ted looked impressed and pointed to a sheltered spot on the edge of the low rise. “How about you set up a triage center. The vet and a couple medics from Rawlins and Laramie are on their way. Be nice if you had something already in place.”

  Josh said, “On it,” and concentrated on completing the task at hand, all the while worrying about where Marcus had gotten to.

  The first inking of trouble came when he lost track of sound and smell, the absence a vacuum sucking all sensation away. It had an alien feel, cold terror like fairy taps on his spine. The scars on his face undulated and stretched his skin to the breaking point.

  A stranger came up, tapped him on the shoulder, and spun him around. He stared blankly, then shook himself, feeling returning in a flood of tingling razor-sharp beads of sweat coating his skin.

  “I’m Doc Faris. My cohorts are bringing stuff although I see you already have everything under control.” The man looked over the supplies Josh had set out in the order he thought would make most sense. The medic, who he recalled as being a veterinarian, mumbled, “Good job,” as he made a few adjustments. When he turned to greet the rest of the medical team, he gave Josh a strange look. “You okay, cowboy?”

&n
bsp; Josh shivered, a whole body quake, but his voice was steady as he said, “Yeah, I’m fine.”

  He was.

  Fine...

  Wasn’t he?

  Where was Marcus... he needed Marcus, because he was...

  ...fine.

  Chapter Eleven

  Firing Line

  Chest tight, Marcus doubled over trying to catch his breath. The last shovel, the one he reserved for himself, helped brace him so he didn’t fall over in a faint. He wanted to think it was the lack of oxygen and the searing heat, but he knew deep down it was his sedentary nature that wreaked havoc with the demands he was making on his body.

  The phone call was the last he’d heard from Josh. He’d tried spotting him, but in the weird orange glare the men were nothing but shadowy shapes moving in a slow motion dance choreographed to a hellish chorus. The valley widened as the fire line approached the farmhouse, one of the oldest in the area, built and added onto by generations of ranchers who were born, lived and died within sight of the Snowy Range. Marcus climbed a small rise, the ground still smoldering under his thick-soled Redwings. He and Josh had traded in their cowboy boots for real workhorses that would protect them from the heat and residual embers.

  On the far ridge, a crew had managed containment, directing the line toward the stream, concentrating it in the hopes of being able to focus all their manpower on a smaller area instead of having them spread thin across the entire flat. The problem was, the beast had a mind of its own. It had assumed the shape of a bow echo, like the leading edge of a thunderstorm hiding within its cover of clouds the promise of unleashing hell on earth. That front was taking a beeline at the Barnes’ home.

  A lazy breeze picked up a tendril of Marcus’ hair, shifting it off his forehead. It carried a whisper of horses neighing, shouts, and the imagined terror of losing all you had in the world. They’d sent whoever wasn’t needed on the line to see to moving as many belongings as was possible, saving bits of precious and the memories forged over many lifetimes. The livestock would have come first, the pets gathered and transported to neighbors for safekeeping.

  How did a person decide what stayed, what could be sacrificed?

  John Barnes staggered up to Marcus, his face unrecognizable from the filth coating his skin. He shouted, “We’ve got to get ahead of it, Marcus. Barb says the creek’s down to a trickle, there’s not nearly enough to pump. She and the ladies have already run the well dry.”

  “What’s the Fire Marshall got to say, John?”

  “He ain’t here. There was a suspicious blaze over in Cheyenne he was investigating. He’s on his way but it’ll be an hour before he gets here.”

  Marcus barked, “We don’t have an hour, dammit.” There was less than a quarter mile to the house, and with a breeze picking up to drive the blaze, they were down to a half hour or less.

  “If we lose the house there’s nothing to stop it.”

  Marcus nodded, his gut in knots. Just beyond the farmhouse, the terrain opened up, stretched wide and flat from the ridge to the north to the highway overlooking the valley to the south. It was all pasture, crosshatched with tinder dry fence poles. A short way east a small cluster of cabins housing migrant workers was all that stood in the way of Becca’s and Josh’s homes.

  He needed to find Josh, tell him to get to the cabins and evacuate those families. He had no doubt their men were scattered somewhere, digging, beating at the flames with blankets, but he didn’t know them, wouldn’t recognize them.

  He tugged at John’s arm. “We need to evacuate everyone in its path. Have you seen Josh?” The man shook his head no. “Shit. Who do we have can run up to the store for my van? We can use it to take everyone to safety.”

  Barnes went on tiptoe, scanning the area. He waved frantically as a tall shape extricated itself from a cluster of men and walk-skipped toward them. “Will’s gonna bust more ribs if he keeps up like that. How about we send him and a couple of his buddies to make sure everybody in front of this thing gets to higher ground?”

  Will joined them, his face a mask of pain, but he listened carefully as his dad explained what needed done. He nodded and mouthed, “Yes, sir,” and turned to Marcus for further instructions.

  Marcus dug his set of keys out of his pocket and tossed them to the teen. “The van’s set are on the hook just inside the folding door. You’ll need to clear it out to make room. Just dump it on the ground.”

  The teen’s father reminded Will, “They won’t want to leave. You’re gonna have to make them, understand me, son?” Will nodded.

  They watched the boy make his way toward the line of parked vehicles. He had his cell phone to his ear, calling in his buddies to help.

  John said, “He speaks the lingo pretty good. Don’t worry, he’ll do what he has to.”

  They both looked back at the Snowys in the near distance. A chill breeze, pouring off the sparse snowpack, turned their blood cold. The last thing they needed was a wind to spring up and cause the sparks to spread far ahead of the advancing front.

  That thought gave Marcus an idea. “John, we need to move people in front of the line and start a backfire before the wind kicks in.”

  Barnes didn’t like that idea. “It’s too risky. It’s almost to the house as it is. When that wind comes it’s gonna be like a tsunami. Any men out in front of it are going to be trapped with nowhere to go.”

  “But you’re going lose your house, John.”

  His shoulders drooping, Barnes muttered, “It’s already gone. Let it go. We did the best we could.”

  Marcus barked, “Fuck this. Nobody’s letting your home burn to the ground.” Marcus shouted for a couple men to join them. He recognized Polly’s cook and Ted Sorenson, the state cop. “I need for somebody to take Josh’s truck over to the house. It’s got cans of gasoline in the back. Unload them and get back here. We need to move as many men as we can in front of the fire line.”

  Ted asked, “What’s the plan?”

  “We’re gonna take away this fucker’s fuel.”

  Ted stared at Barnes, noting his hesitation. “John, go with Juan. Do like he says. Me and Marcus will round up as many as what’s willing and meet you there.” To Marcus, he ordered, “Take this quadrant, pull ten men and get them in the back of my pickup. Make sure they have shovels and blankets.” He tossed Marcus the keys. “I’ll meet you there.”

  “Where you going?”

  He pointed north. “They need to push this thing down, make the front of the line smaller, otherwise it’ll jump the ridge and then we’re up shit’s creek.”

  Ted had a point. If a hot spot developed on the other side, there was nothing to keep it from adding a second front that would roar down the valley like a freight train, consuming everything in its path.

  The breeze tickled the hairs on Marcus’ neck. He took off at a run, slip-sliding down the slope and skirted still smoldering embers as he quickly gathered as many men as he could. They dog-trotted behind him to the makeshift command center. The medics were busy tending to minor burns, cuts and scrapes. Polly and her girls stood by offering food to whoever came along. She waved at Marcus.

  Detouring to talk with her, he asked about Josh. “Ain’t seen him since we set up.” She called over to her oldest daughter. “You see Mr. Foxglove lately?” The girl shrugged and shook her head no.

  Marcus had a bad feeling in the pit of his stomach. He didn’t like the thought of his friend getting in harm’s way, but there was nothing he could do. Josh might be strong as an ox, but moving fast wasn’t in his wheelhouse anymore. If the fire did something unexpected, there was no way he was going to avoid trouble if it came at him hard.

  With the word spreading, more men and women joined the group. Someone yelled he had room in his truck. Over capacity, the two vehicles pulled onto the tractor lane and followed the curve of the ridge in the direction of the house. The fire line stretched across the lane in front of them, the flames licking higher as they reached a section of trees and low brush. It
was impossible to judge how close to the buildings the line had advanced, but it was clear they were rapidly running out of time.

  Hesitating for a second at the wall of flames cutting them off, Marcus nearly jumped out of his skin when someone in the back seat stabbed his shoulder and yelled, “Punch it.” The truck bucked and fishtailed as Marcus popped the clutch, then lunged forward, gravel spitting in all directions. He would have shut his eyes and prayed, but keeping the wheel steady and his foot pressing the gas pedal to the floor wiped away any inclination other than getting past the conflagration.

  Whoops and cheers erupted from the truck bed as they careened on the squirrelly surface, bending left to parallel the fire wall fast approaching the first of a group of sheds and lean-tos that were the only buffer between hell and its next target.

  He pulled to the far side of the house, well away from any potential hot spots. If his idea went south, they’d need a getaway vehicle, not a chariot of fire. Standing on the cab step, he quickly explained the plan. They divided into three groups, each one picking up a gas can, then dispersed along the line, taking care to stay well back.

  Match boxes and lighters were tossed back and forth as teams of two drizzled the gasoline on clumps of sagebrush and any dried brush they could find. There wasn’t nearly enough to saturate the ground in a solid line so they did the best they could.

  The rest of the three teams started shoveling, building a bank of sandy dirt, levees against a flood of ugly they could now taste and feel. The breeze behind the fire wall drove heat and tinders forward. Marcus rolled his sleeves down and wished he’d thought to wear his jeans jacket. He tried not to think about Josh with his tee-shirt, his skin unprotected.

  Lungs burning, Marcus joined the men working frantically with spades, digging bars and even the toes of their boots. Behind them a generator screeched as it sucked spit from a nearly dry creek.

  Marcus tagged two men. “Take blankets and get up on the roof. The ladies are dousing the side of the house, but there’s no way for that trickle to reach that far.”