by Piper Stone
Antonio shook his head and grabbed the receiver. “Captain Banyon. This is Antonio Giovanni of the Jackal smokejumping team. We hear your position and we’re on our way.”
“Thank God, Giovanni. We’re boxed in.”
The words rang in the bus and had every man rising to their feet.
“We’ll have your back,” Antonio stated. “Our ETA is six minutes.”
“Come in on the south side. That’s the only way to try and stop this. And Giovanni, the fire is threatening at least a couple of the larger ranches.”
Garcia gripped the back of the seat, sweat beading down both sides of his face. “We have to help them.”
“Bitterroot. Some of the largest ranches are there,” Riker said as he looked at Boone.
“Ranches worth millions of dollars,” Sawyer said under his breath.
“Let’s roll, gentlemen. We have a fire to tend to.” Antonio remained on his feet.
As the bus driver accelerated, taking the twisting turns at excessive speed, Garcia said a silent prayer. This shit couldn’t happen again. Not again.
“Don’t worry. We can do this,” Stoker said so only Garcia could hear.
Garcia turned to look at his friend and for the first time since joining the team, he was terrified.
“Suit up. We need to be ready,” Antonio directed. “I’ll contact Tyler and see what we’re dealing with.”
“If they’re boxed in, the damn fire is hot. Too hot,” Cooper nodded to Stoker.
“What are you thinking?” Stoker asked as he leaned forward.
Cooper shrugged. “All those fires at expensive ranches and businesses.”
“Let’s not jump to conclusions, boys,” Antonio hissed. “We have no details. Tyler, we have a situation.”
“I heard,” Tyler said through the speaker. “We have two other engine companies going in, trying to save various structures. Wildroot Ranch looks like it’s the hardest hit and smack in the middle.”
“All right. We’ll go in there.” Antonio rubbed his eyes.
“From what I’ve heard, the owners are away for two months,” Tyler added. “And before you ask, no idea what started the fire; however, several hundred acres have already been consumed.”
The men looked back and forth at each other. For a fire to consume any amount of land during this season, and especially after several recent rains and snowstorms, there was more to this than a careless fire.
They all knew it. They all understood.
“Keep us informed. We’ll be there in five.” Antonio ended the call.
“Wildroot? I know the place. Used to go there as a kid,” Boone offered. “They store a hell of a lot of oil in underground containers for equipment.”
“Didn’t hear any explosions,” Sawyer said, his eyes open wide.
“If they’re underground and leaked then blew, the fresh snow would have muffled the noise.” Riker glanced up at Antonio. “Shit I know from the past.”
Antonio nodded. “Whatever the case. Our goal is to keep the fire from spreading and get the firefighters a way out. That’s it.” He looked out the window. “Okay, this is Wildroot Ranch. Eight thousand prime acres of burnable land.”
Five minutes later the bus pulled up on a sparse piece of land and even from where they were sitting, they could see at least three sets of fires blazing, threatening to crawl up the mountain.
“Jesus fucking Christ,” Landen hissed as he jumped off the bus, dragging his gear.
“Okay. Hansen, Puevos and Martin, you’re coming with me straight in from the south side.” Antonio looked up at the mountains. “We don’t have much time given the brisk wind. “Sheffield, Weaver, Lincoln, you guys go around to the left but curve around to meet us. See if we can cut this fucker off. And don’t do anything stupid.”
“You can’t break up the team.” Cooper’s voice was gruff.
“We don’t have a choice,” Antonio huffed.
Cooper moved closer as he buttoned his jacket. “You know protocol. You can’t break up the team.”
The tension was palpable.
Garcia glanced at Stoker, not surprised his friend’s face held a smugness. Stoker would never be friends with Antonio, let alone the hatchet being buried.
“You’re not in charge here,” Antonio hissed.
Cooper closed the distance. “If you break up this team, you could sign all our death warrants.”
Antonio seemed to hesitate, as if debating. “We don’t have a choice. I’m making the call.”
“We need to get going,” Riker hissed.
Shooting Riker a nasty look, Antonio nodded. “Follow my orders.”
“Then I’m coming with you,” Cooper stated as he buttoned his jacket.
Antonio opened his mouth to retort then nodded. “We need every man we can get. Let’s go.”
Cooper grabbed Antonio’s shoulder. “If this goes badly, I’ll hand your ass to the captain on a silver platter. Do you understand?”
Antonio jerked away, a sneer on his face. “Get moving. Now!”
The teams took off, moving quickly and in a straight line. Antonio led and within thirty seconds, they were overtaken by smoke.
“Christ. That smells like oil,” Boone said as he slapped down his mask.
“I agree with Cooper. It would be stupid to break up the team,” Landen said as he pointed toward the tops of the trees. We’re going to have a crown fire on our hands soon as it is.”
Ignoring him, Antonio pointed. “Puevos, Hansen, take the saws over there. Boone and I will dig trenches.” He clicked on the radio. “Captain Banyon, this is Giovanni. We are in position. Any change?”
They heard a series of clicks. “Giovanni, we’re making some headway but come in straight and to the left.”
“Will do.” Antonio motioned.
“The man is going to get us killed,” Stoker said under his breath. “Fuckin’ hotdogger.”
“Sounds like someone I know,” Garcia said, his tone even.
Stoker rolled his eyes and shoved an ax into the belt loop of his jacket. “Let’s get this over with.”
“Yeah.” Garcia pulled the cord for the chainsaw and followed beside Stoker as they began cutting thin underbrush at first, then moving to larger trees. The entire area in front of them was covered with various pines, kindling for wildfires. The smoke rolled in the upper areas of the trees, giant puffs of acrid smelling blackness. While the air had a distinct and sickening stench, he couldn’t decipher oil.
“Over here.” Stoker directed, and they cut side by side, moving forward then swinging their arc out to the side. Within a few minutes, they lost sight of Antonio and Boone. “Shit. This is too massive. We’re not going to make any headway.”
“Keep cutting. Riker and Landen will curve around at some point.”
“What if it’s too late?” Stoker asked.
The words sent a chill down Garcia’s spine.
They moved continuously, cutting until the trees easily fell then kicking them aside. The smoke continued to thicken as the wind swirled, whipping around them.
Every man dug in.
After three hours, Stoker stopped. “Giovanni. Where the hell are you guys?”
“The fire is turning over here. I can hear firefighters in the distance. Stay the course until you’re told otherwise,” Antonio commanded.
Stoker took his hand away from the radio and surveyed the area. “That man is insane. We’re not going to be able to do enough to make a damn difference.”
“Christ. Look.” Garcia trudged through a small opening in the trees. “There’s the ranch house.”
Stoker rubbed soot from his face and flanked his side. “That has to be oil. Look at the scorched earth, the even pattern.”
“Yeah, I don’t know.”
“Everything isn’t about arson. Come on. Today is not a good day to die.”
Garcia wiped sweat from his eyes before he revved the chainsaw. Not only were the firefighters boxed in from the fire, but by the wa
ter source itself. The nearby river provided water, but the area had difficult terrain surrounding it.
They worked side by side, cutting and chipping away at the snarled underbrush, the area thick with briars.
“Giovanni, where are you? We need help over here,” Stoker screamed into the radio.
“I can see some of the firefighters.” Garcia pointed through a small clearing. “It’s going to be dark soon. This isn’t the best place to be.”
“Yeah, tell me something I don’t know. Damn it, Giovanni.”
A moment of static was followed by clicks. “Stoker. We can hear the saws.”
Stoker shook his head. “Riker, how close?”
“Two minutes from what I can guess. Fire is rolling hot here but turning toward the river.” Riker’s voice was exasperated. “Fuck this.”
Through the radio, they heard a tremendous cracking sound.
Boom!
Even the earth where Stoker and Garcia stood shook, a thunderous reverberation followed by a cackling from some animal.
“Are you hurt?” Stoker demanded.
Crack! Snap!
Garcia took long strides toward him. “What the hell?”
“Riker. Are you hurt? What is your status?”
“No. The damn tree took out one of our chainsaws but we’re fine,” Riker snarled.
“We’re headed in your direction.” Stoker shook his head. “This is insane.”
“Let’s go. We’re close enough.” Garcia moved to the left, carving out and cutting, Stoker following behind.
In what seemed like thirty minutes, they noticed Sawyer leaning against a tree. Garcia pointed.
“Lincoln. Where are Riker and Landen?” Stoker asked as he trudged through underbrush and over several fallen trees.
“Just over there. We can see a group of firefighters. I think we’ve made a difference,” Sawyer huffed. “Let me borrow that ax of yours.”
Garcia looked down at Sawyer’s leg. “You’re injured.”
“A tree limb hit me on the way down,” Sawyer said as he tented his pants. “I’m fine.”
Stoker moved closer, yanking and handing him the ax. He looked up at the trees and took a deep whiff. “I don’t like this. The air is rancid.”
“Yeah. Look at the smoke. Thick with oil.” Garcia held out his hand, rubbing his fingers together.
“This shit is far too combustible. Come on.” Stoker moved past.
Sawyer swung the ax, cutting at the closest pines. As he walked ahead, he did so with a distinct limp.
“Damn it, Sawyer.”
“I’m fine,” Sawyer retorted.
Garcia remained by his side as they continued on their path. Hitting a tree stump, his saw jammed. “Shit.” He yanked and wiggled the blade, trying to remove the chain from the dense tree. “Fuckin’ thing is stuck.”
“Easy. Slow and easy. Don’t jerk it or you’ll lose the chain,” Sawyer directed.
Just then, they heard a sound, a rustling in the trees. “Shh. Listen for a second.” Garcia held out his arm and turned in a circle.
Landen popped through the trees, followed by Riker. “There you guys are.”
“Quiet. What the hell is that noise?” Stoker took several steps in the direction of the sound.
Riker flanked his side, looking into the shadows. “I don’t hear a damn thing.”
Roar!
“Jesus mother of God.” Sawyer took a giant step backwards, almost tripping over a fallen tree.
“That’s an animal,” Garcia whispered.
“One pissed off animal,” Riker added.
Crack! Whoosh!
Within seconds, the crackling of the underbrush was mixed with a rush of wild howling, savage growls.
“Oh shit!” Stoker pointed.
“A bear? Are you—” Garcia was cut off as the beast charged toward them.
“Get the hell out of the way,” Riker directed as he hunkered down, holding the ax in his hands.
Landen reacted, dropping the chainsaw and walking in the direction of the bear.
“What the fuck are you doing?” Stoker screamed. “Get back here.”
The bear continued charging, his look wild and full of terror.
Garcia moved to the side and noticed Landen pulling a knife from his pocket. “Shit. You aren’t—”
Wham!
Eeerrr!
The bear went down with a hard thump.
“What just happened?” Sawyer managed after a few seconds.
“Jesus!” Garcia exclaimed.
Landen remained where he was then inched closer when the bear didn’t try to get to its feet. “The bear was in the goddamn fire. He was just trying to get away. Poor defenseless creature.” Yanking the knife, he stood watching the bear move, shifting then remaining quiet.
The others clamored around him.
“Wow,” Sawyer whistled.
“Nice fucking shot. Remind me never to get into a bar fight with you, buddy.” Riker inched closer. “Look at his hind legs. Burned.”
“He’s dead. A hell of a better way to die,” Landen stated with conviction.
Garcia held the still running saw by his side as he closed the distance. Let’s finish this.” As they heard another sound they remained frozen until two firefighters moved out of the smoke.
“Come on, it’s almost dark.” The tone of Riker’s voice was one of bitter anger.
Troy glared at the restaurant before getting out of his car. He’d promised his little boy a pizza for dinner and instead, he’d been summoned for a meeting. Why couldn’t it have waited until Monday at the office? He grabbed his briefcase and yanked the keys from the ignition, easing out of the car then slamming the door. After hitting the lock on the key fob, he shoved the keys into his pocket and kept his head down as he walked to the restaurant’s entrance.
Once inside, he was seated almost immediately. He’d requested a table in back, away from prying eyes. He had a feeling this meeting, albeit casual in nature, would be a veiled threat. Why else choose a popular restaurant smack in the middle of town. He sat back and waited, his nerves on edge. He was a corporation attorney for God’s sake. How his life had been turned upside down, keeping the wealthy from going to prison for extortion and various other horrific crimes was beyond him.
Yeah, he knew the answer. Money. He was tapped. Broke. To say he was living paycheck to paycheck was a stretch. He ordered a bourbon neat and tapped his fingers on the table, wiping sweat from his brow. He had no idea even who he was meeting with. His contact had merely told him two men from the corporate headquarters. A sickening feeling remained in the pit of his stomach.
It seemed to take an exorbitant amount of time before the drink arrived. “Go ahead and bring me another one.” He glared up at the waiter, who seemed to have no idea why a man dressed in a suit would crave guzzling more than one drink. The moment he reached for the fine leaded crystal, he almost knocked it over. Exhaling, he grabbed the glass with both hands, counting to five before taking a sip. Then a gulp.
The smooth liquor did little to calm his ragged nerves. He’d go through with the meeting then they’d be gone. He’d figure out what else to do to get his client out of jail then all would be back to normal. As he waited, he tried to relax, studying everyone else in the restaurant. He recognized no one. Thank God, for simple things. He’d worked so hard to achieve his status and now…
“Mr. Bruester?”
The voice was dark, laced with what Troy would call an edge hinting of danger. He stood, again almost knocking over his drink. He looked at both men, forcing a smile.
One looked at the other, a quiet expression shared between the two. “I’m Anthony Vinchenzo and this is my partner, Michael Tavish. Sorry we’re late. The flight in was rough.”
“I just arrived. Sit down, gentlemen. I know we have business to discuss. I have a family to get back to.” Troy kept his voice even, nonchalant as he studied both men. Well dressed and wearing Rolexes, he could also see what appeared to
be gun holsters under their jackets. How the hell did they get those through airport security? He plastered on a smile and flagged the waiter.
“A drink sounds excellent. We can get to know each other better,” Anthony chuckled and leaned over the table. “And what we say here stays at this table. Do you understand exactly what I’m saying?”
“Absolutely.” He understood all right.
When the man leaned over, Troy had a clear shot of the pistol. Sweat began to bead across his forehead, strings already sliding down the back of his neck. He wasn’t cut out for this shit.
Laney stood just outside the restaurant, searching the parking lot for Garcia’s truck. The majority of vehicles nestled in the small lot were expensive cars, Mercedes and Lexus. She patted the hood of her Honda and grimaced. The dress had cost far too much for her salary, but she wanted to look beautiful, feminine. Beguiling. She sighed and held her clutch to her chest as she studied the few people entering the massive set of wooden doors. Why Garcia had selected Toro’s, the swankiest restaurant in town was beyond her.
She managed to see the time given the bright overhead lights and shivered. She was five minutes early. Men were barely on time. He wasn’t late. She glanced around the parking lot again then decided to go inside. She could wait just as easily at a nice table, maybe indulging in a glass of wine before his arrival. You bet she was nervous.
Very carefully she walked toward the entrance, cognizant of her heels clipping on the asphalt. Even given the one hundred fifty dollars spent on the silk dress, she felt underdressed. Every woman seemed to have on a fur coat and one that no doubt cost more than a year, two years of salary. She wrinkled her nose and placed her hand on her very fake costume jewelry necklace. At least in dim lighting no one would be able to tell they weren’t diamonds and rubies.
The moment she walked inside, her mouth watered. The restaurant was well known for serving the finest Wagyu steaks in all of Montana. At least so she’d heard.
“Can I help you?” the hostess asked.
The wooden paneling and gothic art seemed too formal, even out of place. “I’m not certain if there’s a reservation for Puevos?”
“How do you spell that?” she asked tartly.
