by Earl Emerson
The vehicle was in the ditch where he’d last seen it, both passenger’s-side doors ajar. Because of the extreme tilt, he couldn’t see in the passenger’s-side windows, nor through the windshield, which was starred and partially buried in the dirt and rocks.
Faint music flowed from inside.
Dropping his bike in the center of the road, Zak called out, “Anybody in there?”
He lifted the front door, propping it open with one arm while he peered into the cockpit, which appeared to be empty. An air bag had deployed out of the steering wheel. “Jesus,” Zak said aloud as the implications of this fiasco struck home. He never should have come down the mountain. There were loud crackling sounds nearby as the woods began exploding. The fire, which had skipped over this area on its first pass, was beginning to nudge it again, and the odds of outrunning the flames a second time were infinitesimal.
Just as he was pulling away, he saw what appeared to be a pile of clothing in the driver’s foot well.
The pile began moving.
Kasey was bent almost double, prying at something near his feet with a large, bone-handled knife. His face was stained with tears, and he looked as despondent as anybody Zak had ever seen. “I thought you guys were gone.”
“We thought you were gone.”
“My foot’s jammed.”
“Think two of us can get it out?”
“I don’t know.” Suddenly Kasey looked like a kid on Christmas morning. He was twenty and had been facing this alone, and now he had help.
“Just a minute. I need to get something to prop this door open.” Zak clambered off the side of the Porsche and looked around for a limb or a rock. Below their position he could see flames leaping over the tops of trees, dying down, then leaping up again. It was the same fire that had chased them up the mountain, returning now to complete the chore.
All he could do now was pray he had the guts to dive in and get Kasey out, pray that the panic that had paralyzed him at the earlier wreck didn’t return. He knew he was stalling, and every minute he stalled was putting him and Kasey a minute closer to death. He was all too aware that this wasn’t a fire department operation, that he didn’t have people backing him up, that he wasn’t wearing any protective gear. He felt so unbelievably vulnerable with his arms and legs bare. He knew that, should the fire overtake them, nothing burned faster or hotter than the interior of a modern vehicle with its plastic dash and console and synthetic carpets and seats. Even without the gas tank, which almost never exploded except in movies, car fires were hot and dangerous. Everything around them would light up like a small sun.
He hadn’t been away more than a few moments—at least he thought it was only a few moments—when Kasey began yelling. “You still there? Christ, you didn’t leave, did you? You stupid bastard.”
Zak peered into the doorway. “Try to keep the excitement level down to a dull roar, would you?”
“I thought you left.”
“Nobody’s splitting. We go out of here together.”
“It’s too weird. You pulled my sister out of a car. Now you’re pulling me out.”
It was weirder than Kasey knew. He’d rescued Kasey’s sister, but seventeen years earlier had failed to rescue his own.
He’d cheated death when he was eleven; he’d always known that. His destiny had been to crawl inside with Charlene and not come out. He wondered if he was going to cheat death and destiny one more time.
Zak walked around the rear of the Porsche and stooped to pick through the rocks at the edge of the road. When he thought he saw a pair of cycling shorts inside, he stood on tiptoe and peered through the broken rear window. It was Morse. These guys were murderers and liars, and, when this was over, their thousand-dollar-an-hour attorneys were going to blame the deaths on Zak and Muldaur, but all morning they’d been hauling around the body of the man they’d murdered as if it were some sort of trophy.
“Where are you? Are you still there? You’re not making any noise.”
Zak picked up a piece of broken rock and jammed it into the door hinge. “Let me look at what’s going on.”
Thinking it was a miracle he hadn’t been overcome by panic already, Zak slithered into the Porsche, lowering himself past the gearshift console and Kasey Newcastle, who reeked of sweat and fear and the sour smell of old beer. His guess was that a formation of rocks in the ditch had bit into the sheet metal like a fork and jammed his leg.
Zak pulled gently on Kasey’s bare leg. “That hurt?”
“Hell, yes, it hurts. You don’t think I’ve been trying to yank it out?”
Zak was lying half across Kasey’s hips, feeling his body heat against his own already hot flank, their voices close and soft like lovers. “Give me the knife.”
It was dark in the bottom corner of the Porsche where Zak was working, but he quickly calculated what needed to be done. The sheet metal had popped inward and grabbed Kasey’s ankle like some sort of metallic flower so that the bloody flesh and bones of his lower leg were gripped tightly. Using the blade of the knife, Zak began prying the metal out of the way, using a second rock he’d brought with him for leverage.
“Shit! What are you doing to me? Ouch. Shit.”
As he worked inside the Porsche, Zak had to admit he felt safe swathed in all the leather and luxury. Even knowing there was a cadaver in the back didn’t bankrupt the false feeling of refuge.
“I hear the fire,” Kasey said. “How close is it?”
“Close enough that you’re going to have to run on that ankle after I get you out of here.”
“Run on it? I can barely feel it. Maybe if we close the door? Maybe it would go over us.”
“The fire gets anywhere close to this rig, it’ll go up like a road flare.”
“I know you’re a fireman and everything, but are you sure?”
“Yes.”
“It sounds like it’s right outside. Hurry. Damn it, Zak. Hurry.” It was the first time Kasey had ever used Zak’s name.
“Okay. You’re free. Pull your leg out.”
When Kasey scrambled out of the Porsche, he actually used parts of Zak’s body like rungs on a ladder. Zak backed out. By the time he reached the road, flames were close enough that he could feel them on his jersey.
Kasey was already flying up the road on foot.
Because the fire was fingering through the trees on either side of the road, Zak knew this had turned into another footrace. For a moment the fire seemed delayed, yet the instant it gathered some momentum and began marching up the mountain with any sort of certainty, they would both be dead.
Zak picked up his bike and began running alongside it, wondering if he should abandon it. He and Kasey were running at almost the same speed, Kasey 150 yards in front, though he had yet to turn back to see if Zak was okay. And then, as he pushed the bike up the hill, Zak began to lose ground. On Kasey and on the fire.
Running put new stresses on his already overtaxed leg muscles and, as he ran, Zak’s legs began to cramp. If he could get on his bike, it would be better, he thought, as shadows from a cloud of black smoke scudded up the mountain over their heads. He heard an explosion behind him: probably the Porsche’s interior as it reached ignition temperature and burst into flame.
It didn’t irritate Zak that Kasey was ahead of him. What irritated him was that Kasey hadn’t turned around, hadn’t given Zak a second thought. It made him sick to watch panic manipulate people, knowing it could just as easily manipulate him. Ironically, they were running toward the bodies, seeking refuge in what had already proved to be a deadly trap for Kasey’s two friends. The bike began to feel heavier and heavier. He had the feeling that without the additional burden of the bicycle, he might be able to run himself into a groove, and perhaps the stiffness in his legs would ease up, but he didn’t let go of the bike and consequently was forced to slow down. He could hear trees crackling like distant gunfire. His shoulders and the backs of his legs were beginning to grow hot. So this was what it was like to get chased dow
n by a forest fire. This was what it was like to die alone in the woods. At least he would be able to stop moving. He’d been moving all day, and he was so tired…At least he’d be able to rest.
As he pushed his bike up the mountainside, he began thinking about his own impending death. He knew Nadine would eventually go on to marry somebody else. In years to come, he would be the firefighter boyfriend she had that one summer. By the time she had grandchildren, she might not be able to recall his name. There would be a hole in the world where Zak had been, but it would be a very small one, just as in the grand scheme of things, with billions of people on the planet, most humans left rather small holes when they died.
As Zak ran, Kasey cast a glance back over his shoulder for the first time. It was clear from his movements that he wasn’t checking to see how Zak was doing but was instead gauging the distance to the fire.
Sighting a small boulder on the left side of the road, Zak ran toward it, pushing his bike, vaulting up onto the rock and leaping onto the saddle. He’d already put the bike into the second lowest gear in expectation of something like this and was able to power through the dead spots at the top and bottom of his pedal stroke as he slowly picked up speed. As soon as he got into a rhythm, the fire leaped forward and began roaring down his neck. He’d gotten just enough distance by hopping on his bicycle that the heat didn’t take him down immediately. He could smell hair sizzling. No matter what happened, he wasn’t going to give up. He would ride until the tires on the bike exploded. He wasn’t going to give up.
The wind picked up and began blasting him from left to right, just hard enough to take some of the heat off him.
Deep down he knew if he stopped for even a second or two the fire would overtake him and he would drop onto the road like the others. Getting back onto the bike when he did had been a stroke of luck. He no longer felt his legs cramping. He was now in a position he’d assumed for hundreds, if not thousands, of hours every year, and his body knew it well.
He quickly gained enough ground on the fire so that he was no longer breathing superheated air. The atmosphere around him remained hot and smoky, but at least his lungs could extract minimal amounts of oxygen. He was now moving at the same speed as the fire. Without realizing it, he’d been growing more and more hypoxic. His legs ached, his lungs burned, and he felt as if he was going to faint, but he kept riding. With all his troubles, he was reeling in Kasey, who increased his tempo as they both crossed from the dry ground to the previously charred section of the mountain where the two bodies lay.
When Kasey came upon the first body, he slowed momentarily, stared in disbelief, then picked up speed. Like a child rushing past a haunted house, he bypassed the second body without looking at it and kept running through the charred tunnel of smoldering, sticklike snags. At this rate it wasn’t going to take long for him to reach the untouched part of the hillside, where he would once again be vulnerable to the escalating firestorm behind them.
By the time Zak caught him, they were only yards from exiting the charred section. “Stop,” Zak shouted. “Stop right here.” He knew that there was no fuel here, that the fires had already consumed everything they could. Kasey was not going to stop.
Pulling alongside, he overlapped his handlebars with Kasey’s hips and began leaning against him until they both veered toward the right-hand side of the road, wobbling and tilting. Together, they went over in a heap, Zak’s bike on top of the mess. “What the hell are you doing?” Kasey screamed, as he fought to extricate himself.
“Stay here!”
“Like hell. Are you nuts?”
“Are you?”
“Did you see those bodies?”
“They got cooked from the burning trees. You see any trees here with the potential to flare up?”
Kasey ceased struggling. “Trees?”
“There’s nothing left to burn here. We go up where all those live trees are and we’ll end up looking like charcoal briquettes. This is perfect. It’s like we set our own back burn.”
“What?”
“There’s no fuel here. Nothing left to burn. Now sit still, and maybe you’ll live through this.”
60
Six hours later
He’d been dozing, drifting in and out of consciousness, in one of those patient gowns with the open back. His left shoulder had enough white Silvadene cream on it that he could just glimpse it with his peripheral vision. He hadn’t been here long, because there were no get-well cards or balloons, just a half-open door. For a long while he lay still, taking in his surroundings, listening: visitors traipsing up and down the hallway, a wheeled cart rolling past the door. He knew he’d taken a helicopter ride. He knew men in brown uniforms had asked questions and he knew he’d closed his eyes without replying. Vaguely, he remembered that the doctors and nurses at Harborview had been fussing over him because he was a firefighter. Somebody had asked if he needed pain meds. He couldn’t remember how much he’d taken, but it was enough that he could barely feel his burns. He could barely feel anything.
He was wondrous and grateful to be out of the mountains, even more wondrous that he was still alive. He’d never been so grateful, and questioned whether it all hadn’t been somehow enhanced by the drugs freewheeling through his bloodstream. It took many long minutes to realize he had a line in his left arm and a nasal cannula pushing oxygen through his nostrils. Down the corridor he heard a television playing the evening news. Somebody turned the sound louder. The story involved people being rescued from the mountains in the middle of one of the worst fire seasons in western Washington history. He knew he was one of those people. The only part he caught before a car commercial was “officials have verified at least two deaths. There may be more.”
Which bodies had they found? he wondered. There was no telling how many died in the end. The fact was, he couldn’t recall for sure whether Muldaur and Giancarlo had made it. He knew they’d reached the top of the mountain, but that didn’t mean they were alive now. The fire had been so entirely unpredictable.
A dark figure stood in the doorway for half a minute before Zak took cognizance of it. The figure had Silvadene smeared over various parts of his body and was draped in an oversize hospital gown similar to Zak’s. “Hey, buddy. Through with your nap?”
“They must have doped me,” Zak said, tasting the dryness in his throat. He wondered how long it had been since he’d spoken.
“If I remember right, you were asking for the formula so you could mix up a batch at home.”
“Was I?”
“You were dopier than hell. You and Kasey, I guess, ended up hiding in some hot rocks when it blew over the last time. You got some contact burns from the rocks on the road, but other than that it’s just smoke inhalation for the both of you.”
“Is he all right?”
“Don’t worry. Your girlfriend’s brother made it. He’s up the hall telling the county sheriff ’s investigator all about us. They keep looking at me. They came in here once, but we got the doctor to throw them out. The doctors were going to put you in the hyperbaric chamber for smoke inhalation, but at the last minute decided against it. Actually, I believe they only have one chamber at their disposal, and it’s already full.”
“Who’s in it?”
“Stephens. Jennifer. And a nurse who’s looking after them.”
“Jennifer made it?”
“Yeah. Stephens. Jennifer. Kasey. They all made it.”
“Anybody else?”
“You, me, and Giancarlo.”
“You’re going to have to help me out with the math here.”
“There are six dead or missing. Chuck, Morse, and Ryan Perry we already knew were dead. Bloomquist, Fred, and Scooter are missing, but they found two bodies they haven’t identified. So we’re not sure who else is dead.”
“What’s Kasey telling them?”
“They won’t let me close enough to listen.”
“You talk to them yet?”
“The sheriff? Yeah. It was a l
ittle tense. Apparently our story doesn’t match up with everything else he’s been hearing.”
“What happened with Stephens?”
“I heard a couple of the deputies talking, and I have a feeling he’s aligned himself with the other side.”
“Saying what?”
“I don’t know.”
“How’s Giancarlo?”
“A few burns and smoke inhalation like the rest of us. That man’s got the constitution of a horse.”
“He was like that in drill school, too…You haven’t talked to Stephens?”
“No. He and Jennifer went on the first flight. Giancarlo and I went later. You and Kasey didn’t get picked up until way late. For a while there, we all thought you were dead.”
“Were you sad?”
“I had to ask for a second box of Kleenex to wipe my eyes. Why’d you go back?”
“I didn’t feel I had a choice.”
“There’s always a choice.”
“Not if you’re me.”
“Zak, you’re a better man than I am. No way was I going back down that mountain. I just couldn’t believe I was watching you disappear into that smoke again. A little while after you left, the fire blasted up the road like a blowtorch, and I figured it had taken you out. Then on our way out we flew along the road, and there were two bodies facedown in the road. I thought one of them had to be you.”
“It was probably Bloomquist and Scooter. They were in the middle of the road. They got caught trying to outrun it. I’m guessing Fred did, too. Probably up the spur road.”
“Thought you might like to know, Nadine showed up awhile ago. She’s down the hall with her brother and the rest of the family.”
“I don’t know if I’m ready for her. Six dead. Jesus.”
“Yeah.” Noises in the corridor grew louder and then receded. A minute later people passed by speaking in whispers. Zak recognized Nadine’s voice. Muldaur was fumbling with the controls for the television to search for news reports about the fire when a figure darkened the doorway: Nadine Newcastle in tennis shorts and an off-white blouse, her hair pulled into a ponytail. The three of them looked at one another wordlessly before Muldaur said, “I’ll leave you alone.”
