by Shawn Grady
He could smell his building perspiration, evaporating into the cool evening at openings in his shirt.
Voices trailed on the air.
Bo turned his best ear, the left one that was usually opposite of Monte’s chainsaw farther up the line.
Conversation.
No intelligible words, but he was able to make out tones. Harsh. Angry. He clicked off his helmet light and palmed his flashlight, leaving only enough illumination for him to see where to take each step. A creek rippled nearby.
He walked for some time, following the traces of sound until the ground in front of him sloped upward. He felt the forest floor, pine needles poking his palm, moist dirt sticking to his skin. The incline felt steep. He’d have to climb on all fours to get up it.
Shouts burst forth.
Bo held his Pulaski at the top of the neck and spun the grubbing end around toward the dirt. He drove it into the earth and pulled himself up and forward. A thin corona emerged at the top of the hill. Discernable words met his ears.
“How’s I to know?”
“How could you assume?”
“All y’all is from the devil!”
The third voice was scratchy and high, like a rusted barn-door hinge. Bo crested the hill. The light atop diffused into the air, emerging, he found, from three fusee flares and one oil lantern in a level clearing below. Sippi and Rapunzel stood at the lights’ edge by an earthen mound with a timber-framed opening. Caleb, Monte, and Cleese stood in a defensive circle around a wild-eyed old man gripping a double-barreled shotgun.
Bo lay in the dirt and watched the scene below him unfold.
CHAPTER
14
Caleb stretched out his hands. “Easy there, old man.”
“Who you calling ‘old man’?”
Monte kept still, barely moving his mouth below his moustache. “Let’s not anger the fellow, eh, Caleb?”
“I ain’t no fool. Y’all have come for it. I knew it’d happen, and here you are.”
Caleb shook his head. “You’re mistaken. We’re just firefighters making our way through this section of the wood. Maybe you noticed, but there’s a huge fire making its way toward us right now. It’d be in your best interests to relocate.”
He spat. “Convenient, ain’t it.”
“Look,” Monte said, again holding very still. “This here’s a misunderstanding. Mr . . . ?”
“Leewood. Zane Leewood.”
“Mr. Leewood, have you considered that you just happened upon us as we were trekking along—”
“In the middle of the night? What kind of firefighting you doing right now?”
Monte flashed a glance at Caleb. Beyond him, Cleese stood silent with eyes shadowed, hands at his sides and fingers extended.
“Yes,” Caleb said. “We hike at night as well. We have strategic destinations and goals to reach.”
“And you just happened to be in this particular draw outside of my gold cache. A likely story.”
Cleese kept quiet, taking advantage of the misdirected focus to inch closer to the man.
Caleb shrugged. “I don’t know how to convince you otherw—”
“It’s ’cause you can’t.”
Bo tried to make sense of what he was witnessing. A gold cache? Who was this guy? And why did Bo find himself more apt to believe him than Caleb, Monte, or Cleese?
Something scuffled behind him.
Bo twisted on his side to see Pendleton clambering up the hill. “Mansfield, what’s going on?”
Bo exhaled. “You tell me.”
Pendleton dropped to the dirt where Bo lay and peered into the draw. Zane swiveled in place, training the barrel of the shotgun on each of the three men in turn. They took cautious steps backward. Steps from the others, Sippi and Rapunzel stood still as statues—their mouths shut for once.
Pendleton cursed under his breath and whispered. “You don’t know anything about this?”
“No idea.”
“That gun loaded?”
As if in response, Zane cocked the shotgun.
Bo swallowed. “I’m guessing that’s a yes.”
“Mister Leewood”—Monte caught Zane’s attention—“please believe us when we say that we just happened upon this place. We don’t have any ill intentions.”
Cleese crept behind the man.
Monte continued. “Sometimes we have to hike at night to get to a point where we can better fight a fire in the daylight.”
Cleese drew closer.
Pendleton rose. “That’s it. I’m going down there.”
Bo raised his eyebrows. Wasn’t his first choice. But he couldn’t let Pendleton go down alone.
Pendleton plunged down the hillside. “What’s going on?”
Bo scuffled down after him. Caleb took one look at Pendleton and tilted his head skyward. Monte exhaled, his chest deflating like a balloon.
Bo still didn’t know what was up, but it was obvious to him that things weren’t going according to their plan. The boys were definitely not happy to see the two of them.
Maybe Pendleton thought he was going to help rescue these guys from Zane, that his presence would be much appreciated and in the nick of time. When reactions weren’t as such, Bo saw the frustration build in Pendleton’s face. Pendleton was a man who thrived on precision and control. As much as Bo appreciated and respected him, he had understood early on that Pendleton’s whole identity was wrapped up in being a supervisor.
Pendleton straightened. “Caleb, you’re the jumper in charge. Account for this.”
Caleb licked his lips and huffed, shaking his head. “Perhaps when Monte is no longer at gunpoint, huh?”
Zane shifted the shotgun barrel toward Pendleton. Bo felt his windpipe tighten. He had faced hairy situations before—fire making a run on his heels, burnt out trees falling beside him—but he’d never felt fear like that. Fire may kill, but it didn’t murder.
The old man’s jaw quivered. His eyes darted around. “How many of you is there? How many you got out there?”
Pendleton raised his hands. “Listen. I’m the leader of this group. I don’t know how all of this came about tonight, but what I can tell you is that we’re out here to fight a large lightning-caused fire that is working its way this direction.”
Zane’s hands fidgeted on the shotgun, a shaky finger hovering over the trigger. “You’re all liars.”
Bo had to say something. “Look, sir”—the man turned to him—“I am in the same position. I don’t know how this came about. But what can we do to assuage you? What would make you trust us?”
“There ain’t nothing you can do. I know what all you all is after.”
“Believe me. I’m not after anything. I just think that, if you put the gun down, then we can talk about this. What do you say?”
Whatever it was that Bo said, or however it was that he said it, it resulted in Zane’s countenance softening. Zane swallowed, turned the shotgun to the side and began to nod. “I guess there’s no harm in—”
Cleese attacked, wrestling him in a bear hug. They struggled and spun, the barrel of the shotgun pointing every which way. Boots scuffled and dirt clouds kicked up.
A blast fired off.
Cleese grabbed the barrel of the gun and elbowed Zane in the face. The man loosened his grip on the weapon. Cleese seized the stock and shoved the man to the dirt.
Zane grunted as he hit the ground. He wheezed and gasped for breath, his face red with veins bulging. He struggled to prop himself on his elbows.
Cleese stood over him and cocked the shotgun.
“No!” Bo shouted, struck by the sight of Pendleton also lying in the dirt, face down.
He skidded to his knees beside him and hovered his hands above his back, afraid to touch him. A thick burgundy pool soaked the dirt.
Bo’s eyes widened. He gripped Pendleton’s shoulder and hip and logrolled him onto his back. His shirt wicked through with blood, leaving only thin flame tips of yellow fabric visible. His dust-coated face flopped to the side, mo
uth hanging open and eyes fixed on the intangible distance.
Like Jamal.
Grief gave way to fury. It boiled in Bo’s chest, sent his chin to an uncontrollable quiver. Strength infused his hands, tightening his muscles, focusing the aperture of intent. Eye for an eye. Life for a life.
He stood. Fear splashed over Caleb’s face. Monte stepped backward.
Cleese stared at him from the shadow of his brow. “What you going to do, Mansfield?”
Caleb put out a tremulous hand. “Anyone can see that this was a mistake, an accident.”
Bo shook his head. Which one of these fools is going to hit the ground first? He stepped toward Cleese.
Cleese leveled the shotgun at Bo. “Easy now.”
Bo sucked in a breath through his nostrils. His chest heaved and eyes darted from one man to the next.
Caleb took a couple steps closer, emboldened by Cleese. He swaggered like a politician. “This isn’t your fault, Bo. And it’s not ours either. This is an unfortunate but—”
“What’re you all doing down here?”
Caleb swallowed and glanced at Monte. He shook his head and scratched the back of his neck. “I should have told you. I should have let you in earlier. It was always the plan to let you in on the secret. Once I could confirm the find. But, it was . . . better if less people knew.”
“You mean everybody but me and Pendleton.”
“Right. I know. Wrong choice.”
“What’d you find, Caleb? Gold?”
Caleb nodded. “Enough to make it so you and I and every one of us standing here will never have to work again.”
“So long as what?”
“So long as we have the cooperation of three folks. Pendleton, who’s now a moot point. Yourself. And Zane here.” He stretched a hand out to a bare patch of ground where Zane had been lying. “Where’s the old man?”
Cleese cursed.
Monte pointed. “There.”
Zane ran stiff-legged toward the bushes at the edge of the light. Cleese shouldered the shotgun and fired an echoing blast.
Zane spun and dropped to the ground.
Bo froze, dumbfounded. He blinked, wishing somehow that this was a nightmare and not real. The lavalike anger left him. He felt numb, detached.
Cleese gripped the body of the shotgun and lowered it to his side. Smoke trailed from the barrel tip. He walked over to Zane’s body, patted it down, and stood with two new shotgun shells in hand.
He split open the weapon, pulled the two spent cartridges out and inserted the new ones, clacking the barrel back in place. “I’d say we done fixed two of the three issues at hand.”
Sippi and Rapunzel drew in closer to the group. Monte fingered his moustache. Caleb came forward from the men and stood in front of Bo.
He spoke quietly. “I didn’t ask for this. Nobody wanted it like this. But this old man, he’s a vagrant, a delirious loner. I got a tip from someone that this cache was out here, but I didn’t know about this man. No one did, Bo. And nobody will. You follow me.”
Bo stared at Caleb, catching a glimpse of the old man’s body in the dirt beyond. The rest of the crew stood semi-silhouetted behind him.
“Look, I know you and Pendleton were friends. He shouldn’t have died. I didn’t want that. You didn’t want that. But that’s a risk out here. Accidents happen. And he died in an accident. All right?” He sought out Bo’s eyes, coaxing acceptance.
Bo raised his chin. He didn’t have much in the way of options.
Caleb scratched the side of his head. “You know, I’d hate for another accident like that to happen. Wouldn’t you?”
Bo nodded reluctantly.
“Good. Then we’re on the same page.” He turned and stopped. “Hey, how’re your sisters, by the way? They’re in college, right?”
A sharp pain twisted in Bo’s gut. Sheer blackmail. He couldn’t let himself look intimidated. The only reason he wasn’t dead yet was that they somehow believed he would readily stoop to the level they were at.
Best to play the ruse and let them keep believing that. “They’s got they own lives now. I got my own life to look after. All y’all’s been holding out on me.”
Caleb grinned, then reeled it in. “Let’s say this, you take care of us and we’ll take care of you.” He offered his hand.
Bo eyed it and then gripped it like a vise. Caleb winced.
Bo took a long deep breath. “Let’s be sure, then, the both of us keeps our promises.”
CHAPTER
15
Elle dipped beneath rusty luminescent clouds that were half smoke, half vapor, diffusing the last of the early evening light. She forced thoughts of Silas to the back of her mind, relegating him there like the rest of his jumper crew strapped into the back. Present conditions warranted all her attention, and she couldn’t let their encounter and the emotions it stirred compete for it.
She had expected the jaunt into South Lake Tahoe to be turbulent, but not to the point of losing and regaining over a hundred feet in altitude in the matter of a few seconds. She was thankful she’d remained composed and able to calmly reassure Maddie that sometimes it got bumpy on plane rides, despite the fact that the drop had made even her experienced aviator stomach jump into her throat. Warren, the Redding jumpers’ longtime Spotter, sat silent in the copilot’s seat, not showing any concern. Elle figured she likely appeared that way to him too and smiled inwardly at his confidence in her abilities. She took pride in getting her crews safely to their drop points. Having Madison on board just ratcheted up the stakes tenfold. She wished she could stretch her hand out into the air and calm the currents for her baby.
The cockpit rattled with another round of turbulence. She glanced over the gauges and adjusted her grip on the yoke. Seventeen active wildland fires in the area of the Sierra Nevada’s Desolation Wilderness. California and Nevada resources were tapped, leaving only skeleton crews to remain for anything else that might blow up in the West. According to Weathers, strike teams consisting of five brush engines each and pulled from neighboring states were arriving daily and being sent on immediate need to unattended blazes. No stopping in staging. No getting settled at camp.
She crested a ridgeline, and the lake came into view. White-capped waves reflected the tawny gray underbellies of thunderheads. The lightning activity at the moment was lower than it had been for most of the trip, giving her a short window to come over the pass and park the Twin Otter at the airport in South Lake.
She’d flown in worse. But not with her daughter.
The plane briefly dipped. Elle held the stick level, glancing at her horizon bulb and the altimeter. Maybe agreeing to this assignment had been a mistake. What was she thinking—leaving Maddie with a complete stranger. Okay, Weathers’s wife was not a stranger. And Maddie would have playmates in their grandchildren. She’d be safe. It was better than Elle going on unemployment. And almost anything had to be an upgrade from Cecelia.
A pang of guilt twinged inside her. Cece would have to work her own way through her grief. She had to come to terms. She had to let go of the “but why” approach and accept things as they were. Cecelia had married a man who was drawn to jumping into fires. She knew the risks. She knew the possible outcome. What did she expect—for him to be around forever? Elle knew jumpers, and as such knew better.
Lightning struck over the eastern shore. Elle descended, dropping altitude to skim close to the lake, not wanting to toy with any unstable air masses above. She glanced back at Maddie. For all the worrying Elle had done, there the child sat, head tilted back with Rose under her arm.
Elle radioed the South Lake Tahoe airport tower for approach and permission to land. They approved her as second in the pattern behind a single engine air tanker that was returning after dropping its small load of fire retardant. She angled the stick and arced around. The heading indicator spun on the instrument panel.
Another flash burst in the sky. The south part of the lake seemed to spout and spatter like hot oil. South sh
ore clouds tore from the sky, and sporadic raindrops tapped on the aircraft hull. The blue-lit runway lights came into view, emitting haloes in the downpour.
These microbursts weren’t uncommon at this time of the year. More bark than bite. The little moisture they released would soon be sucked up by dry tinderbox fuels and climbing daytime temperatures.
Her right-wing engine prop skipped and buzzed. She adjusted speed and angle to compensate for the loss of lift and brought her in, slow and easy, until the tires screeched and the flaps came up and the roaring sound of a safe ground landing hummed in her ears.
Right decision or not, they were there, touched down in Tahoe with the world afire.
———
Silas barely took three steps on the tarmac in South Lake Tahoe before Planning Chief Shivner got in his face.
“You’re late.” He adjusted one of three radios rigged to his chest harness. Sweat beaded between the receding banks of hair atop his tan-skinned head.
“Evening, Chief.” Silas shouldered his rucksack and nodded toward Warren. “You might want to talk to the man in charge.”
“Adams.”
Warren descended from the plane, a grin beaming out from his growing beard. “Yes, sir, Chief. Give me something good, ’cause you know these boys like to fight fire.”
Shivner looked sideways at Silas and took Warren by the arm. “Over here.”
They strolled to the nose of the aircraft. Warren’s expression drew somber.
Silas scratched the back of his neck. The rest of the crew filed out of the plane. Elle walked into the crew compartment and knelt by Maddie. She caught Silas’s eye and smiled. Maddie waved with her fingers. Silas returned the gesture.
Warren returned. “Sounds like things in the last twelve hours have pretty much gone to—”
“Pretty much is an understatement.” Shivner waddled past with a limp and waved them along. “Talk on the way, gentlemen.” The edges of his yellow Nomex shirt stretched around the pear-shaped arc of his belly. “The next operational period is set to start at twenty hundred hours. You’ll both be there.”
Both?
