by Shawn Grady
———
Silas lifted his head at the sight of motion along the clearing’s edge.
Caleb burst from a narrow forest path with another person.
Elle.
Alive.
She staggered behind him, her hair balled in his fist, hands cuffed behind her back.
Smoke flooded the area. The pressing flames advanced with a dull roar. Below, Caleb dragged Elle across the clearing to an earthen mound that, on closer inspection, sported a rectangular opening reinforced by timbers.
The bunker.
They disappeared inside of it. Silas hopped to his feet. He ran and jumped along the edge until he reached the top of the earth-covered bunker. He lowered to a squat and crawled forward, floating ash fluttered past his head. He felt the heat of the fire on the backs of his legs. The clearing beneath him reeled into view with every movement forward until he came to just above the edge.
Voices trailed out. Elle’s, sorrowful and burdened. “This is insane. You understand that? Look at me. Look at me and tell me what you are doing.”
“The time is past for explanations, Pilot.” Caleb’s voice, accompanied by the sound of scuffling and something like a reel unwinding.
“My name is Elle. You know it. Look at me. Look at me and face what you are doing.”
“What I am doing, Elle, is what needs to be done. I cannot take any chances with you this time.”
“What you’re doing is murder.”
“Call it what you will.”
“There’s no other name for it.”
“I’ve spent my life corralling fate, Elle. You know that? As a medic, I curbed death until it found another way in through the cracks. And now, as a smokejumper, what do I do? What do we do? We herd fire in the direction we want it to go. Sometimes you need to give fate some direction. I am sorry it had to work out this way.” The scuffling grew louder. Caleb paused in the entryway, a wooden dowel in hand with cord spooling out from it. “It will be swift. You won’t suffer.”
Silas’s eyes grew wide. A cord fuse. Caleb was going to blow the bunker and bury Elle with it.
Erratic winds howled. Fire lapped into the perimeter trees, flaring them off like Roman candles.
Caleb moved backward, both hands on the cord reel. Both hands meant neither held a gun.
Silas perched on the balls of his feet. Flaming embers flitted. He counted down.
Three. Hands at the ready.
Two. Foot on the threshold.
One.
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43
Elle screamed. Caleb dropped to the dirt, jumped by another man. The two tangled and twisted.
Silas.
Unbelief and excitement filled her. She jerked her handcuffs against the pipe railing beside the pulley system. The bolts in the aging boards below jiggled. She grabbed the metal crossbar with both hands and shook, trying to increase the play in the railing, rattling the handle of a push broom that leaned against the far end of it. On instinct, she slid the cuffs along the pipe and reached toward the bolts below. The metal bracelets dug into her wrist.
Silas and Caleb exchanged blows. Silas struck Caleb twice in the face. Caleb swung a fist to his belly. The two locked like steers again. Caleb pulled the gun from his belt, but Silas grabbed his wrist and took him to the ground. The gun fired. Silas knocked Caleb’s wrist against a stone. The pistol went flying, and the two tumbled in the duff. Sagebrush in the clearing burst into flame. Cheatgrass at their boots ignited. Smoke curled inside the bunker.
Elle rattled and fought against the metal. Her hair draped over her face. She flipped it back, strands sticking to the sweat across her brow. The men rolled over blackened and smoking ground, flames licking up around them. Elle’s eyes followed a line of grass catching fire. It wound directly beneath the fuse reel.
The fire roared in the wind. “Silas!”
He wrapped his arm over Caleb’s back and glanced over at her, cheeks red and hair wild.
“The fuse.” She pointed. “The fire is going for the fuse.”
Caleb grunted and lifted Silas at the midsection. He drove him up and then back down into the earth. Flames flashed across the cheatgrass, wicking toward the fuse. Silas shifted to his knees. He drove an elbow into Caleb and clambered to his feet.
The fire licked at the fuse. Silas lunged for the cord, lifted it from the ground and shot a glance back at Elle.
Caleb barreled into Silas, knocking him to the ground and the cord from his grasp. The fuse fell into the burning grass. Silas made his belly and struggled for the fuse. But Caleb pounded fists against his ears and jaw.
Silas covered his head, kicked and turned and ended up on his back. Caleb shifted and positioned himself on Silas’s chest, taking full advantage to drive fist blows to his face. Silas writhed and struggled but was pinned beneath the punishment.
Helpless, Elle watched blow after blow strike him. His arms dropped lower, his strength to block the barrage waning, opening his head to even more strikes.
“Silas!”
He didn’t look her way.
Hot, stinging tears welled in her eyes. Elle shook the railing, screaming in frustration.
“Stop it. Stop it!”
Caleb gripped Silas’s shirt with one fist and landed another blow with his opposite. Silas’s head dropped to the side. His eyes rolled back. Caleb cocked his fist above his head.
The fuse lit.
It hissed and sparkled and took off in two directions—one up into the cord reel, where it quickly burned out. The other climbed along the cord that ran straight toward the middle of the bunker a body length from Elle and toward several stacks of dynamite Caleb had moved from the walls.
Caleb released Silas and stood. He stared at the fuse and flashed a wild, panicked look at Elle. He turned, stumbled, scampered to his feet, and ran off into the forest beyond.
The fire buzzed along the fuse. She had half a minute at most. Elle shook the railing again. Silas lay unconscious.
There had to be a way.
Sparks ran along the fuse, drawing closer. The world around Silas lay engulfed in wind-driven smoke.
Seconds remained.
It wasn’t supposed to end like this.
She brought her hand to her mouth and let it fall to her chest. She felt the circle of her father’s ring hanging on her necklace.
The necklace.
Her eyes flashed to the push broom just out of reach. She lowered her head and pulled off the chain. The lit fuse climbed toward the entrance. She hooked a finger through the ring, brought her hands above the railing, and flipped the necklace toward the top of the broom handle.
It knocked against the wood and swung back. The fuse sparked inside the bunker, running up the middle of the floor toward the explosive stash.
Elle held the necklace up and flipped it again. The chain sailed over the end of the handle and slid down the shaft. She yanked the broom toward her. It tipped like a tree into her hands.
Elle shifted her feet around, lifted the end of the broom handle and spun the flat wood atop the brushes toward the ground. The fire danced along the cord, hissing and spitting. She hovered the broom head over the fuse cord, her forearms burning, sweat beading. Waiting. Waiting, until the sparking inched just within her reach.
She slammed the broom end upon it. Again and again, the cuffs biting into her skin. She pummeled the fuse, driving up dirt and pebbles. Wood cracked with a swing and the brush head broke off and flipped across the floor.
She trembled with the shattered broom handle in hand. Dust fell to the floor. And there the fuse lay darkened and burnt up to the point where she struck it.
No more sparking. No more hissing.
She collapsed by the pipe railing, chest heaving for breath. She ran fingers over gashes in her wrists, over the skin of her palms now worn raw. The necklace chain draped across her knuckles, running through her father’s ring upon her finger.
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44
The sound
of rotors beating in the air brought Elle’s head up. Silas stirred outside. A storm of ash and dirt swirled about him. A helicopter descended. Black-clad gunmen deployed across the darkened patches of cheatgrass. One came to Silas’s side while others charged into the bunker.
Shouting. Voices. A man knelt by her and unlocked her cuffs. His face looked caring and confident. The name Anderson lay stitched in white lettering against a rectangular black patch on his vest. The backs of others read FBI in large lettering.
“We’re glad to see you alive, Captain Westmore.”
Elle blinked, fighting the haze in her vision and the pervasive exhaustion throughout her body. “How?”
“You tell me, ma’am.”
She licked her chapped lips. “No, I . . . How did you find us?”
“We had a tip-off about the heist and were en route here to apprehend additional suspects.”
“Additional?”
“Yes. We took two men into custody when they landed with their stolen cargo, and another at a separate rendezvous point.”
“Is Silas . . .”
“He’s battered but awake. We have a medic with him now.”
Outside, several men lifted Silas onto a cot. Elle touched her cheek. She took a deep breath and turned to Anderson. “You’re still looking for Cleese.”
“Yes.” He pulled a notepad from his vest pocket. “And men by the names of Monte and Mansfield.”
“Cleese is dead.”
“Do you know where the body is?”
“About a quarter mile from here. Shot by an old man who lived in a cabin. That man is dead as well.”
He nodded and scribbled on his notepad. “What about the other two?”
Elle shook her head. “I don’t know.”
“That’s all right.”
“Who tipped you guys off?”
“Mr. Parson’s helicopter pilot was of great help to us. He’d been approached by Parson about flying out an undisclosed cargo for an appreciable sum. No questions. All covert. When the pilot learned your aircraft had gone down, he grew suspicious. Said he’d already taken part in a search for one Westmore a couple years back.”
“My father.”
“I’m sorry for your loss.”
“It’s okay.”
“The pilot needed the money, but he wasn’t willing to be a party to murder. That’s when he contacted us.”
Two men girded in olive green Kevlar walked into the bunker. They examined the extinguished fuse and the dynamite stash.
One shook his head. “Lucky it didn’t get hotter in here.” He faced Anderson. “Lieutenant, we need to clear everyone from this area as soon as possible.”
“C’mon.” Anderson extended his hand. “Let’s get you to safety and medical attention.”
She stood with his assistance.
He led her outside. “We’ll fly you back.”
Four men strode toward the helicopter with Silas on the cot. They slid him inside on the floor. A medic and an agent climbed in.
Anderson guided Elle up to a seat in the helicopter, pointed to the five-point seat belt harness, and handed her a helmet.
She tucked her hair back and slid it on. “Thank you.”
Anderson nodded and slid the door shut.
Lying on the floor in front of her, Silas twitched his eyes and opened them. His muscles tensed, and he tried to sit up. “The fuse—”
She stretched out and patted his arm. “It’s okay. It’s okay. We’re safe.”
He looked at her hands. His voice came out raspy, “Caleb?”
“They caught him. The FBI caught him. The others too.”
She saw the confusion in his soot-streaked and bloodied face, in his red-tinged eyes ringed with purple bruising. He searched her for answers. “I don’t understand.”
Elle smiled and shook her head. “Neither do I.” She squeezed his fingers.
He winced.
“Oh.” She relaxed her grip, noticing the redness with scattered small blisters across his skin. “You’re burned.”
The medic put a hand on Silas’s shoulder. “Sir, you should lie back.”
“I’m all right. It’s all right.” Silas propped himself up and looked at his arms. “It’s not too bad.” He coughed. “Just a sunburn.”
The medic moistened dressings with sterile saline and wrapped them around Silas’s burns.
“Thanks.” Silas held up a wrapped hand. “That’s good. Really.” He fought back another cough. “Thank you.”
The medic eyed him, glanced at Elle, and then relented and returned to his seat.
Silas’s eyes fell to the ring on her forefinger, the chain still curled in her palm.
His mouth seemed to search for words. “I thought—I thought you were . . .”
She shook her head.
His eyebrows angled. “What is it?”
“I found him.” She swallowed. She let the ring dangle on the necklace. “My father.”
He took the ring in hand. He touched his brow with his other and flinched at the contact with the bruised skin. He shook his head. “I have so many questions.”
Moisture brimmed in her eyes. “Me too.”
He brought his unwrapped hand to hers. “I didn’t mean to jump out of the plane.”
Elle broke out in a smile. She laughed. “I know. I know you didn’t.”
“I didn’t want to leave.” He coughed again—this time gripping his side. “I didn’t want to leave you. Not again. I never should have.”
Elle shook her head. “You don’t have to—”
“No. I do.” He looked around the helicopter, at the stone-faced men in place beside them. “How did we . . . ? I don’t know how any of this . . . how Caleb . . . the fuse . . . ?” His eyes returned to her. “My head really hurts.”
She pushed her lips together. A tear flipped off her chin. “Here, lie down. You should lie down.”
“No, I’m good.”
“You’re not good. You’re stubborn.”
“Elle.”
“Yeah?”
“I came for you. From the second I hit the ground, I was coming for you.”
“I know.”
“Being ripped away . . . I thought you were dead.”
A hand pounded the door twice. Men outside strode away from the helicopter.
He swallowed, eyes focused on her from behind puffy, purple skin. “I know now. I realized.”
The engines whined into high idle.
He interlaced his fingers with hers. “I’ve never known a home until now.”
Her insides braided like rope. The rotors chopped through the air. Dust and ash scurried in a rising cloud. The helicopter lifted. They rose above the tree line, through the smoky ceiling, and burst into the open air.
He caressed her ring finger. “Elle?”
He held up her father’s ring.
“Silas? What are—”
“Wait.” He grimaced and took a knee in front of her.
“Silas, no. You—”
His Adam’s apple shifted. “Be my wife.”
She shook her head. “You’ve taken too many blows to your head.”
He filled his chest with air and straightened. The medic and agent looked on with curiosity.
She felt fingers at her chin. He brought it to face him.
She angled her eyebrows. “Silas. You’re battered and dirty and . . .” She shook her head. And . . . irresistible. She put a hand on his chest. “You need rest.”
He shook his head and leaned forward.
She drew a breath.
His scratchy chin bristled by her cheek. She closed her eyes, heart fluttering. His lips met hers in a gentle kiss.
He pulled back, his familiar surfer-boy grin beneath swollen lips. “I know I look like I just got beat up. I do. I did. I did just get beat up. I know I can be obstinate and arrogant and—Elle, this . . . having you, is something that I knew I wanted before that engine exploded. Before I thought I would never have the chance to tell you
.”
He lifted her father’s ring and slid it on her finger. “Forgive me. If you somehow can for leaving you, then I promise to be yours and to make my home with you and with Maddie.”
Elle covered her mouth. A salty stream met the corner of her lips. She exhaled, smiled, and wiped the tears from her eyes. “Silas . . .” She slid the ring off of her finger. “Silas, everything has been moving really fast lately.”
“I know what I want.”
“It—”
“You have to believe me.”
“It’s not that I don’t want you.” She glanced at the men, who shifted their gazes. She squeezed the ring. “I’ve made the mistake of moving too fast before.”
He looked away.
She found his eyes. “I want to build this the right way, this time.”
He brought a hand over her fist and nodded. “Then I can wait.” His eyes locked with hers. “As long as it takes. I’ll wait for you.”
Warmth spread within her. She clicked off her seat belt harness and leaned close to him. She threaded fingers through his tousled hair, took his bruised cheeks in her hands, and kissed him.
“I believe you.”
CHAPTER
45
At the nurses’ counter, Silas signed the last form needed to check out of the Barton Memorial ER in South Lake Tahoe. Madison sat on Elle’s lap in a chair along the wall, unable to escape her mother’s embrace since they returned. The girl kept looking up at him with starry-eyed awe. She didn’t seem to mind his bruises. Elle had told her he earned them while fighting for her.
Elle smiled at her daughter, looked at Silas, and gently bit her lip. “How are you?”
“Bruised not beaten. I see Madison is in good health. Any new leads?”
She brightened. “Yes, actually.”
“From a neurologist at this hospital?”
“That’s the amazing thing. It didn’t come from a doctor. An EEG tech caught an abnormality that had escaped everyone else.”
“That’s incredible. How?”
“Well, he’s been looking at electroencephalograms for years. He has a lot of experience. He told me that when Maddie’s images came on the screen, he didn’t see anything and was going to save the file and move on to the next case, but he felt prompted to study it again. That’s when he saw an abnormality along the central sulcus of the brain.”
