October's Fire (Fairy Glen Suspense Book 1)

by Valerie Power

  She navigated the interior descent with her one good hand, not looking down.

  “Where’s Brian?” she asked when they got to the first floor, but he was gone.

  Rebecca yelled, “The houses are fireproof. Maybe he’s in the safe room!”

  They ran to the other house. All she could see was the packed dirt under her feet. Brown acrid smoke blasted them, filling her eyes, her mouth. She squinted against the onslaught of gale force wind. The inferno was close, but she was as good as blind, and the blast furnace deafened her.

  The three of them joined hands, as much to keep from blowing away as to prevent getting lost. Rebecca pulled determinedly toward her destination like a game of crack the whip. They could’ve walked off a cliff for all she knew, but she followed Rebecca.

  The horses were gone, Brian Jr. was gone, Jeremy and his sister were gone. But she had her daughter.

  They stumbled through the veil of smoke but when they got close enough, they could see the mansion was in flames—hot orange tongues licking through the roof and out the windows.

  “Oh my god!” Rebecca screamed.

  Vivian said, “The pool!” It was being bombarded by ash and embers, but it was their only choice. The flames from the hill above had already swallowed the house, the flames below were climbing up to meet them. And they were in between.

  The three of them jumped in and started treading water, screaming and cringing away as a piece of the house flew into the pool.

  The air was unbreathable now, so they submerged.

  Undulating orange passed overhead. Bubbles formed on the surface as the pool water boiled. Deirdre flapped desperately to stay at the bottom, but kept floating up, buoyed by the one breath in her lungs that wanted to explode out of her. She let out a little bit of air.

  Finally, the flames passed. The overhead orange turned a mud color. Then a shadow appeared at the edge of the pool. What was it, an animal? Bulky and dark, distorted by the waving water—there was a huge splash, and the shape moved away, as a bundle slowly floated to the bottom of the pool.

  Shit, it was Brian Jr! He sank to the bottom, eyes closed. Before she could start towards him, Vivian swam to him and pulled him up.

  Now, a shape hovered in the sky above the pool, and concentric waves pushed away from the center of the water. She broke the surface, gasping for air, to the deafening thwup-thwup of a huge helicopter. Someone dangled from a rope ten feet above the pool.

  Wilma. She rappelled lower, piercing Deirdre with her flinty gaze, and barked, “What’d I say about making us rescue your ass?

  * * *

  CRYSTAL PILOTED THE GREEN car out the gates of Paraiso, in smoke so thick she had to open her door and look down at the line on the road to steer. Once they got down the road a little ways, the smoke cleared enough to see. The ridgetops were raging, but the road was so deep in the narrow canyon that it was mostly protected.

  She was almost too panicked to stop and rescue Chad’s heroin from the Barracuda, but when she saw the orange car she swerved to a stop by instinct, jumped out, and grabbed the three packages from the trunk. She and Jeremy needed resources to escape, and this was all she had.

  When she opened the green car’s trunk to toss it in, she couldn’t believe what she saw.

  Wall to wall drugs, more than she could comprehend.

  She threw the other three packages on top of the pile, jumped back behind the wheel and accelerated down the twisty canyon road, her heart beating wildly with excitement now, not fear.

  A fireman materialized from the smoke at the intersection of Lake and Del Diablo, and because she wasn’t thinking straight, she braked for him. The stoplight was bouncing around in the wind, strobing red on his straight black eyebrows and smooth brown jaw. “Keep heading east,” he yelled through her closed window, “you’ll be safe there.” She floored the gas pedal then, enjoying the surge of power from the big old engine, a warm feeling spreading through her belly.

  The green car handled well. Crystal liked it, almost better than the Barracuda. More importantly, it was a stealth machine—fast enough to outrun the cops, but so ugly nobody would look twice.

  Jeremy would kill her once he found out she’d left the Barracuda behind. But by then, they’d be out of state, and if he used his brain, he’d thank her. His car was like a big old target, and if they wanted any chance for a new life, they had to leave it behind. Leave everything behind.

  She breathed out slowly, in control again. If she could get them to the 15, by the time anyone put out a report on this car they’d be long gone. First stop, Vegas. Fake IDs, a new car, untraceable phones. Offload this trunkful of whatever-it-was, fast, before whoever was gonna miss it started to. Even lowballing it for a quick sale, they’d be set for a long long time. With cash and a car, they’d be their own masters.

  The highway curved and her headlights swept over skeletons of bushes, still fuming on a barbecued black carpet. She eased her pace so her brother didn’t get thrown around any more than he already had. She peeked over at him slumped against the passenger side door, his big chest muscles rising and falling inside his rumpled white t-shirt, streaked with black ash, just like his face. He’d be okay. He’d have one hell of a hangover, but he’d be okay.

  A blonde streak flashed in front of her and she stomped on the brake, screwing her eyes shut. When she opened them again, a cougar—a fucking mountain lion!—stood in the middle of the road, big front paws planted on each side of the double yellow line. For a heartbeat, his eyes glowed red, retinas mirroring the car’s headlights. Then his pupils snapped to narrow black slits and his eyes became a crystalline golden yellow. His charred fur cleaved with each panting breath.

  He was staring at her. Waiting.

  She stared back, terrified and transfixed. Inhale, exhale, she matched the beast breath for breath. An eternity of a second passed. Finally, he turned his head and limped into the smoldering darkness.

  Friday, October 26

  AS THE FIRST HINT of dawn lightened the smoky haze, distant hoof beats approached.

  Apache’s eyes flew open. Images of the night before came rushing back—following the Black Horse down the raging mountain, away from the terrifying helicopter blades and the terrible flames.

  At the foot of the mountain, the Black Horse and rider had disappeared into the smoke, and Ginny, the white mare, appeared. Ginny led them under the bridge, where they sheltered knee deep in water, as the fire caught up to them.

  Other animals were there too. A bobcat, two coyotes with burnt fur. Five deer—two adults and three babies. Predator or prey, all pressed close together.

  The fire passed over the bridge, tearing the forest apart. It lit the underside of the concrete arches with a dancing light. Heat compressed around them, unbreathable, unbearable. They huddled closer, sharing the deepest part of the water in those terrible minutes, listening to the howling firewind, flinching at each sharp crack of a tree exploding.

  Finally, it was gone. The land was black and smoking. They drank from the water after stirring and sloshing it with their noses, delving deep under the surface away from the floating ash, finding the pure liquid beneath.

  Eventually, Ginny dug herself a bed in the damp sand in the cavern under the roadway. Scarlet followed, lying down awkwardly in her saddle and bridle. Apache had stayed awake and alert, watching over them during the night, dozing on his feet.

  Now, his ears pricked as hooves rung on the asphalt above. He tensed, and paced three steps to place himself between his mares and whoever was approaching.

  A giant shadow showed itself, and he relaxed and nickered a greeting to the huge black horse and rider. Scarlet lurched to her feet and nickered too, and Ginny heaved her old leg bones under her to join the crowd. The black horse and rider stood while the other three horses joined up, then turned and traveled up the creek.

  The coyotes, bobcat, and deer took up the rear, fleeing into the dawn, along the lifesource. Along miles of rocky creekbed, they slogged thro
ugh water up to their necks, under tree branches extending over the water’s surface, forcing their way through. One by one the wild animals peeled away from the group, until just the horses remained.

  Between the steepest mountain slope and the forest, the creek snaked around, took a bend. It was almost light now. The charred acrid scent was easing. Moisture filled his nostrils.

  They followed Black Horse through the tall shaggy cedars, to the other side of the trees, and through an open gate, where his sore feet were soothed by lush pasture. They lunged into the grass, grabbing mouthfuls, ripping the stems, violently tearing the roots. Finding solace in the simple, life-affirming act of eating.

  When Apache finally raised his head to chew his overstuffed mouthful, he looked over towards the Black Horse, just in time to see the slim lady rider slide off. The minute her feet touched the ground, her form shortened and rounded. Her chestnut hair turned the color of iron. She stretched to reach the girth and loosen it, let the saddle slide to the ground.

  Black Horse dropped and rolled, feathery feet kicking the air. He turned and twisted in the dirt bath, sending up a cloud of dust. When the cloud cleared, he stood next to the woman, but now he was only as tall as her knees and had a distinctly feline shape. He arched his spine and snaked his serpentine tail. The old woman bent to pick him up. Stroking and cooing, she praised him for his hard work and courage.

  Apache blinked and turned away. He nuzzled Scarlet’s flank until she grew irritated with him, squealed and pitched both heels at his head. He feinted, trotted a few steps away, let loose a long satisfied snort, and went back to grazing.

  No need to rush. There’d be time.

  Saturday, October 27

  DEIRDRE’S EYES FLUTTERED OPEN, disoriented. Justin was calling to her. Crap! She’d overslept. She was dozing inside Bonnie’s horse trailer, on a cot that Bonnie had the tremendous foresight to pack. Camped out at the stables at Del Rio racetrack and fairgrounds. She should be getting ready for the show, grooming and prepping Scarlet for her turn in the ring.

  Her eyes flew open, but she was still dreaming. Justin’s voice rang out again from the breezeway next to the horse’s stalls. “Dad!” Good, Walt was here, he would help keep her calm. She always got so nervous before shows.

  Then grief pierced through her fuzzy dream fog.

  She came awake harshly, choking, a pain in her chest. A section of sickly pink-brown sky showed out back of the trailer. The truth fell on her all at once, like a dumptruck full of gravel.

  She’d spent the last day and a half here after being released from the hospital, first walking up and down the hundreds of stalls, searching for Scarlet and Ginny, then taking the trailer out looking for them, on the way picking up more stranded horses. But none of them hers.

  A deep cough shook her so hard she started retching.

  A groan came from the sleeping bag next to her cot. Rebecca popped up, dark hair akimbo, little pieces of shavings stuck in it. “Mom, are you okay? Don’t hack up a lung.”

  Deirdre touched her daughter’s arm. Her dear, beloved daughter.

  Outside, she heard Walt and Justin greeting each other, then Clara’s high-pitched welcome, muffled by his hugs.

  Walt’s face popped into view. “Honey, I’m home!” he said as he climbed inside. He wrapped her and Rebecca in his big bear arms, and held them tight. Her breath came hard in her throat as she squeezed him back. Everything would be okay.

  The dogs followed him in, wagging and snuffling. Buck whined frantically, overwhelmed with joy to have Dad home again. His big tail thwacked the metal of the trailer. Granger’s tongue was on her face, licking up her tears.

  “I’m sorry I wasn’t here for you,” Walt said in her ear, tickling her with his mustache.

  She didn’t want to say what was foremost on her mind. The horses were gone. She didn’t know how much he knew.

  “You’re here now,” she said, and held him tighter. There’d be time later for the whole story. For now, they were together again, a family.

  Sunday, October 28

  THE BOYD FAMILY LEFT the makeshift shanty-town at the racetrack, and along with Vivian, Lina, Walt’s father, whose mobile home park had no power, and all their dogs, were now crashing at Bonnie’s beach timeshare just up the road. The neighborhood horses were still at the stables, and the women were all taking turns going there to feed them.

  Sally and Emily were staying at Tom’s apartment in Manzanita. Tom would be dropping by tomorrow to interview Deirdre, Rebecca, and Vivian about the events of the fire and whatever else they knew. Sally said the D.A.’s office was working up a case against Brian Bartley, and that Tom’s investigation would dovetail into it.

  Bonnie’s two-bedroom condo was was a tight fit, and the power grid was still iffy. Rolling brownouts made air-conditioning a no-go, so it was hot and stuffy. But it beat the hell out of the football stadium down in San Diego where other fire evacuees were staying, and Deirdre felt lucky to have a floor to sleep on with her brood.

  Topping it off, today was Clara’s birthday, which gave her reason to feel even more grateful, while at the same time regretting she couldn’t give her youngest the party she’d planned, complete with festive birthday hats and a custom cake shaped like a big number 8.

  Clara had asked for an ice cream cake, so Walt was at the grocery store up the street, seeing what he could rustle up. Hopefully it was open. Hell, if they had to go to 7Eleven for Twinkies and Drumsticks, Clara would get her birthday treat. “I’m sorry we can’t be at home for your party like we planned sweetie.”

  “That’s okay Mama. I’ll see Peter soon enough.”

  She raised her eyebrows, wondering how Clara figured that.

  “Mama—”

  “Shhh honey.” The television was showing aerial footage now, and she unmuted it, scanning for any sign of Fairy Glen. Had their home burned to the ground, like so many others?

  From what she had pieced together, the fire had traveled through the deep valley by Lake Hemingway, along Del Diablo Highway, jumped the highway and went over Paraiso (as she well knew). There had been incursions into Pleasant Hollow, and spot fires all over Dos Olivos.

  Rancho Alto was completely spared. Was that because of the National Guard’s efforts, the fact that the Governor owned a house there, or simply because that single zip code consumed more water for landscape irrigation alone than your average third world country?

  Looting had been a minor problem, but she would bet, if given the choice between their possessions or their family…she quickly steered her mind away from choices. Gripping the newly minted cast on her wrist, she tried not to think of what she’d lost, but what she’d walked away with.

  “Mama?” Clara put a hand on her shoulder, and she grabbed and held it as she kept watching TV, half of her brain consumed with finding information on Fairy Glen, the other half replaying the events of the last several days.

  The helicopter that rescued them from the pool had taken them to the hospital, where Stephanie, frantic and grateful that Brian Jr. was going to be okay, explained to her through tears, "I had to lie to get you out of the house that day you confronted us. I had uncovered the meth operation, but Brian threatened my mom, and Luis, and me if I didn’t cooperate. I didn’t want you to get hurt too.”

  Turns out Bartley had come back the night of the fire, frantic, ransacking the house for jewelry, watches, anything he could find. She was hobbling after him on her crutches, screaming at him, “Where’s Brian? What did you do with him?” and he had knocked her over. Luis happened to come in just at that moment, alerted by the yelling and commotion. He hit Bartley across the head with a chair, and when he went to help Stephanie up, Bartley fled.

  As for who or what had tossed Brian Jr. into the pool right before they were rescued, she wouldn’t count on anything her eyes had seen that day. He was still recovering in the hospital, and they could talk when he was better. Poor kid. He’d lost his mother, but his father…where was he? Would he stay on t
he run, or would he act as if he’d done nothing wrong, and get away with it as usual? She shook her head. Not if Sally had anything to do with it.

  Walt walked in the door, loaded down with KFC and grocery bags, and everyone gathered around the little table.

  An hour later, after fried chicken, mashed potatoes and coleslaw had given them a sense of home, Deirdre pulled the chocolate layer cake and mint chocolate chip ice cream out of the freezer.

  There weren’t any candles, but that was okay. “The last thing we need is more fire!” she said. She looked around the table. Clara sat at the end, happily awaiting her birthday cake. Rebecca and Justin flanked her, looking just as eager to dig in. Walt was next to her, with his dad squeezed in, and Bonnie and Lina were on either side. Vivian lingered near the kitchen island, uncomfortable at having to depend on anybody. Too bad, she’d have to get used to it. Dependence, it’s the human condition.

  They sang to Clara, then Walt said, “Okay sweetie, even with no candles, you still get to make a wish.”

  Clara focused her smoky denim eyes on Deirdre. “My wish is already true,” she said. “Mama is sad about the horses, but I’ve been trying to tell her, they’re not gone.” Clara turned to look at Vivian, who put a hand on her heart and looked stricken.

  But something in Deirdre took comfort in Clara’s words. It was a nice fantasy, like when you’re a kid and the family dog dies: “Buster went to live at a farm in the countryside.” She cut into the cake and served it all around, with big scoops of mint green ice cream melting on it in the heat.

  Afterwards, they sat fanning themselves on the loveseats in the living room, like a bunch of bloated walruses on overcrowded rafts.

  Bonnie’s landline phone rang. She answered, then handed it to Deirdre.