Set the Dark on Fire

by Jill Sorenson

  After a few moments, she realized he was waiting for her lead. He didn’t know where they were or how to get out of here. The fire wouldn’t come back to a burned-out area, but that didn’t mean they were in the clear. They were cold and wet, and dark was fast approaching.

  “How’s your knee?”

  “I don’t know,” she said honestly. “My whole body is numb.” Experimenting, she bent both legs, feeling a dull throb in the left one. She touched it and didn’t find any broken bones or loose parts. It was only a little swollen. Maybe the cold water had helped.

  “There’s a cave near here,” she said, her brain kicking back into gear. “I think I can make it that far.”

  His eyes narrowed. “A cave?”

  “Not a lion cave,” she said, stifling a hysterical giggle. “It’s a sacred site, actually. Petroglyphs and stuff.” There might be drinking water there, too. The site was little known and seldom visited, but Shay had stashed some supplies there herself six months ago. From the Santa Ana Mountains to the Anza-Borrego Desert, there was only this desolate, treacherous stretch of land, and hikers got lost in the area occasionally.

  “Do you want to rest?” he asked.

  “No. We need to get moving.”

  Nodding, he gathered up their packs. Shay put all of the essentials in one, the last of their drinking water, a first aid kit, and a couple of energy bars. The tranquilizer guns were wet and the cell phones out of range, but she added them anyway.

  He took the pack away from her and helped her up. She tested her knee, putting weight on it gingerly. It didn’t feel good, but it didn’t buckle, either.

  “I can carry you,” he said again.

  “No, you can’t,” she snapped. “I’m too heavy.”

  He frowned, perusing her body for evidence of heaviness. Or maybe he was just assessing her injury. “Let me look at your knee.”

  Grumbling, she sat down and drew up the leg of her pants. The wet fabric bunched around her knee, making tending to it impossible. Cheeks heating, she hobbled to her feet again, fumbling with her zipper and dropping her pants.

  Shay was glad today’s panties were a dark, unrevealing blue.

  She wasn’t seriously injured, just a bad scrape and the makings of a nasty bruise, but he examined her knee carefully, pressing gently here and there before applying some salve from the first aid kit and wrapping her up in an ace bandage. She remained standing, trying to ignore the fact that he was kneeling before her, his face just inches from her crotch.

  When he was finally done, his gaze moved from her knee to her bikini briefs. He jerked away from her and straightened, his color darkening.

  My, my. Luke Meza could blush.

  Hiding a smile, Shay tried to drag her pants back up, almost losing her balance when the wet fabric refused to cooperate. Luke stepped in to offer his assistance, hands sliding all over her slippery skin.

  “Did these shrink or something?” he had the nerve to ask.

  She swatted his hands away and completed the task herself, her cheeks heating with embarrassment. Of course he wouldn’t understand about wet clothes and extra curves. His butt was probably hard as a rock, like the rest of him.

  With his uniform shirt hanging open, and his hair all wet and choppy, he was most enticingly disheveled.

  His eyes met hers and shuttered instantly, hardening into black chips of ice. “Ready?” he asked, throwing the pack over one shoulder.

  She nodded, preparing herself for another long haul.

  Her boots squished as she walked, growing heavier with every step, and her knee ached, but she soldiered on, leading him over scorched earth and smoldering embers, heading toward Cahuilla Ridge. Traveling so soon after a wildfire wasn’t recommended, but the temperature was dropping fast and they needed to find shelter before nightfall.

  She was aware of her wet clothes clinging to her and the pervasive silence, the fuzzy gray sunset and falling ash. It was as if the fire had sucked up every breath of air and ray of light, swallowing sound and muting color, leaving nothing but dark soot, charred black bits, and quiet.

  Putting one foot in front of the other, she trudged on, relying heavily on her right leg. Anyone who followed their tracks would know by the uneven depressions her boots made that she was hurt. When the burned soil beneath her feet became sandy, she knew they were close.

  Cahuilla Ridge was a rock exposure made of multi-layered sandstone, carved deep by wind and erosion, too barren to provide fuel for the wildfire. The area’s only foliage, a cluster of fan palms, stood high and proud, untouched by flames. Nestled into the side of the ridge there was a small cave, tall enough to stand in and wide enough to move around. It wasn’t a five-star resort, but it would serve as lodgings for the night. Native American couples had been using the place to perform sacred rituals for centuries.

  Ascending the trail along the ridge proved more difficult than she’d anticipated. The pain in her knee was bearable so she didn’t think it was responsible for her sluggish pace. She was shivering but didn’t feel the cold, aware of her surroundings but unable to focus.

  She was almost to the safety of the cave when the ground tilted beneath her feet. Gravity pulled her backward, into Luke’s arms, and he caught her neatly, as if they’d choreographed the incident. “Hello there,” she said, blinking up at him.

  He looked mad, or maybe that was just his face.

  “You could have fallen forward,” he said from between clenched teeth. “Or to the side.”

  Shay didn’t have to peek over the edge to know it was a long way down. She wanted to mumble something sarcastic about him being her knight in shining uniform, but her mouth wouldn’t form the words.

  “You’re ice cold,” he added, continuing to scold.

  He wasn’t, she noted, clinging to his shoulders. Despite the wet shirt, his skin was hot. She put her cold lips to his bare neck, seeking warmth.

  He carried her the rest of the way. She was a tall woman and not exactly a featherweight, but he managed the task with impressive ease, as boasted. If she weren’t so disoriented, she might have enjoyed the ride.

  He set her down on the floor of the cave and immediately found the basket of supplies. On her last visit she’d brought a small stack of firewood, some food and water, and—bless her industrious little heart—a multicolored wool blanket in one of those airtight space bags. Getting her warm must be his first priority, so he spread the blanket out on the ground next to her. After shrugging out of his own wet shirt, he went to work on her clothes.

  The way he undressed her was insultingly impersonal. His eyes were cold and his hands were hot. While he unlaced her boots and removed them, peeled off her pants and checked her knee, she lay there like a corpse, immobile but not indifferent. For some reason, tears stung at her eyes, and he saw them.

  “Lift up your arms.”

  She did. He pulled the soggy tank top over her head. Beneath it she wore a plain white cotton bra, no under-wire, no padding, no artifice. He didn’t look. Rolling onto his side, he brought her body toward his, spoon-style, and pulled the blanket over both of them.

  It occurred to Shay that her physical breakdown had some kind of emotional root, and she felt ashamed. Her reaction to her mother’s death had been the same. Shock. Confusion. Despair. And a complete inability to articulate her feelings.

  “Tell me about your mother,” she whispered.

  His body tensed, then relaxed. “She’s not Luiseño.”

  “She’s white?”

  “Yes.”

  “I wouldn’t have guessed that by looking.”

  “Thanks.”

  “It’s not an insult. You must know you’re handsome.”

  He shifted, uncomfortable with the subject. Shay didn’t mind. Regardless of what had passed between them, before or after the fire, they were here and they were alive and she would ask whatever she pleased. “So you like her? Better than your dad?”

  “Yes.”

  “What’s your favorite th
ing about her?” she continued. “What do you miss the most, when you don’t see her?”

  It was a tough question, and he gave it the consideration it deserved. “Her smile, I guess. There are so many other things, but her smile … it’s just, always there. She’s always happy to see me, even if I was with her the day before.”

  Shay felt more tears coming, and she sniffed them back. “Have you ever told her that?”

  “No.”

  “You should.”

  “I will.”

  She believed him and so she quieted, resting her cheek on his bicep. It was nice to be with someone who loved his mother, even if he didn’t like her. “My mama had a beautiful smile.”

  “Did she look like you?”

  “No. Dylan and I both take after Daddy. She was a redhead, all soft and delicate.”

  “You have her skin,” he surmised.

  “Yes,” she said, thinking her mother had made pale and freckled look as sweet and fresh as a bowl of strawberry ice cream. Her mind skittered to the way her mother’s face had been made up for the funeral, and back further, to an even darker place, to how she had looked, swollen and grotesque, in the short hours after death.

  “What happened to her?”

  Shay didn’t talk about this—ever—but she found herself saying, “She hung herself in the barn behind the house,” in a faraway voice, as if the incident had happened to some other mother, some other girl. “I found her.”

  He sucked in a sharp breath. “I’m sorry. I had no idea.”

  “The only good thing about it was that Dylan was away,” she said, thinking back. “It was the middle of summer, and she’d sent him to camp. She’d also packed up all her things and put them in marked boxes. She’d planned so far ahead! I think she’d have made the funeral arrangements if it wouldn’t have drawn suspicion.”

  “You couldn’t have known,” he said softly, reading her mind.

  Logic told her those words were true, even if her heart said different. “I’m glad we didn’t die,” she murmured, changing the subject.

  His arm tightened around her. Outside the cave, it was almost pitch black. In a few moments they wouldn’t be able to see a thing.

  “I hate to suggest this, but we should make a fire,” she said. “For warmth, and light, and to keep away animals.”

  That got him moving. There was a circle of rocks near the mouth of the cave. He put a couple of small logs in the middle of it and found a book of matches. Then he frowned, as if he knew something was missing. “What about …”

  “Kindling? There should be some palm fronds in that basket.”

  He rummaged around, going by feel in the deepening gloom. “You brought this stuff?”

  “Yes.”

  “Have you stayed here before?”

  “Not overnight.”

  She could tell by the way he proceeded that he didn’t have much experience building fires, but she enjoyed his shirtless performance too much to offer any advice, and before long he had it going. While she lazed about, getting warm and cozy, he brought her water and they shared a tin of crackers and some beef jerky from her stash. They saved the last energy bar and a can of peaches for breakfast, although Shay could have eaten more.

  Luke knew enough not to burn all the wood at once, so the fire was small and didn’t give off much heat. He must be cold in wet trousers and no shirt, and she would have invited him under her blanket if she thought he would accept.

  From the way he kept his distance, she knew he wouldn’t. In fact, he looked prepared to stay up all night, holding vigil.

  The fire did generate plenty of light, illuminating the dips and curves in the walls of the cave. Some of the natural rock features had been enhanced by human hands, and they drew Luke’s attention. “What’s this?” he asked, running his fingertips over a plump crevice.

  She assumed he knew it was a petroglyph. Apparently, he didn’t know what the rock carving represented. “It’s a yoni,” she explained. “A female fertility symbol.”

  Realizing he’d just been fondling a sacred stone vulva, he dropped his hand like it had been burned.

  Shay smothered a laugh. “Cahuilla women used to rub it for good luck. They thought if they slept with their husbands after touching the shrine, a baby would come.”

  He stared at his fingertips in dismay.

  “I don’t think it works the same way for men,” she said with a smile.

  Wiping his hand against the fabric of his pants anyway, anxious to get rid of whatever fertility mojo he may have picked up, he said, “You should try to get some sleep.”

  Shay got his meaning, loud and clear: He didn’t want to share a blanket with her. He didn’t want to have sex with her. He didn’t even want to talk to her.

  Incensed, she sat up, clutching the blanket to her chest. “I didn’t ask you to kiss me earlier.”

  He looked at her mouth, her bare shoulders, then away, into the darkness. “I know.”

  “I didn’t even want you to.”

  At that, he shrugged, as if the subject was debatable. Or maybe just not interesting enough to warrant a verbal response.

  She looked around for something to throw at his head, and came up empty. “I’m not going to jump on you if you lay down next to me, either,” she said in a scathing tone. “Don’t worry, your virtue is safe.”

  The corner of his mouth tipped up, but he didn’t rise to the bait. Instead, he asked, “It’s not fire season, is it?”

  “What?”

  “April isn’t fire season.”

  “No,” she said, feeling derailed. She’d wanted an argument, not a casual discussion about the weather. “But this is the desert. All a fire needs is dry fuel.”

  He nodded, staring out into the black night once again. “I should keep watch.”

  Understanding dawned. “You think someone set that fire deliberately? Knowing we were out here?”

  “It came from the same direction we did.”

  “So does the wind.”

  “Then an arsonist could predict its path.”

  She was flabbergasted. “Who would do that? And why?”

  “To keep us away from something. To protect someone. I don’t know. Why would anyone move a dead body?”

  She shook her head helplessly.

  “Try to get some sleep,” he repeated, more gently this time. “You’ll need it if we’re going to hike out of here tomorrow.”

  11

  Dylan turned off the TV with a flick of his wrist and tossed the remote aside.

  He was frustrated by the lack of information about the fire. Nothing that happened in Tenaja Falls ever rated a top story. The television crews in San Diego probably wouldn’t care if the whole town burned down.

  According to the brief news bite, a small fire had engulfed several thousand acres on the Los Coyotes Indian Reservation. Now fully contained, its origins were unknown.

  So where the hell was Shay?

  When he saw black smoke curling up through the air on his way home from the construction site, his first thought had been: Oh, shit. What if his extracurricular science project had started the fire? He’d chosen the construction site precisely because it was deserted. There was nothing out there but freshly leveled dirt, with nary a bush or tree in sight. He knew a spark could travel quite a distance on the wind, so he’d been meticulous.

  And he’d covered his tracks.

  He was getting more worried now, because Shay hadn’t called, and he couldn’t reach her cell phone. Cell service was usually unreliable, but his sister never was. She always let him know when she was going to be late.

  “Goddamned cops,” he muttered, blaming Luke for detaining her. His sister had been a little crazy when she was younger, but she’d never been irresponsible. And the sheriff had practically been drooling all over her this morning. If she encouraged him, Dylan figured Luke would be happy to serve her.

  The new sheriff seemed like an okay guy, but Dylan hated Garrett Snell, and every oth
er man who abused his power, with an alarming ferocity. Sulking, he imagined blowing the sheriff’s station to smithereens.

  The doorbell rang, interrupting his fantasies of mayhem.

  He rose to his feet, the bag of ice that was resting in his lap falling to the floor with a squishy clink. Hobbling less than he had a few hours ago, he made his way to the front door, and opened it to Angel Martinez.

  She jerked her hand away from her mouth, as if she’d been biting her fingernails and didn’t want to get caught. In a plain black T-shirt and dark jeans, she looked fantastically beautiful. Her hair was pulled away from her face by a headband with a skull-and-crossbones design and a series of tiny silver hoops graced the curve of her ear.

  “Hi,” she said, a little breathlessly.

  He leaned against the doorjamb. “Hi.”

  She looked down at her pointy-toed boots, and then back up at him. “Can we talk for a minute?”

  His seventeen-year-old libido, ever frisky, revved up at her words.

  “Sure,” he said, stepping aside. Trying to walk as though he hadn’t been kneed in the crotch earlier, he led her toward the living room. He sat on one side of the couch and she took the other. Both of them stared at the soggy ice pack resting on the worn carpet.

  He didn’t offer any explanation for it. “My sister’s not home,” he said when her eyes returned to his.

  “Oh.” After fiddling with some white threads at the knee of her worn jeans, she picked up one of the couch pillows and hugged it to her chest. Why did girls do that? “I just wanted to say I was sorry about the way things turned out. I should never have led you on.”

  Her apology made him feel like a real jerk. He’d stormed over to her house and accused her of having no standards. He should be apologizing to her. “You didn’t—”

  “Let me finish,” she said. “Please.”

  He shrugged one shoulder, uncomfortable.

  “One of the reasons I didn’t want to … get involved with you … is because of what happened with Chad. I knew you’d be mad if you found out.”

  She was right, and he was ashamed of himself, not just for being predictable, but for disrespecting her. “I acted like a total jackass, and I’m sorry.” He forced himself to meet her gaze. “It’s none of my business who you go out with.”