The Midwife and the Lawman

by Marisa Carroll

  “Are you all right?” Devon asked, chancing one quick glance at Lydia before she turned her eyes back to the road.

  “I…I think I sprained my wrist,” Lydia said, holding up her right hand. “I hit the door handle when we bounced over that rock in the ditch.”

  “I’m sorry. I’ve never run a police roadblock before.”

  “That’s okay, dear. I think you did a great job.” Lydia was smiling, but her face was pale. She was in pain and in danger, and it was Devon’s fault.

  “I’m sorry, Grandma. I should never have brought you along with me.”

  “Nonsense,” Lydia sniffed, flexing her fingers. “I insisted.” She reached over and touched Devon’s elbow. “Do you know how long it’s been since you called me Grandma?”

  “What?”

  “You called me Grandma just now. You haven’t done that in years.”

  Devon wanted to cry, but she didn’t have time to waste on tears. “Well, now that I’ve started again, don’t expect me to stop.”

  The higher they climbed, the more smoke they could see. Lydia cradled her injured wrist on her lap. Devon drove with both hands clenched on the wheel. Wind bent the dry grasses at the side of the road—away from the direction of the fire, she noted gratefully, but the knowledge gave her little comfort. Wildfires made their own rules. The direction of the wind didn’t always dictate their path.

  The sign for the turnoff to Silverton was down again and Devon relied on her own well-remembered landmarks to guide their way. She maneuvered up the rutted track to the ghost town with one eye on the rearview mirror. She’d been looking back over her shoulder with every turn of the road, but so far she hadn’t seen the patrol car following them. She was certain they’d radioed Miguel before the Blazer was out of sight, but evidently he’d ordered them to stay put.

  Once more she wondered if she was driving into a death trap. It didn’t matter if she was, not as long as there was any chance that Jesse and Sylvia were still on the mountain.

  Five minutes later she had her answer. She rounded the last curve of the creek bed that had been obscuring her view, only to find Manny’s commandeered truck blocking the plank bridge. The offside back wheel was over the edge, the whole truck leaning at a precarious angle over the water a good eight feet below.

  “That’s Manny’s truck, isn’t it?” Lydia asked peering through the dusty windshield.

  “They must have given up on trying to get their truck running and decided to drive back down the mountain. The back wheel went off the bridge and they were stuck.”

  “It sounds plausible, but I don’t see any sign of them.”

  Would they start overland on foot? Jesse must know his way around the area—after all, he’d scavenged there for at least two weeks. That would be an even more dangerous situation than they were in now. “We’ll probably find them in the town.”

  “There’s no way you’re going to muscle your way past that truck like you did the police car. The bridge is too narrow,” Lydia said.

  “I know. I’ll go look for them on foot. But first I’m going to turn around so we can make a quick getaway if we have to.” She didn’t have to look up at the curtain of smoke that now hazed the afternoon sun to know the fire had changed direction. She didn’t have to. The smell of burned grass and pine was stronger here, and far off in the distance the rush of flames could be heard. She switched off the ignition. Lydia reached over with her left hand to try to open the door. “Wait. Let me help you.” Devon jumped out of the Blazer and hurried around to Lydia’s side. She opened the door and put her arm under her grandmother’s elbow, steadying her for a moment. “Okay?”

  “I’m fine.”

  “You wait here.”

  Lydia nodded. “I’ll monitor the radio while you’re gone. But, Devon—” she held out her hand and wrapped her long, strong fingers around Devon’s wrist “—be careful, dear.” She looked around. “And don’t be any longer than you have to.”

  MIGUEL PULLED to a halt and stuck his head out of the window of the Durango. “What the hell are you guys doing?” he asked, giving Hank Jensen and Lorenzo Cooper the once-over. Both patrolmen were squatting beside the left rear tire of their unit, attempting to pull the dented fender away from the frame.

  “She blasted right through our roadblock,” Jensen said, looking miserable.

  “Who? Two women in a Blazer?”

  Cooper got to his feet. He was a burly, middle-aged, ex-Phoenix detective who had left the city behind to join the Enchantment force three years ago. “She didn’t exactly blast through, Chief,” he corrected his partner. “But I wasn’t about to step in front of her. The lady was in a hurry and not in the mood to take no for an answer. Said there was someone at Silverton. We’ve been up and down this road since dawn, but we didn’t see any other vehicles, and we got no radio traffic on it, either. Is she right, Chief? Is someone up there?”

  “It looks like it.” The wind freshened for a moment and drew their eyes to the fire line. Sparks and blowing embers, several as big as basketballs, sailed overhead. Somewhere, and too close for comfort, the fire was crowning, racing through the tops of the trees, instead of along the ground.

  “Chief Eiden, this is Angel Base.” He recognized the information officer’s North Carolina drawl.

  “Eiden here,” he replied, toggling the mike.

  “Chief, have you got any men up on Silver Creek Road? One of the spotter planes sighted vehicles near the Silverton area.”

  “Roger that, Angel Base. I’m here with one of my units now. We also believe there’s at least one civilian vehicle farther north. Possibly in that vicinity. Over.”

  “I suggest you all get out of there ASAP, Chief. We’ve got a flare-up three-quarters of a mile north of the Silverton turnoff. It’s already jumped the road in at least one spot. The other bad spot is directly south of a Daniel Elkhorn’s. Are you familiar with the place?”

  “I’m there right now.”

  “Get you and your men out of there, Chief. I’ve already called a chopper drop on it, but one of the Hueys is refueling and the other’s grounded for some routine maintenance. Their ETAs are uncertain. Do you copy?”

  “Roger, Angel Base.”

  Jensen went back to working on the dented fender with less finesse and more muscle than he’d been using before. “How long, Cooper?” Miguel asked.

  “I think we can be out of here in five minutes.”

  “Make that two minutes. Get yourself down to the Desert Valley Road intersection and make sure no more civilians get up here, understand?”

  Smoke began to rise from the tree line above his grandfather’s place. Miguel watched it for a moment with narrowed eyes. Daniel’s trailer and barn were ringed by meadow, and bulldozers had cleared a fire break around the buildings, so the place stood a good chance of surviving, unless one of the fireballs that had just passed over landed on the roof of the barn.

  “Two minutes. Yes, sir.” Jensen gave the fender one last yank, then climbed in behind the wheel. He moved the patrol car a few yards down the road and pulled it to a halt. Cooper picked his hat up off the road and slapped it on his thigh. “What about you, Chief?”

  “I’m going to get those women out of there before they’re cut off.”

  He didn’t bother to add if it wasn’t already too late.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  “JESSE! SYLVIA!” Devon was almost too breathless to call their names. She’d been running since she crossed the bridge, and the thinner air was getting to her. “Kids! It’s me, Devon. Where are you?”

  She slowed her pace, bypassing the derelict buildings along the main street, heading for the ruined stable where Jesse had stashed the pickup. The higher she climbed, the more smoke she could see, but still no flames. Devon took heart at that, although she wasn’t sure why. Smoke meant fire. The flames were there somewhere beyond her line of sight, probably almost ringing the small valley that contained the little ghost town and the played-out silver mine.
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br />   Above her, the top of the mountain looked serene and untouched. The trees swayed in the breeze. If she kept her back turned to the fire, she could almost believe it didn’t exist—except for the smoke and the smell of burning pine. But no birds called, no hawks circled high overhead. Around her there was silence, too, as if all the small, scurrying things that populated the ghost town had burrowed deep in the ground until the danger had passed.

  “Devon, is that you?” Sylvia stepped from the shadows of the stable door. She leaned against the splintered wood of the side of the building. The skirt of her denim maternity jumper, one of several that Gina had given her, was darkened by a wet stain.

  Devon sprinted the last hundred feet, coming to a halt just as the teenager dropped to her knees, moaning in pain. “Oh, honey,” Devon crooned. “Are you in labor?”

  “I don’t know. I…” Sylvia plucked at the damp skirt of the jumper. “Yes, I think so.”

  “How often are the contractions?”

  “I don’t know. I don’t have a watch.” She held her stomach and rocked back and forth in misery. “I don’t want this to happen now. It can’t happen now.” She covered her face with her hands and began to sob.

  “It will be okay, Sylvia. I’m here. We’ll get you back to Enchantment. To The Birth Place. You’ll have the baby there. Everything will be all right, I promise you.”

  “Where’s my sister? Where’s Maria?”

  “She’s with my mother. She’ll take good care of her. Don’t worry.”

  “Jesse can’t get the truck started. We tried to leave in Manny’s truck, but the wheel went off the bridge. The door wouldn’t open. Jesse had to pull me out. It hurt. I hurt…”

  Devon pushed the girl’s damp hair back off her face. “It’s okay, Sylvia.” Dear God, she hoped she was right. Had Sylvia harmed herself or the baby when the truck wheel dropped over the edge of the bridge? She turned her head, looking back in the direction she’d come, but the trees hid the bridge from view.

  She heard the whining growl of an uncooperative engine from inside. “I’m going to talk to Jesse,” she said, squeezing Sylvia’s arm. The girl nodded but kept sobbing as if her heart would break.

  Devon slipped inside the building and blinked. The roof was full of holes, and sunlight dappled the dusty interior. Jesse was sitting in the cab of the pickup, but the fading groan of the starter told Devon the battery was too weak to turn over the engine.

  She called his name. His head whipped around.

  “What are you doing here?”

  “I came to get you and take you back to town. You can’t stay here. The fire is too close.” As with Sylvia, his next thought was of his little sister. Once more Devon gave the assurance that she was safe.

  “I changed the plugs but the battery’s run down. We can’t leave it here. There’s no insurance. It’s all we’ve got.”

  “It’s not worth your lives.”

  “I have to get it running. Manny’s truck is stuck on the bridge. I need this one to pull it off.”

  “Jesse,” Devon said, doing her best to keep her fear and impatience out of her voice. “It will take a tow truck to move Manny’s pickup off the bridge. We have to get off the mountain. Sylvia’s in labor. She needs to be back at The Birth Place, maybe even in the hospital.”

  He dropped his head onto the steering wheel in defeat. “Our things. All we have left…”

  “We’ll take what you can carry. The rest has to stay behind. If we had more time, we could put it back in the mine shaft.” She moved to the door of the truck and put her hand on the window frame. “But, Jesse, I don’t think we have that time.”

  He looked past Devon, his eyes darting here and there in the shadows of the barn. “Where is my sister?”

  “Outside.” He flung open the door and jumped out of the truck. He slammed it shut as hard as he could and pounded his fist against the frame. “I’ve screwed up again.”

  Devon reached out and grabbed him by the shoulder. He was young and scared, but they didn’t have time for him to indulge in an orgy of self-recrimination. “Jesse, my grandmother is with me. We could all be trapped here if we don’t get off the mountain.”

  “Trapped?”

  “The last radio bulletin I heard said that there was a flare-up of the fire just below us. Do you understand what that means? It could jump the road and make it impossible for us to leave this place.” She didn’t add that it meant the fire could reach the ghost town itself. She didn’t have to. The color visibly drained from his face. He dropped onto an old barrel as though his legs had lost the ability to hold him upright.

  “Dios. The fire could come all the way up here?” He buried his face in his hands. “What have I done?”

  “Jesse, we don’t have time for you to beat yourself up. We need to get Sylvia down to my car and away from here.”

  For a moment he didn’t move. Devon reached out, ready to give him a shake when he lifted his face. “I understand.” He stood up, put his hand on the rim of the truck bed. “I tried, Mama,” he said softly in Spanish. He turned away. “Okay. Let’s go.”

  “Sylvia’s very frightened. The less concerned about the fire we act, the better for her, okay?”

  “Okay.” He opened the door of the truck once more and grabbed a frayed and faded backpack from the seat and slung it over his shoulder. “A few things,” he said, not quite meeting Devon’s eye. “Some pictures and letters.”

  “If there’s anything else you can get quickly, I’ll carry it.”

  “No. This is all.”

  Sylvia wasn’t slumped against the side of the building when they emerged. She was standing a few yards away staring out over the mouth of the small valley, her hands clasped around and beneath her distended stomach as though to hold in the pain. “Madre de Dios,” she said, casting huge, fear-filled eyes back at Devon and Jesse. “Fire. I can see the fire and it’s coming this way.”

  ASH AND SPARKS WERE BLOWING across the road in front of him. Miguel gunned the truck forward through the low-hanging haze of smoke. Smoke that low to the ground was good. It meant the fire was staying along the ground, as well, not racing through treetops, outrunning fire crews and fire-retardant-dropping planes and helicopters.

  But the situation was still bad enough. He wasn’t going to be coming back this way any time soon. And neither were Devon and Lydia, or the Molina kids—if they were all together. That they might not be didn’t bear thinking about.

  Silverton, like his granddad’s place, was relatively safe. It was true the buildings were all wood and dried out from years of sun and wind, but beyond that negative, if the fire jumped the creek, there were few trees in the little valley. They’d all been cut for fire-wood and garden plots generations earlier. The ground was stony, not much vegetation, and as a last resort the old mine would provide shelter if the fire got that far. As a defensive position he’d seen worse, but that was as much praise as he was prepared to give the place.

  The turnoff to the ghost town was just ahead. Miguel took one last look in the mirror, and any hope he harbored of beating the fire back down the mountain died. Flame licked at the edge of the roadway and snaked up a pine tree, exploding and raining fire around it while he watched. He keyed the mike and relayed the coordinates of the flare-up to Angel Base, then switched channels to tell Doris where he was headed.

  She took the news calmly enough, assured him that Cooper and Jensen had just checked in, had made it down the mountain and were setting up a roadblock at the Desert Valley Road intersection. She agreed he would check in again in ten minutes and ended the transmission as though he’d just called in a routine ten–thirty–five, a bathroom break.

  He bumped along the neglected roadway as fast as he dared. Deep ruts and rocks that’d heaved out of the earth made the going difficult even for the sturdy Durango. A broken axle was the last thing he needed right now. The trees along the creek opened up—and Devon’s Blazer came into view. Miguel felt his heart thud fast and heavy in his
chest as adrenaline coursed through his veins.

  She was safe. She was here and not farther up the mountain somewhere he couldn’t go. A second look at the figure in the Blazer proved him wrong. It wasn’t Devon, but Lydia sitting there, looking as cool and composed as if she was at her desk at The Birth Place. One more look told him the reason she was on this side of the creek: the road to the town was blocked by the wreck of Manny Cordova’s old beater of a truck. So the kids were here, too.

  He pulled up behind the Blazer and got out. Lydia did the same, coming toward him with one hand raised to shield her eyes from the hazy but still strong sunlight. “Miguel. I’m glad to see you. Devon is up at the town trying to talk Jesse and Sylvia into coming back with us.”

  “I figured as much. Are you hurt?” he asked, noticing she had a makeshift splint on her left wrist.

  “I banged my wrist on the door handle—it’s only a sprain. Will you go see what’s delaying Devon? She’s been much longer than I expected.”

  “We’ll both go, Lydia,” he said, watching her from beneath the brim of his hat. “The fire jumped the road between here and my granddad’s place. We need to move to open ground, and the sooner the better.”

  Dismay deepened the lines around her mouth and her eyes. “The vehicles? If we leave them here, they might be destroyed.”

  “Once we get settled, I’ll see if there’s some way to get Manny’s truck off the bridge. I don’t want to be cut off from the radio.” He motioned for her to start walking.

  “Ours isn’t working,” Lydia said. “It hasn’t since we dropped into the valley.”

  “I was afraid of that.”

  “Will we need to be evacuated?”