Yellowstone Memories

by Spinola, Jennifer Rogers

  “What do you suggest?” Her eyes narrowed into cold slits.

  “Read this.” He pushed a weatherworn New Testament across the seat toward her. “And call my sister.”

  “Your sister?” Alicia yelped, jerking her head up in bewilderment.

  “She helps run a Christian shelter for battered women in Montana. They deal with anorexia, bulimia, even cutting. They could help you.” He pulled his wallet out of his back pocket and thumbed through it, taking out a white business card. “Here. Her number’s on here.”

  Alicia sat there, stunned. Her eyes wide with dawning realization. She didn’t reach out to take the card, so he set it hesitantly into her open palm.

  “I’d do anything to get you there, Alicia. I’ll pay for you to go. I’ll find someone to take care of your apartment while you’re gone.” Thomas gripped the steering wheel until his knuckles showed.

  Alicia stuffed the stupid card into her vest pocket, crinkling the corner. “Why would you need somebody to take care of my apartment?” Alicia raised her voice, fresh anger coursing through her.

  Thomas blinked. “Why, your fish of course. Don’t you have two betta fish?”

  Her fish. Thomas had remembered her fish.

  Alicia choked back a sob, groping for the door handle with one hand and pushing herself across the seat with the other.

  “Alicia?” Thomas leaned after her. “Where are you going?”

  Alicia didn’t answer. She kicked at the stuck door with her boot and threw herself out of the truck with so much force that she stumbled on the cool ridge of grasses.

  “Alicia!” Thomas scooted hastily toward the passenger’s side door as if he might jump out. “Don’t do this. Please.”

  She whirled around, furious, and slammed the door shut with all her might—right in his horrified face. And then she stalked off across the field, not once looking back.

  Chapter 10

  Alicia stomped through the field toward a thicket of still-green pines, the truck fading behind her. Long, prickly grasses slashed at her ash-stained olive denims, catching at her bootlaces with burs and thorns like ugly memories, refusing to release her.

  She stormed through a cluster of pines, their branches strong and thick against the sky, and broke into a run. Dodging limbs and brambles, the sound of her heaving breaths loud in her ears. Alicia heard the frantic flutter of wings as she tore through the brush—gray owls and ruffled grouse frightened from their nests among the leaves—but she didn’t stop. She needed to be far from Thomas—far from Wyoming—far from everyone and everywhere.

  When her side cramped painfully, Alicia finally paused, leaning against a pine trunk and bending over double to catch her breath.

  The forest stood still around her, peaceful. She sank to her knees in the rich, pine-scented soil, breathing in the sweet scent of fresh, unburned earth and stones. She inhaled, eyes closed, and felt the stress and anger slip off her shoulders like a too-heavy pack.

  Forget work today. Alicia sniffled, rubbing her eyes with her fingers. She’d use the compass Thomas gave her to get back to base camp and check in sick for the next day or two. Maybe she’d even go home.

  The forest seemed quiet suddenly—too quiet—like the silence before an owl pounces on a mouse.

  Wings flapped from somewhere in the distance, and Alicia turned her head sharply. Silence settled again, leaving nothing but the rustle of leaves.

  An eerie bird call, throaty and throbbing. Like a warning.

  Something dropped from a tree just beyond her, rattling the leaves. Hitting the ground with a soft thump. In the clearing between two trees, Alicia saw a fern quiver, its lace-green leaves shuddering against a sapling.

  Alicia started to scramble to her feet, heart pounding in her throat, but she wasn’t fast enough.

  In a liquid second a yellow Nomex-clad arm had thrown itself around her throat, dragging her back down to her knees. A cold knife blade gouged painfully into her throbbing neck.

  Alicia tried to scream, tried to twist herself around to see her attacker.

  And there on his wrist—the gang tattoo he’d carved years ago.

  Miguel.

  So you thought you could ditch me.” Miguel dragged Alicia up by her hair, pressing the knife harder against her throat. He moved his eyes close to hers—bloodshot and angry, clouded by a haze of anger and drugs. “Lucky for me, I got friends everywhere.”

  Jorge. Alicia flinched, remembering the gleam of his gold tooth.

  “I told you I’d kill you. You didn’t believe me.” He pulled her face closer. “I’ve been tracking you for weeks. Do you know how much I had to pay for these silly clothes?” He nodded to the Forest Service regulation olive pants and yellow shirt. “You’re not worth it. You’re washed up. Nobody would ever want you.” Miguel jerked her hair, making her cry out. “But nobody kicks me out. Hear me?”

  Miguel moved, tugging her across the dirt, and Alicia noted—with horror—a holster bulging under the edge of his shirt. “You need me, Alicia. You’re nothing without me.” His voice twisted from anger to a husky growl, almost pleading in its sickly sweet tone. “Who else would come all this way to find you? To bring you back? Because you know I’m the only one for you.”

  He twisted her against a tree, banging her head against the rough bark so hard she cried out. “If only you didn’t make me drink so much. Didn’t make me have to hunt you down. It’s your fault, you know. You make me do it.”

  Wind flapped at the trees, bringing the scent of smoke, and Alicia’s mind reeled, hazy, to angry nights in Santa Fe. The sound of his blows and the stench of alcohol on his breath.

  “I’m sorry, Miguel,” she’d pleaded, tears and blood streaming down her face. “You’re right. I’ll do better. I promise.”

  The horrible wrench of push-pull, the loving and hating him at the same time. The fear of him leaving, and the longing for him to disappear.

  And somehow she was never, ever good enough. It was always her fault.

  Endless days stretched out, dull and lifeless, like fading daylight through a rotten corridor with no way out. Even the woods around her began to stink of smoke, the familiar stench of burning timber—as if everything, eventually, went up in flames.

  “Say it.” Miguel hissed like a grass snake, pushing his face into hers. She could feel the hard knob of his gold earring, the stubble on his chin. “Say you’re sorry. Say it’s your fault before I kill you.”

  Alicia’s mouth wobbled, tear streaked.

  The old darkness seemed to choke her, tugging at her from the corners of her mind. The gutter of her broken heart, and the alcohol and drugs that drowned her pain. It should have worked—should have evened out—but instead she felt like the ground was tilted downward. Always slipping, always sliding a few inches farther from herself.

  Until she no longer cared.

  “I’ll kill you,” Miguel hissed. “You don’t deserve to live.”

  Alicia opened her mouth to say the words she’d always spoken: You’re right. I’m so sorry. It’s all my fault. The old habits came easily, almost comforting, and the familiar downward slide eased the ache. If she closed her heart tight, she felt almost nothing.

  “I know what you’re planning to do. You bought a life insurance policy and named that Trisha kid benefactor of all of it.” Miguel cursed her in Spanish, wiping his sweaty forehead with his sleeve. “I don’t know where you hid it, but I’ll tear apart your apartment piece by piece until I find it.”

  He shook her by the neck until she cried out in pain. “How could you be so selfish? After all I have done to put up with you?” Miguel gripped her face hard with one hand, still holding the knife to her throat. “I don’t know why I love you. You’re not worth it.”

  Love.

  The word slapped her in the face so sharply that she barely felt Miguel strike her. Barely felt the blood trickle down the side of her face. It was the way he said it—the twisted sickness in his eyes as he spat out the word.

&n
bsp; “Greater love hath no man than this, that a man lay down his life for his friends.”

  The words seemed to materialize out of nowhere, and Alicia wasn’t sure exactly where she’d heard them. A snatch of a radio sermon somewhere over the years? A sentence from a televangelist while she switched channels?

  “The Lord loves you, Alicia,” Thomas had whispered. “You’re precious to Him. And to others.”

  As soon as she remembered Thomas, something crackled the distant underbrush. A voice, and a rustle of branches.

  “Alicia?” Thomas called, his voice faraway. “Where’d you go?”

  For an instant Miguel turned his face away from her, his lips curving tight around his lips. “There he is. That half-breed idiota that’s been coming on to you. I saw you in his truck, and he came to your hospital room. I’ll kill him.” He shook Alicia so fiercely her teeth rattled. “And then I’ll deal with you.”

  Miguel whistled through his teeth, clamping a hand over Alicia’s mouth so she couldn’t scream.

  “Alicia?” The crunching in the leaves stopped.

  Miguel whistled again, lowering the knife into his belt sheath and reaching quietly for the pistol in his holster.

  Thomas’s footsteps crunched in the leaves, closer this time.

  Miguel clicked the safety off and aimed for the bushes. Holding it deadly still with an accuracy that chilled Alicia to her core.

  “Call for him,” he whispered, not turning his eyes from Thomas’s direction. “Or I’ll shoot you, too.”

  Finger by stealthy finger, Miguel released her mouth.

  Alicia’s heart pounded in her throat like Indian drums, louder and louder.

  Thomas’s footsteps snapped on fallen twigs, so close she could see the glint of red and yellow from his shirt and fire pack through the limbs. The barely audible click of the hammer as Miguel cocked the pistol, coolly composed, with his thumb.

  And Alicia opened her mouth to cry out.

  Chapter 11

  Watch out, Thomas! He’s got a gun!” Alicia screamed and ducked her head as the gun went off, knocking against Miguel’s arm as it exploded in her ear.

  She felt Miguel knock her to the ground and a heavy thud as his boots kicked her in the head. Stars glittered together like tree branches, doubled and blurry, as she heard Miguel cock the gun at her. A glimmer of steel aimed at her face.

  Thomas shouted—Alicia screamed—tried to twist free—Miguel crumpled as Thomas lunged for him—Miguel’s arm came up—and an another blast. A kick in the leg.

  At first Alicia felt nothing but the thud of impact on her shin. She inhaled the sharp scent of gunpowder and wood smoke, heard leaves falling around her like rain. A branch twirled down from a pine tree, landing in a green tuft by her knee.

  Until she saw blood leak from her leg where Miguel had kicked it.

  Kicked it?

  No. He’d shot her.

  Alicia clawed her way off the root-knotted ground, her wounded leg trembling, as Thomas and Miguel twisted in a death match, both shouting and grunting in a smoke-filled haze. She hugged the tree next to her with all her might, the shaggy bark digging into her cheek, and pulled herself to her knees.

  Miguel was bigger than Thomas, and his muscles bulged under his torn Nomex fire shirt. He lunged—punched—cursed.

  “Stay back, Alicia!” Thomas shouted, his face bloody, as Alicia crawled closer. “Go for help!”

  Miguel paused just long enough to swipe for her arm, barely missing. He cursed and tried to steady his pistol, aiming it at Thomas’s head. Thomas swung at him, catching his wrist with his teeth and trying to yank the gun away.

  The knife.

  Alicia crawled back a pace or two, leaves and soil cutting into the palms of her hands, and then lunged for Miguel’s belt, ripping the knife from its leather sheath.

  He turned, forgetting Thomas for a second, and tackled her to the ground, knocking the wind out of her. Her hair twisted around her mouth and face as he wrapped both hands around her throat in a death grip.

  Alicia prayed with all her might and wiggled one hand partially free, plunging the knife into Miguel’s heavy, muscle-hard stomach.

  Miguel screamed—a horrible sound in Alicia’s ear—just as Thomas grabbed up a thick limb, ready to swing. Miguel loosened his grip on her throat, rolling slightly to the side, and Alicia slid out from under his powerful shoulder.

  As if in slow motion, Miguel raised the gun at Thomas, pushing himself up on one arm. But it was too late. Thomas’s limb was in full swing, and it caught him square in the wrist, hitting it hard. The gun wobbled in Miguel’s fingers as he groped to regain his grip, yelling curses, but a second blow sent it tumbling to the ground. They fought for it in the leaves, shouting, and Alicia grabbed up the fallen limb and swung it hard at Miguel’s head.

  It clipped him in the back of the skull, and he faltered and fell.

  Thomas tore the limb from her hands and hit Miguel again, harder, opening up a gash on the side of his head.

  He pushed Alicia back as Miguel finally staggered, still on his knees, and dropped to the ground.

  “My word.” Thomas gasped, his chest heaving. Leaves clung to his wild hair, and sweat poured down his forehead. “That’s one big dude. Where in the world did you meet him?”

  “Never mind.” Alicia sat still, trying to catch her breath. “He’s not dead, is he?”

  “No. We probably just knocked him out for a minute or two.” Thomas dug in his pack for a length of chain and manhandled Miguel against a tree, wrapping the chain as tight as it would go and snapping it with a padlock. “This is as good as I can do. But it might give us time to get out of here.”

  He wrapped Miguel’s big arms around the tree, and Alicia held them together as Thomas looped a length of neon pink flagging tape around his wrists.

  “He’ll hate you for using pink,” Alicia whispered as Thomas dropped the roll of flagging tape in his fire pack. “He’s Latino, you know. The whole macho thing.”

  “He’ll hate me anyway.” Thomas helped her to her feet, snatching his two-way radio out of his pocket. “And he’ll probably come to any second, so let’s get out of here.”

  Alicia’s leg had begun to throb, blood leaking through her denims, and she limped through the woods on Thomas’s arm. Thomas pressed the button on his two-way radio, giving directions rapid-fire and begging for help.

  “Why did you come after me?” Alicia paused, bending over double to catch her breath.

  “The woods are on fire.” Thomas brushed a thick cluster of vines out of the way. “It’s gone nuts, and it’s heading this way. Headquarters called back on my two-way just after you walked off.”

  “Miguel’s gonna be fried if he stays tied to that tree.” Alicia bit back a smirk, her eyes stinging from thicker smoke.

  “They’ll get him. They’re on their way.” Thomas stopped suddenly, swiveling his head back and forth. “Wait a second. Didn’t they say the fire was coming from the east? I think the wind’s changed to the southwest. Do you feel it?”

  Alicia stood still, listening to leaves rustle all around her. Strands of hair blew across her battered face, tickling her nose.

  “You’re right.” Alicia reached for her compass. “We’ve got to get out of here.”

  Thomas didn’t answer, his eyes fixed on something on the horizon.

  “What is it?” Alicia shook his arm frantically. “Is Miguel coming back?”

  Before Thomas could reply, she saw it: a wall of orange licking at the trees. Black smoke boiled up through the forest floor, so thick she could barely see, and a wall of heat hit her with full force. Heat shimmers melted her vision, and she dropped to the ground, her sense of direction momentarily lost in the shuddering roar.

  Chapter 12

  Get up, Alicia!” Thomas tugged her to her feet, tearing a bandanna from her pocket and slapping it over her mouth. “Don’t you dare stop!”

  The thicket crackled with lightning-fast shadows and shuddering under
brush as deer sailed away from the fire, white tails up. Slender feet so fast they seemed not to touch the ground. Bellowing moose and sleek antelope tore through the underbrush. The branches overhead snapped with squirrels, and the sky filled with clouds of birds. Flapping and soaring, cracking twigs as they soared from the treetops.

  “Hello?” Thomas shouted into his radio, steering Alicia in the other direction and breaking into a run. “Lawrence? This is Thomas. Do you read me?”

  No one answered, and Thomas tugged her along by the arm, punching the CALL button furiously.

  “Where is everybody? Why don’t they answer?” Alicia hollered through the bandanna, glancing back over her shoulder at the darkened woods, so thick with gloom she could barely see. Limbs whacked her in the face, making her see sparkles. “They answered a few minutes ago. Try again!”

  “I am trying!” Thomas paused, out of breath, just long enough to dig through his fire pack for a signal flare. He knelt, hands shaking, and lit the end with a match. He pushed Alicia out of the way, and she ducked her head as the flare went off. A brilliant white light, searing so bright it hurt her eyes. Up through the tops of the trees.

  An earthshaking boom, and cherry-red sparks rained down.

  “They’ll find us.” Alicia crawled to her feet, her wounded leg still leaking blood, and forced herself forward. A wall of hot wind blew, gusting leaves and ash in her mouth and throat. She dropped to her knees, choking for breath, and lost her grip on Thomas’s arm.

  She couldn’t see—couldn’t even fumble for her compass without letting go of the bandanna over her mouth. She reached for the zipper on her fire pack and tugged it open, dumping half the contents on the ground. She pawed through them, and a heavy wind poured up from the fire, blowing leaves and limbs. Through a stinging blast of ash she saw the glint of silver—her fireproof silver cover blanket. She lunged for it, but another breath of hot wind kicked up a cloud of leaves. Covering everything with a jagged layer of branches and debris.