Wildland

by Rebecca Hodge

  “There’s nothing there,” Scott said. “Oh my god, even if they’re down there, how will we find them?”

  Malcolm scanned the area he could see, trying not to let Scott’s anguish overwhelm him. They had to find them. This was their last chance.

  Looking. Searching. Hoping.

  Please.

  “Could that be the pond at ten o’clock?” Pete didn’t sound at all certain. Malcolm twisted to see. “There. See it?” More insistent this time.

  At first Malcolm saw nothing. Then he caught what Pete had noticed. The gray held scattered specks of yellow and orange where flames burned high enough to be seen, but a roughly circular area held only smoke. No fire.

  “That has to be water. That’s the pond.” Malcolm looked at Scott, hoping to infect him with his certainty. “Do you see it, Lou?” It would be better to get up and see more clearly himself, but there was no way. “Can you go down?” The answer was obvious, but he needed to hear the bad news out loud.

  Lou grunted something, but she shifted the helicopter until it hovered directly over the flameless space. It began to descend. Lower. Lower still. The smoke got worse, and the racking coughs of all four of them echoed through the headphones.

  “That’s as low as I go.” Lou’s tone left no room for disagreement. “The altimeter says any farther and we’ll hit whatever is down there. Visibility sucks. Even if they’re here, we’ll never see them.”

  She regained altitude, and at least they could breathe again.

  “The smoke is bad,” Pete said. “Would they still be alive?”

  “Stop,” Scott said. “You can’t say such a thing.”

  Malcolm straightened and looked directly at Scott. “We can’t leave without knowing.”

  Scott’s face cleared and he nodded. “Yes. Absolutely. We have to know for sure.” He looked from Malcolm to Pete and back again, expectant.

  Malcolm sat there. Looking at Scott. Waiting for him to understand. The only way they would know for sure was for someone to go down there. Scott was the only one who could do it.

  Malcolm hated the very idea. Scott wasn’t trained; he wasn’t fit. Yes, he had been more helpful than expected—he had prompted them to look onward for the car, he had spotted Kat’s hat on the rockslide, he had remembered this pond. All good. But go down into this pond and search it effectively? Scott was the last person Malcolm would choose for such a task.

  The idea of putting his trust—putting Nirav’s life—in Scott’s hands made him want to punch something. The only way it would work was if they were in constant radio contact, and even then, Malcolm had serious doubts. But it was the only option they had. With his arm … impossible. Passing out from the pain on the way down wasn’t the way to rescue anyone.

  Scott froze, all blood draining from his cheeks. He got it. He looked at Pete, his question shaping on his lips, but Pete shook his head. “Can’t do it. Needed here.”

  “Scott. You can do this.” Malcolm forced certainty into his voice. The confidence of a commander could instill bravery in the most fearful new recruit, but Scott was no recruit, and Malcolm would not be at his side to help.

  Scott grabbed hold of his handhold strap, as if the fierceness of his grip would make the prospect of leaving the helicopter disappear. “I can’t. No way. I can’t do it.” He twisted to look down into the smoky morass below them. “When Brandon pulled me out … almost fell … I just can’t.”

  “Scott. I’m out of play. You have to.”

  Scott stared at him. Slowly, he nodded.

  Pete scrambled to get ready. He fastened a harness to Scott’s unresisting body and adjusted the straps. He clipped on the cable. “Unclip it. Reattach it. Show me you can do it.”

  Scott obeyed like an automaton.

  Malcolm thought through the steps involved, what gear would be needed. He gestured toward the back of the cabin. “Pete, I saw a couple hundred feet of rope back there. Tie one end to Scott’s harness, and see if you can find something heavy to anchor the other end in the water. Scott, make sure the anchor’s solid. The rope will guide you back to the drop-off point after your search. Without it, you’ll never get back, and we’ll never find you. Here, take this.” He shifted awkwardly onto one hip, pulled out his compass, and handed it over. “Do you know how to use it?”

  Scott looked insulted. “Hey, I was in Cub Scouts.” He stuffed it into his pocket.

  Pete scrambled to the back of the cabin and returned with rope and an old-fashioned metal toolbox. He opened it and pulled out a few small items that he stuffed into his pocket, but he left all the heavy things in place—a metal hammer, several large screwdrivers, a set of wrenches. He tied the rope as Malcolm suggested, one end to Scott’s harness and the other to the rattling box. He rigged the box to Scott’s harness so he wouldn’t have to hold it. The weight of it hunched him forward.

  “Fill this box with water when you’re down, and with all that stuff inside, it should anchor pretty well.”

  Scott nodded.

  Lou twisted in her chair and gave Scott a tense look. “Visibility sucks down there. A dozen feet at best.”

  Scott nodded.

  “Don’t screw around. The engine’s running hot.”

  Scott nodded.

  “Walk or swim an organized pattern,” Malcolm said. “That’s your best bet if they’re there.”

  Scott nodded.

  “We’ll stay in radio range.” Pete clapped him on the shoulder. “Don’t let the headset get wet.”

  Scott nodded yet again.

  Pete led him to the open cargo door, nudged him into a sitting position on the edge, and double-checked the cable attachment. “Whenever you’re ready.”

  Scott looked down. He was visibly shaking. He turned and looked back at Malcolm. “I can’t do this.”

  “You can. I know you can.” Scott shook his head, and Malcolm kept his voice calm with an effort. “Think of what Lily means to you.” His voice shook, thoughts of Nirav rushing in. Scott loved his daughter, and everything he’d done that day testified to that fact. Now, he just needed the strength to take this next step. “You plan trips for her every year. You make her animal pancakes for breakfast. You save bracelets for her. You came here, on this helicopter, to find her. It’s time, Scott. Go.”

  At last, the words sank in. Scott slid his butt forward until his legs hung out the cabin door, dangling over nothing. Another six-inch shift and he’d be suspended, the cable taut, and Pete would start him on his journey down. If they were right, the pond lay below, and Scott would land in water. If they were wrong, he would come down in fire.

  He paused, but then, in a convulsive movement, he used both hands to give himself a final push. His body left the chopper, and the cable snapped tight. Pete triggered the winch, and Scott dropped out of sight, disappearing into the smoke-filled hell below.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  THURSDAY, 12:00 PM

  Kat huddled with the children on their boulder in the beaver pond. She struggled to breathe, struggled to stay focused, struggled to stay upright. Nothing improved. Lily leaned against her, Nirav clung to her back, and Juni sagged in her arms, unconscious and heavier by the minute. Her shoulders ached. Her arms cramped. Her head pounded, the worst headache she’d ever had, their precious gusts of clear air less and less frequent, taunting them. Lily still held Tye, but several times her grip loosened. He thrashed each time to stay afloat, and she had to jerk herself back to alertness and grab him again.

  Kat gasped for air between coughs. They no longer talked. They no longer jumped when branches fell and trees toppled. They no longer recoiled when half-seen creatures swam past or when the singed corpse of a rabbit or squirrel drifted against them. Their world had shrunk to a smoke-shrouded circle with a six-foot radius.

  Coherent thoughts were rare. The words she needed hid from her, and she wasted precious seconds tracking each one down. Images surfaced, tinged with yearning and regret. Sara as a baby, asleep in her arms. Jim, smiling over
a shared moment together. She kept visualizing clean, clear water. Water flowing down a river, water cascading in a mountain stream, water pouring from a tap. Unlimited, magical water. She could taste it for a split second, cool and sweet, slaking her thirst, but the imagined relief disappeared every time.

  The fire showed no sign of burning itself out. Ash rained steadily, a filthy snow, floating to form a thick film on the water. No matter how much Kat drank, her throat burned. Her eyes were sandpapered. Her nostrils had swollen closed. Her chest shrank and her lungs shriveled, leaving less space for air in each breath.

  No more. She’d reached her limit. She would have to let Juni go, in the hope that she could hang on to Lily and Nirav a little longer.

  Ten more breaths, she promised herself, recalling her step-counting. Ten more, and she would let go. She tried to focus on the count and nothing else, but each breath triggered another soul-racking cough.

  She made it to ten. Juni half floated, half sagged in her arms. The Lab’s eyes were closed, her mouth open, her chest rasping so hard her rib cage vibrated. Juni had saved Nirav. She had stuck by Kat as she led them all to disaster. Sara had been right. Kat had needed a dog.

  Juni must have sensed her look, because her eyes opened and focused on Kat’s face. The soft double tap of her tail swished through the water against Kat’s leg.

  Kat tasted salt, and she forced her arms to tighten more firmly around the dog. Ten more breaths. Concentrate and count. She could make ten more.

  Death hovered close, but not as frightening as she’d feared. They wouldn’t write cancer on her death certificate after all. She’d had a good life, a good job, a good marriage. Time to wrap it up. Every actor takes a final bow, every script has a final line. Life’s but a walking shadow.

  At least none of them would die in flames; she could claim that as a minor success. When they couldn’t get enough oxygen, they’d lose consciousness, slip into the water, and drown. Hopefully without even knowing.

  Kat made it to ten. Convinced herself to try ten more. She made it to three, but all that noise kept making her lose track. The fire had changed tone. It rattled. Throbbed. Sounded almost metallic. It moved closer.

  How was that possible?

  Lily stirred and lifted her head. “What’s that?” Her scraped voice was inhuman.

  Kat tried to restore some order to her muddled brain. The fire made countless noises, and this was just one more. No, wait. That made no sense. Something else sounded like this.

  An engine? The heavy curtain in Kat’s head lifted enough to allow coherent thought. “Helicopter.”

  Lily gave her a startled glance. They both looked up, but they were trapped in their smoke-lined prison. They wouldn’t see a helicopter unless it landed directly on top of them. That meant nobody in a helicopter could see them.

  Kat tried to yell, but it came out a croak. Pointless. No one could hear over this noise even if they screamed at the top of their lungs.

  The sound came closer. Firefighters searching for a way in? They might not even know there were people down here. People in trouble. Kat’s hopes sank as quickly as they’d gone airborne. It wasn’t here for them. It would leave.

  As if driven away by her skepticism, the noise faded.

  Their last hope had just abandoned them.

  Nirav still clung to her back, but he hadn’t moved in ages. Hadn’t spoken. “Lily. Check Nirav.”

  Lily twisted, let go of Kat, and grabbed his shoulder. She shook her head. “His eyes open, then close again.” She coughed her way through the sentence.

  Pointless to rouse him now.

  Pointless to keep hanging on as well, but giving up was too overwhelming a decision. Kat locked her knees, reminded herself to keep standing, keep breathing, keep her tight grip on Juni. Her concentration skittered and slipped. She had been trying to do something important, something she had to complete, but she could no longer remember what.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  THURSDAY, 12:10 PM

  Malcolm shifted carefully across the cabin to join Pete by the open cargo door, the pain in his arm escalating with each tiny motion. The cable spooled downward and the two of them stared into the smoke. Futile. There was nothing at all to see.

  “Scott, how’s it going?” Pete asked into the headset.

  There was a long pause, and then Scott coughed. “Smoke bad. Getting worse.”

  Malcolm and Pete exchanged glances. If Scott landed safely in the pond but couldn’t breathe, they’d have to bring him right back up.

  The cable reeled out farther, the winch engine working smoothly. Malcolm held his breath. At last, Scott’s voice came through. “Okay. I’m down. Water. Waist deep.”

  Malcolm breathed again. One hurdle down. “How’s the air?”

  “Better.” Scott coughed hard, which wasn’t very reassuring, but at least he wasn’t gasping for breath. “Lily! Lily! Where are you?” Scott’s shouts ended in another coughing fit.

  Malcolm waited, hoping it would be that easy—someone would answer, and all would be well. “Anything?” he asked after a moment.

  “Nothing.”

  Not that easy after all. “What about the fire?”

  “Can’t see any flames. Hotter than hell. Visibility sucks. Which way do I go?” Scott’s panic-edged voice provided little reassurance.

  Malcolm organized his thoughts. What would he be doing if he were the one down there? “Okay. Step one. Disconnect the cable.” The tension on the cable eased, and Pete began reeling it in. “Good. Now fill the tool chest with water and let it sink. We have this position, and this is where we’ll pick you up.” Pick all of you up. He wondered if he still even believed that was possible. At this point, hope seemed a hallucination.

  A pause. “Done. Seems solid. I’ve uncoiled the rope.” Scott’s voice had calmed. He was better at following directions than winging it.

  “Take out your compass. Find north. Walk that way. See if the water gets shallower or deeper.” Malcolm had no clue where in the pond Scott had landed, but it wasn’t all that big. They would figure it out.

  “Okay. Heading north.”

  Lou had taken the helicopter higher after Scott disconnected, staying in communication range but giving them better air. Scott had no such luxury. Malcolm tried to imagine the conditions down there—no way to orient, smoke-filled air leading to muddled thinking, enough fear to keep the adrenaline pumping and the heart racing but not enough experience to remain logical. He would rather face those conditions himself than force them on Scott.

  If he only had more faith in the guy, he’d be more optimistic about their chances. They’d assigned Scott an impossible task and given him no equipment, no training, and no backup. He needed to tap into strength he didn’t even know he had to seize even a remote chance of success.

  “Getting shallower. Getting hotter. Seeing flames now.”

  Malcolm pictured it in his head. Scott must have landed off center, closer to the north shore than the south if the water was getting shallower.

  “Oh my god.” Scott sounded stunned. “Fire everywhere on shore. No way could anyone survive there. They have to be in the pond.” Scott’s sentences were interspersed with spasms of coughing.

  It was what Malcolm had expected based on the uniform carpet of smoke below them, but hearing the words out loud chilled his soul and made the risk that much more real. If Kat hadn’t taken the children into the pond, they’d lost them.

  “I can’t go any closer. Too hot.” Scott’s voice rose again, panic creeping in.

  Pete and Malcolm exchanged glances, and Pete shook his head. “Not good.”

  Malcolm forced his voice to stay calm. “Kat wouldn’t stay that close. Turn to your right and follow the shoreline but stay far enough away to be safe.”

  “Yeah. Okay. The dam should be here somewhere.”

  Things got very quiet. Malcolm leaned forward, trying to pick out clues as to what was happening through the static, but there was nothing. “Kee
p us posted.”

  All they heard for a long while were periodic coughing spasms. Scott called for Lily every few minutes, but his shouts grew weaker. Malcolm doubted anyone would hear them unless he was right on top of them, and his despair deepened. He should have gone down, arm or no arm.

  Finally, “Okay. The dam.” Scott’s voice had gotten progressively hoarser, almost a croak now.

  “Good job. How’re you doing?”

  “Uh … eyes bad … smoke … chest … hurts.”

  Pete gave Malcolm a worried look and covered his microphone so Scott couldn’t hear. “He sounds confused.”

  He did indeed. But as long as Scott could hang in there, they couldn’t give up. “Turn right. Keep going along the dam.”

  “Getting deeper.”

  That was good; he must be crossing the midpoint of the pond.

  A sudden hoarse shriek came through.

  “What’s wrong?” Malcolm’s heart rate skyrocketed. Maybe Scott was injured.

  A coughing fit lasted a few moments before Scott answered. “Dead raccoon. I’m okay.”

  Malcolm’s tension didn’t ease. It had to be pure hell down there. Come on man, keep going. It’s our only shot.

  “Something … on the dam … burned.”

  Malcolm swallowed his irritation. Scott needed to stay focused; he shouldn’t go haring off after nothing. He bit back the comment that rose to his lips. Scott was the one down there; he was the one with eyes on.

  “Wait … let me get it … it’s canvas.” A pause. “It’s part of Kat’s bag!” The energy in Scott’s voice came through clearly.

  “Are you sure?” Malcolm remembered the bag. Some sort of school name on its side, with an eagle logo. Kat had been there. She and the children must have made it to the pond. “Are you really sure?”

  “Positive.”

  “Okay. Keep …” Malcolm had to stop, clear his throat, pull himself together. The possibility that this insane search might actually succeed overwhelmed him more profoundly than even his fears of failure. He tried again. “Keep along the dam, then when you see the shore again, follow it.” This would let Scott complete the circuit of the pond. If he didn’t find anything, then he would need to cut across the middle. Assuming he could stay down there that long.