by Piper Stone
Stoker climbed out of the truck, closing the door with a hard thud. He’d parked in the dirt field, far enough away from the hanger and base that no one would notice him. He hadn’t made any decisions, only allowing his curiosity to drive his actions. He’d spent the morning second guessing his recent decisions, going over every detail of his contorted actions. Answer? There weren’t any that made sense and still he was here, contemplating doing exactly what he’d promised he’d never attempt again.
After shoving his hands into the pockets of his jeans, he leaned back against the Ram, watching various exercise maneuvers in the adjacent field. He’d taken thirty minutes to study the local jumpers, reading several newspaper articles as well as gleaning information from their website. They were a tight group, labeling themselves the Jackals. The name suited the intense team, where every man counted on each other for survival. They had a strict standard of rules, methods of operation that had been taught beginning generations before. They were also down in numbers, stretched thin by budget restraints and resignations.
Could he become a part of the elite team again, following the regulations? Although his time on the team had been cut short by enlisting in the marines, the months had changed his life forever. He shook his head and looked away. He’d been all about maintaining strict standards during his lengthy stint with the Marines. What about now? This answer was easy. He’d lost all amount of caring, other than saving lives.
He stared down at his tattoos, each one a story, and allowed his shallow breath to escape. Garcia was right about one thing. He was no quitter. Now or never. He sauntered toward the metal building, his heart racing. After reaching the door, he stood with his hand on the knob for a full minute. Get your ass into gear, soldier. While he was no longer that man, he would forever understand the need for stringent regulations.
The walk inside wasn’t as difficult as he’d imagined. Once he was inside, he almost felt at home. The oversized space was rustic, housing two planes as well as a group of offices on one end. Inhaling, the scent of gasoline and cleaning solution was infused with lingering smoke, even after the plane had been washed. He walked toward the planes, gazing up at the creatures of beauty. The twin DC3 aircraft, jump ships to the smokejumpers, had certainly seen better days, their hulls scarred by countless interactions with fires as well as hard landings into dense foliage. Good memories of planes in the military gave him a smile.
The jumpers were outside, but he could see two people hovering over a desk. He cleared his throat and walked in their direction. This was nothing more than a meet and greet. As he neared the open doorway, the girl looked up from her conversation, her eyes narrowing. Suddenly he could see some form of recognition flowing into her eyes.
He took a step back, his angry and bitter inner voice telling him to walk away. No. Stay.
She popped her head out of the door, her smile genuine. “You must be Stoker Hansen. Garcia said you might be dropping by. I’m Katie Myers. I run this place, well the office anyway.” She walked out, extending her hand.
Stoker was surprised by the diminutive young woman, her eyes the color of warm tea, her southern drawl a distinct representation of Georgia or South Carolina. Her handshake was anything but feminine. She’d been around the jumpers for a while. “He did, huh? I guess he knows me pretty well.”
“Hey, Captain. We have a visitor.” Winking, Katie nodded over her shoulder.
The man took a quick glance from whatever file folder he was holding, his eyes doing more than just a once over. While he didn’t smile, his head nod was one of respect. He laid the folder down on the desk and walked with purpose into the hanger. “Stoker Hansen. I’ve heard quite a lot about you.”
“This is Captain Phillips. He’s a bear on the outside, but a marshmallow on the inside.” Katie’s laugh held an overzealous lilt.
The men shook hands and Stoker could instantly tell the large, black man took no shit from his team. He’d heard enough about the Captain’s reputation to know he was highly respected, intelligent and well trained, having served on two separate smoke jumping teams during his career. “Honor to meet you, sir,” Stoker said, his tone full of respect.
“You as well. You come here to talk about joining the team?”
“News travels fast,” Stoker said under his breath.
“There are no secrets. As Garcia probably told you, we lost two of our men recently. We have a few in training, but given the circumstances of the recent fires, I can’t put a newbie out there. Too dangerous.” Captain Phillips took a step back.
Once again Stoker knew he was being scrutinized, sized up as far as his abilities. Ordinarily, he would mind. However, this was to be expected from such an exclusive team. “I’m not committing to anything. Garcia just encouraged me to visit.”
Captain Phillips laughed. “You mean he busted your balls.”
Grinning, Stoker nodded. “You know him.”
“Pretty damn well. He’s an excellent addition to the team, even if he’s a little rough. As you know, you learn everything about the men and women you work side by side with during horrific moments.” Captain Phillips folded his arms and looked at Katie. “Myers. Why don’t you pull the team inside? They might as well get acquainted.”
“Will do, sir.” Her eyes twinkling, she walked back into the office, grabbing an old-fashioned radio. “Jackals. We have a visitor. Come pronto.”
Captain Phillips groaned. “We try and handle certain aspects of our jobs with a formal attitude anyway. Take a walk with me.”
“Sure.” Stoker trailed behind the Captain, who remained quiet until they reached the other end of the hanger. The wall was filled with framed photographs of previous smokejumpers, men and women who’d fought bravely for Missoula over the years.
“These are the true heroes. I was lucky enough to work with several of them side by side. I’ve also worked with other teams, Oregon, Washington state, but I came back here. This is my home and the finest group of smokejumpers in this country hands down.” Captain Phillip’s voice held reverie. “As you can imagine, many died in the line of duty. Some ultimately couldn’t handle the extreme nature of the business.” He pointed from one picture to another.
Stoker followed the Captain, studying the faces of the fallen. The memorial was a telling statement. The teams and members remained close through thick and thin. “And the rest?”
The Captain finally smiled. “A few stole away to tropical islands, living out the rest of their lives in utter pleasure.” Laughing, he turned to face Stoker. “Some remained, living out their lives.” A shadow crossed his face. He glanced up at Stoker. “You may have heard one of our own lost his house in the recent fire.”
Stoker dropped his head and nodded. “Reason I’m on suspension from the Engine Company.”
“Well son, you showed a set of balls saving those animals and you bet I would have suspended your ass for the stunt.”
Laughing, he couldn’t help but smile. “I understand completely.”
“I hope you do. We take our jobs very seriously, but occasionally we do have a good time.”
“I’ve heard,” he said as he searched the wall for the man Garcia had mentioned. He found Larken near the beginning. The smokejumper did appear larger than life, a burly looking guy with gray hair and piercing eyes.
“You’ve heard of him?” Captain Phillips eased behind him.
“Only because of Garcia.”
“Then you know this man saved his family?”
Stoker tipped his head. “No. Garcia only said he’d met the jumper when he was a kid.”
“The fire was one of the worst in Missoula, or so I heard. I was offered the job the first time right after the horrific event. Dozen houses burned to the ground, businesses as well. Several lives were lost, including children in a school. Larken single handedly saved ten or so himself, including Garcia and his parents. The man was labeled a hero.”
Swallowing hard, Stoker knew the answer to his question. “He died in
the fires?”
“Yes, son, he did. This man is the very reason Garcia is the way he is.” Captain Phillips moved closer. “I suspect you have your own tragedy fueling you as well.”
Blinking, Stoker could feel his heart thumping against his chest. He had no idea what to say. A flash image of the fire at his parent’s house gave him tingles.
Captain Phillips patted him on the back. “No need to talk about it. We all understand.”
“My man! I knew you’d show.” Garcia’s words shattered the tense air.
Stoker half smiled as he jerked his head in the direction of his friend’s voice. Trailing behind him were five men, all with their eyes pinned on Stoker.
“Stoker Hansen, meet the team, the few, the proud and the exhausted.” Captain Phillips acknowledged. “Riker Sheffield. Boone Martin. Sawyer Lincoln. Antonio Giovanni. Tyler Franklin is our spotter. All best in the business if you ask me.”
“Ah shucks, Cap’n,” Boone said, his eyes twinkling. He issued a slight salute.
“New blood,” Riker added.
As Stoker shook hands with the five men, he received the same critique as he had with the Captain. They were a close-knit group and outsiders were merely tolerated.
“Come on, boys. Be nice to our potential candidate or he won’t come back,” Katie admonished.
Several exchanged knowing looks, as if they knew Stoker by reputation. They were all different in size as well as demeanor. Only Antonio seemed skeptical. “Good to meet all of you,” he said then turned his attention back to the Captain.
“Any news on Tom Masters?” Antonio asked.
“He’s hanging in. That’s all the doctors would say.” Riker answered the question. He stood towering over the others, his short cropped blond hair and inked skin exuding danger.
“He’s a tough guy,” Captain Phillips said as he rubbed his temples. “He’ll be sorely missed, especially given these damn fires. I have a bad feeling.”
“Tom will recover,” Boone stated, as if trying to convince the team.
Stoker instantly felt akin to Riker, his persona and his rugged appearance.
“I don’t think so, boys. His injuries aren’t life threatening, but enough he’ll need significant time to recover,” Captain Phillips added.
“What happened?” Stoker asked. A change in every jumper’s demeanor occurred. He glanced at Garcia who had already looked away. He noted the odd behavior, pushing it to memory in the back of his mind.
“He got careless. He thought he could work alone,” Captain Phillips said then gave a half smile.
“Much like I’ve heard about you,” Antonio stated, his upper lip curling into a smile.
“Cut the shit!” Garcia snapped. “I asked Stoker here because he’s exactly what we need on this team.”
“Not if he’s a hot-head,” Boone added.
Riker folded his arms. “That’s a good point. We can’t have a loose cannon.”
Stoker threw up his hands. “I’m outta here. I don’t need this shit.”
“Hold on,” Captain Phillips said through clenched teeth. “You’ll have to forgive the rather Neanderthal behavior. Every man here is exhausted. We haven’t had as much as a day off in over three weeks. They mean well, they just can’t figure out how to express what they need through a civilized conversation.”
The words cut through the group and every jumper’s expression was contrite. Captain Phillips ruled with an iron fist, an attribute Stoker admired. “You’re right. I’ve endangered my outfit, forging into fires where few firemen would go. I’ve disobeyed orders on occasion because I was trying to save innocent lives. I refuse to apologize for my actions because they were calculated based on training, extreme training provided to me by the military. I know exactly what I’m doing. I can read a fire and understand how and what it’s going to eat next. I value human lives perhaps more than each one of you, but if I’m not good enough, not qualified for this team? That’s fine by me.”
The words echoed in the dense air. When everyone remained quiet, including Garcia, Stoker smiled, gave a nod of salute and headed for the door.
“Wait. Stoker. Wait.”
He was already outside when the Captain caught up with him. “Just stop. Let me talk to you. Hear me out. Okay?”
Stoker stopped walking but stood with his back turned toward the captain. “I don’t have anything to offer you. That’s obvious.”
“That’s where you’re wrong.” Captain Phillips flanked his side. “I’ve heard stories about you and know what you’re capable of.”
“I just bet you have.”
“If you’d pitch that huge boulder off your shoulder, you might just become one of the best smokejumpers this city has ever seen.”
Bristling, Stoker clenched his fists. Now wasn’t the time to pick a fight. “I may have a chip, but I don’t have the kind of arrogance your team has.”
“You don’t? Are you certain about that?” Captain Phillips allowed the words to sink in. “Stoker, you have exactly the kind of attitude that we need, take no shit. Sure, I’ve heard stories about you. I’ve talked to Captain Banyon. He and I are friends. He’s tough on you for a reason. It’s called potential.”
Stoker shot him an angry look. “You have no right checking into my life, my career.”
He eased in front of Stoker until they were only inches apart. “I have every right to investigate a man who would put every man I employ in danger, let alone the innocent folks just going about their daily routine, ignorant to the fact we have a madman amidst our scenic beauty.”
This time Stoker was intrigued. “So, you believe the fires are arson?”
“I do, but I can’t go off half-cocked, spouting bullshit without correct information and you can’t either.”
This was a line drawn in the sand. “I’m not what you’re looking for. I can’t be a good ol’ boy when I know in my gut theses fires are just the beginning.”
“Then help me discover who is responsible. Help us. If we don’t recruit another man, we’re likely to be grounded. That can’t happen.”
Stoker took a step back. “You know I’m on suspension from the squad.”
“That won’t interfere with your chance here. Don’t get me wrong. I’m not going to tolerate any hot-dogging shit. I can’t. There’s too much at stake. However, I will listen to your thoughts on the arsons. I will. I can use a talent such as yours. And just so you know, arrogance works in our favor when used correctly.”
The words were interesting; however, there was a no-win situation here. If he said no and the jumpers were grounded, he’d no doubt be blamed. If he joined, he’d have the weight of his past and every ugly emotion dragging him down. “I understand you don’t want your team grounded, but why is this so important to you?”
Captain Phillips rubbed his eyes. “Garcia said you cut through the crap better than anyone he’d ever met. He also said I could trust you.”
Stoker narrowed his eyes. “Yeah. Why?”
The captain glanced over his shoulder and lowered his voice. “Because I’m worried that a member of my team is the arsonist.”
Chapter 6
Jessica took her coffee out to the porch, inhaling the late afternoon air. A wisp of clouds was all that remained of the storm from the day before. She leaned against the column as she heard the whinnying sound of horses coming from the dilapidated barn. The house and grounds absolutely needed work, but the location was picturesque. There was no sign of the bats or any other terrifying creatures for that matter. What little sleep she’d managed had been nightmare free, a first in months.
She walked toward the corral, eyeing the two horses. Stoker had left them out to run and they seemed to be enjoying the golden shimmer of sun, glistening over the grass. “Morning beauties.”
They eyed her with trepidation, their big eyes scrutinizing every move. She leaned against the fence and sighed, trying to figure out how she’d gotten here in the first place. Oh yeah. This was supposed to heal the
woman inside. Maybe she could start anew, find a new career. She closed her eyes, envisioning standing on the stage alone, performing a love song. Uh, not going to happen. Laughing, she shook her head and watched the horses chasing after each other. When she was finally ignored by the massive beasts, she backed away.
Stoker had been true to his word. Jessica had no idea what time he’d dropped off the car or how he’d gotten back to his house, but the copper colored older model Trans-Am appeared sometime in the afternoon. She ran her hand over the hood, admiring the flaming bird decal and iridescent paint. He’d taken good care of the Pontiac over the years. Seeing the muscle car reminded her of a time in her early twenties. She’d owned one very similar, including the year.
Ralph had also dropped off some supplies, including vague directions to what he called safe shopping spots. Iffen ya turn right, you’ll find a couple of good places to eat and a country store that sells everything you’re going to hunger for. Iffen you turn left, well, that part of town is for the tourists. Nothing but trouble if you go that way. My guess is you will.
She chuckled after hearing his words. The old man had pegged her. Unfortunately, she hadn’t felt adventurous enough to forge her way into the unknown so by a quarter ‘til seven she was ready to eat everything. Except for bison.
While she hated to admit that she was enjoying the solitude, her one regret was leaving her guitar behind. Granted, she hadn’t written a song in what seemed like a decade. She’d toyed with the idea, even jotting down the start of several songs, but she’d had no inspiration, no reason to finish any of the pieces. Perhaps she had no soul. This place, this gorgeous respite might fuel the remaining embers. If only she could find her voice. Try. Write. You can’t allow the assholes to win. She groaned as the little voice lingered. Self-preservation had never been a strong attribute. Time to shake up her life.
The instrument placed on her mental list, she walked into the house to change. Nothing was going to satisfy her today. Stoker would be coming by soon, maybe too soon. This was a date. Well, not a date, just getting to know the city. No, this was a date.