Shadows and Ash: Pulp Friction 2014 Finale

by Harner, Laura

  Shadows and Ash

  Pulp Friction 2014 Season Finale

  Laura Harner, Lee Brazil, Havan Fellows, T.A. Webb

  Shadows and Ash is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Copyright © 2014 by Laura Harner, Lee Brazil, Havan Fellows, Tom Webb

  Cover Art by Laura Harner

  All rights reserved.

  Smashwords Edition Published in the United States by Hot Corner Press.

  ISBN: 978-1-937252-97-7

  Warning: All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any manner without written permission, except for brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

  The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to five years in federal prison and a fine of $250,000.

  Contact the publisher for further information: Hotcornerpress@gmail.com

  Acknowledgements

  Writing twenty-five books in one year would be an impossible task without the invaluable help of a talented and dedicated group of people to keep us on task and on track. Christy Duke, Will Parkinson, and Jae Ashley, we couldn’t have done this without you. Thank you, from the bottom of our hearts.

  The authors acknowledge the trademarked status and trademark owners of the following trademarks mentioned in this work of fiction:

  Band-Aid: Johnson & Johnson Corporation

  Chutes and Ladders: Hasbro, Inc.

  Coke: The Coca-Cola Company

  Crock-Pot: Sunbeam Products, Inc.

  Currier & Ives: The Currier & Ives Foundation

  IKEA: Inter-IKEA Systems B.V. Corporation

  iPhone: Apple, Inc.

  Jack Daniel’s: Jack Daniel’s Properties, Inc.

  Kevlar: E. I. Du Pont De Nemours

  Kisses (Hershey's): Hershey Chocolate & Confectionary Corporation

  Scrabble: Hasbro, Inc.

  Whole Foods: Whole Foods Market IP, L.P.

  Contents

  Acknowledgements

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  About Pulp Friction 2014

  Mountain Shadows Map

  Also Available

  Chapter One

  Mick froze, handful of food halfway to his mouth. “Dude…that cat…”

  Finn glanced over his shoulder. Hershey, that cat, sat in the corner of the lodge breakfast room. His fur was puffed, magnifying his already impressive feline presence. His tail swished steadily back and forth with a lethal grace. The light caught his eyes, twisting them into eerie pools of glowing hate, akin to a horror story monster. Chuckling, Finn turned back to his friend. “You’re eating his food.” He nodded at the potato and lutefisk Mick held.

  Instantly, Mick let the tidbit fall to the table. “Does Scott know you let that beast in here to torment the paying guests?”

  “He suggested it.” Finn sipped his coffee and stretched his feet out under the table, nudging Mick’s shoe. “So, are you going to explain those…unearthly howls I heard coming from Rowe’s cabin while I took my walk last night?” he said, thoroughly enjoying his friend’s furious blushes and stuttered protests.

  Ignoring him, Mick snatched a fork off the table and dug into his eggs Benedict. “These aren’t for the cat, too, are they?” He shoveled in a bite and chewed rapidly, casting the glowering Hershey defiant glares over Finn’s shoulder when meeting his gaze was too much.

  “No.” Finn swirled the coffee in his cup contemplatively. He wasn’t being very nice, and he knew it, but…he couldn’t resist the opportunity to pay Mick back for all the good-natured ribbing he’d endured, not to mention the multitude of blow-by-blow accounts of his sexual conquests back in their college days. “So…” He paused while Mick shoveled in another bite. “You worked up quite an appetite, then?”

  “Augh!” Mick’s breath and voice exploded in one egg-laden expulsion.

  Finn burst into laughter.

  “Oh my god, I can’t…” Mick spluttered again, reaching for a napkin and wiping at his mouth and the table. “Just…shut up!”

  Still laughing, Finn stood up. “I’m glad you and Rowe worked things out.” He began clearing the table onto a tea cart. “Where is my quiet friend this morning?”

  “Out communing with his woods. Do you want a hand with that?” Mick for once dropped the subject of his sex life with alacrity. “Where’s Cannon?”

  “His flight gets back tonight.” Finn grinned broadly, and he knew from the twitch of Mick’s lips that he hadn’t managed to keep lechery out of his expression or voice. “This job is working out great.”

  Cannon’s ER stints took him to Phoenix four nights a week, but he was home every weekend. “We barely have time to miss each other before he’s back.”

  The dishes rattled and clattered as they wheeled the cart back to the kitchen followed by the delicate, stealthy footfalls of the cat. “How’d Scott take the news about the cabin?”

  “Pretty sure he saw that coming.”

  “I overheard…I think there’s some financial problems…they could maybe use that rent.”

  Finn paused. He’d heard rumors… “They’re losing money because they haven’t been doing the weekend rentals with all the stuff that’s been going on, and the expenses are mounting with all the repairs. I do feel a little guilty, but Cannon’s lease was up anyway.” Watching Mick run dishwater in the sink, Finn fiddled with the dishes, scraping the leftovers into a bowl for the cat, who stood patiently at his feet. “What about you?” Talking money was worse than talking sex, and he’d have rather had a blow-by-blow account of Rowen’s best moves in the sack than do what he was about to do. “How are you situated with money?”

  Mick splashed soapy water over the counter as he spun about. “I got it covered.”

  “Heard that before.” He tried not to remind Mick of the disaster that had resulted after that discussion. “But did you pay him?”

  A sick grin twisted Mick’s lips in a bitter parody of a smile. “I’ve had other things on my mind. I just have to wait until… Yeah. I just have to wait.”

  Shaking his head, Finn grabbed a towel and started drying the dishes Mick was washing. They worked in a tense silence for a few minutes, and Finn regretted disrupting their accord. Finally, the last dish was washed and the kitchen returned to the neat state Jilly insisted upon. “There now, Jilly has no cause to regret leaving us to take care of things.”

  Mick cast the cat, gobbling lutefisk and potato on the floor at their feet, a sour glance. “Unless Hershey leaves her a little gift.”

  “Are you insinuating there are mice in the lodge?” Finn teased, hoping to ease the tension that lay between them.

  “I know for a fact there are all kinds of rodents out there. Filigree has been so kind as to bequeath me and Rowe both with her treasures.”

  Chuckling, Finn turned the lights off and led the way to the front
porch. As they dressed in their winter gear in silent accord, the blustery wind outside blew eddies of snow from a thick fall the day before. The sky was painfully, brilliantly blue and clear today.

  “It’s so deceptive.” Mick stood in the doorway, marveling. “You look out there and you’d think it was eighty degrees.” He stepped out and to the side, leaning against the building.

  “Except for the mounds of snow.” Finn sighed, sinking onto a bench. He pulled his pipe out and loaded a bowl. “Do you mind?”

  Mick glanced over at him laughing. “Not at all. If you don’t mind reminding me of my grandfather.”

  The biting retort Finn intended to make was drowned out by a tremendous booming roar. The pipe fell from his hand and he bolted to his feet. Mick clutched at his arm.

  “What the hell was that?”

  Frantically glancing around, Finn caught sight of a plume of black growing above the trees. “Park and Tanner’s place.” Without discussing what to do, they were on their feet and in motion.

  “They’re in Phoenix, aren’t they?” The wind snatched at their words as they rushed from the porch to the shed for the keys to the utility vehicle. The darkness was growing…a furious beast overtaking the sky.

  “Yeah. Grand jury stuff.” Finn pulled the shed door open with his bare hands, wincing at the stinging touch of the frozen metal handle.

  “Thank god for that.” Mick fumbled with his phone.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Calling 9-1-1?”

  “Wait…” They climbed into the ute and drove out of the shed. “We don’t know what happened yet.”

  “Something blew up,” Mick pointed out. “There could be fire. We need help.”

  It was true. “Tell them it was a propane explosion.”

  Mick dialed the number, speaking softly to the operator as Finn took the vehicle off-road in the direction of Park and Tanner’s cottage.

  “Whoa!” Mick hung up and scrabbled for something to hang on to. “What are you… Is this safe?”

  “That’s what it’s for.” Finn watched the drifts of snow and the faint path. “It’s a lot faster this way.”

  “Right. How’d you know it was a propane explosion?”

  Finn shrugged. “I don’t. It might have been. That’s just as likely as another visit from our saboteur.”

  “Well, that’s a relief.” Mick relaxed next to him. Park and Tanner’s cabin appeared before them, thankfully whole and unharmed. The smoke came from somewhere behind. “But if it wasn’t the cabin…”

  “There’s an…old hogan back here somewhere. That’s the only other structure I can think of. Unless there’s something that predates my time here.” Finn steered the ute around the cabin into the woods.

  It was only minutes before they reached the somewhat overgrown clearing where the hogan sat. Sure enough, the smoke curled along the snow crust, dirtying its pristine surface. Orange flame licked weakly at the building itself.

  “That doesn’t smell like propane.” Mick sniffed loudly. “It smells like—”

  “Gasoline.” Finn shut the engine off and they climbed out of the vehicle. He caught sight of movement at the edge of the woods. “Hey!” Taking off running, Mick blindly following, Finn tracked the shadow, calculating.

  Mick, who’d earlier in the year barely survived a madcap race through the woods that ended with a close encounter of the tree-limbed kind, pushed past him and to Finn’s eyes, flew through the air. The shadowy figure hit the ground with a shriek, followed by Mick. Finn closed the few feet of space between them and discovered Mick, breathing heavily, holding on grimly to the booted feet of a writhing, fatigue-clad figure.

  “Got him.”

  ***

  Scott’s ears popped as his truck growled its way up the steep incline just south of Mund’s Park as he drove the final stretch toward home. He hoped Finn’s time watching the lodge had gone more smoothly than his own trip to the southern end of the state. Not that anything had gone wrong…exactly. Visiting Rob’s mother had been as pointless as Scott feared, but he’d tried. At least he’d be able to put the guilt to rest and this time he hadn’t kept his purpose a secret from his lover. A dozen years earlier, Scott had made a terrible error in judgment when he’d outed Rob to his ultra-conservative parents and it had been the beginning of the end of their college romance. Now, here they were, more than a decade later, reunited in the best of all possible ways.

  After a quick glance in the rearview mirror before exiting the interstate, Scott laughed at the smug expression he caught in the reflection. Turning onto the gravel road that led to the lodge, his smile broadened. He deserved to be a little self-satisfied. Less than a year ago, he’d been a passenger in Rob’s vehicle, heading down this same dirt road, with a nearly useless leg and a lot of baggage between them. Together they’d weathered a lot over this past year, and despite the troubles surrounding the fires and vandalism plaguing him at Mountain Shadows, Scott could honestly say he’d never been happier. Knowing that even now, Robby and the kids were visiting Scott’s mom to ask her permission to officially propose made everything just that much sweeter.

  Despite the bitter cold, Scott cracked his window to breathe in the rich scent from the tall pines that lined the Forest Service road. The deep green of the trees seemed to press in, contrasting sharply against the crystal blue sky, so beautiful it made his throat tight. A whiff of smoke carried on the air, giving Scott a clear image of Finn stirring the fire in the stone hearth at the main lodge.

  Although several inches of snow still covered the ground beneath the trees and for as far as he could see into the woods, the gravel road remained relatively clear, the dirt frozen into a hard-packed surface, softening to mud along the edges where the snow had melted but the sun had yet to bake. As he slowed to make the final turn into the campground, a large number of tire tracks cut deep into the mud. As if several over-sized vehicles had taken the corner, very fast. Scott’s pulse sped up and he pressed down on the accelerator.

  Approaching the first curve, he caught sight of what the tree-lined road had obscured, a dense layer of smoke hung over the east side of the campground. Shit! Park and Tanner’s cabin. His initial elevation of concern turned to a spike of panic. As he raced toward the potential disaster, myriad scenarios flashed through his mind. The worst involved another cabin fire with injuries or—no! He wouldn’t go there. Park and Tanner were out of town. Destruction of a building he could handle—would handle. Rob’s voice sounded in his head, reminding him to stay calm…focused.

  As cabins nine and ten both came into view, Scott slowed as relief washed through him. Neither place appeared to be damaged. The road between the two A-frame cabins was littered with an array of pale green pick-up trucks, red fire engines, and—depending on the jurisdiction—white or black SUVs. Hoses snaked from two pumper trucks, disappearing into the heavy underbrush. A thin plume of hazy-gray smoke trailed skyward from beyond the tree line, pinpointing the source of the heat. From the direction of the hoses and smoke, the fire was probably the decrepit group camping hogan that had never been renovated, and judging from the color of the smoke, the fire was under control. Scott pulled to a stop at the periphery of the vehicles blocking the road, and just managed to shift to park before he jumped from his truck.

  After a desperate scan of the area, he finally located Finn standing with his hips against the hood of a sheriff’s car, facing three uniformed men. With his arms folded and his head cocked at an angle, he didn’t look happy as he listened to whatever the deputy was saying. Heading straight for the small group, Scott caught a glimpse of Mick, and his heart nearly stuttered to a stop. He was sitting in the open doorway of the ambulance, a blanket stretched across his lap. The man’s usual smile had slipped a few notches as the female EMT worked on his forehead. Changing directions, he took two long strides toward the injured man, and never even saw the big, burly deputy until a hand clamped on his arm.

  “Excuse me, sir. I’m going to ask you t
o step this way,” the khaki-clad man said and gestured in the opposite direction.

  “No, that’s my friend. I…uh…I…” He swallowed as an image of flames seemed to dance across his vision. Had Mick been burned? Sweat dampened his forehead, despite the chilly temperature. He cleared his throat and fought against the rising sense of panic. “I’m the owner, Scott McGregor. I need to see my—”

  “Sir, you don’t want to do this. If you’ll just step this way.”

  “Need a hand, Hartwig?”

  Scott whipped around to look at the new arrival and saw a slightly built man in a dark green parka and a pair of cuffs in his hand. Behind him stood Kevin Driscoll, the asshole from the insurance company, his too-small face set in stone, his close-set eyes as frosty as the day.

  “What are you doing here, Driscoll?” Scott demanded. “And somebody tell me what’s going on? Was there a fire? Shit, scratch that—where was the fire? The hogan, right?”

  The corner of Driscoll’s mouth curved up. “I don’t think you need to worry about packing your bags for Hollywood anytime soon.”

  “What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”

  Deputy Hartwig stepped closer, getting between Scott and the insurance investigator. “Scott McGregor? You’re the owner, here?”

  “Yes, that’s right.”

  “Why don’t you tell the deputy where you just came from?” Driscoll taunted.

  “Came from— Oh, for fuck’s sake. You can’t possibly think I had anything to do with—” He cut a look at Driscoll and knew that was exactly what they did think. “I came from Sierra Vista. I drove through the night to get here.”

  “Right. And what time did you first arrive on your property?” Driscoll asked.

  “Just now! You saw me,” he pointed to his truck. “I need to—” He looked toward the forest, to where the hoses disappeared. A shudder twisted through him, and he blinked rapidly to clear the image of flames dancing at the edge of the trees. Not real.

  Scott shook his head and cleared his throat. Clearly the deputy intended to let Driscoll do the talking for now—probably because he was already familiar with the previous fires at Mountain Shadows. “I just got back this morning, just now. I saw the smoke and thought Park and Tanner’s place—look just tell me—they’re okay, right? Does this have anything to do with Tanner’s dad?”