Then the smoke. Choking her, coating her throat with grime and soot and swelling it closed.
Finally, the shouting, then her name rising above the chaos and sirens screaming. Shots over her head, around her, through her as she clamped her hands over her head.
No—no. She could do better.
She must do better. She pushed herself up, the ground bleeding, soaking into her pores, and found the body. Specialist Nickolay. She brailled her fingers to his neck for a pulse.
Nothing, but she didn’t have time to grieve, not with more explosions, not with the night turning to blaze around her.
She still couldn’t see, the world glossy and reddened, her eyes turning to water. But his voice—she always heard his voice parting the smoke, the gunfire, the piercing whine of the rockets. Larke!
Here. I am here!
He still felt so achingly real when he landed on her, his body armor all sharp panes and bulky. His helmet slammed against hers, his breath cascading over her face, his chin strap bumping hers.
“Stay down.”
Hard breathing, but she knew his smell, knew the strength of him, and for a moment—too long maybe—she simply dug her hands into his vest and held on.
Freeman.
He completely covered her body, his trembling over hers, holding himself there as long as he could before he began to sink onto her.
Only then did she feel the moisture saturating her, sticky and hot, and when she reached between them—
No!
The scream always slithered through her like a snake, coiling, greedy jaws open to clamp into her windpipe, teeth against her flesh, ripping, choking as she fought to tear the sound from her body.
Freeman!
She managed, this time, to get her hands up, to push him off her, to roll him over and clamber on top of him.
To take off his helmet and wipe the soot and ash from his face, find his eyes—
Riley.
Her entire body jerked, those brown eyes staring up at her, into her, finding her bones, holding her still, so much power in his gaze she stopped breathing.
Until he jerked, his entire body trembling, and suddenly he was convulsing, shaking her off. She clung to him, pinning him down. No— Riley!
With a shout she came awake, hard and ripping through the layers of the nightmare into the harsh sunlight that poured through her skylight.
So much sunlight cascading across the shiny pine flooring, rippling into the folds of her sweaty, tangled sheets. She lay on top of them, having ripped them off, and now pressed both hands to her chest, gulping in breaths.
Freeman, not Riley.
Not Riley.
And she barely knew the man, so—
Yeah, she needed to get her head on right. Larke sat up, let the chilly floor on her bare feet shudder a little brutal reality through her.
Her nightmares were simply playing tricks on her, probably reaching out of her subconscious to haunt her with the words she’d spoken yesterday.
Stay alive.
She got up, walked downstairs to the bathroom, and splashed water on her face. Glanced at the clock.
After 8:00 a.m. Seriously. She turned on the shower, stepped inside, and let the water sluice the dream away, bracing her hands on the tile walls.
Or tried to, because Riley’s brown eyes kept finding her, even after she’d turned off the shower, grabbed a towel, dried herself, and pulled on her bathrobe.
She made coffee, got dressed in a pair of loose jeans and a T-shirt, poured herself a cup of black fuel, and stepped outside.
Smoke still tufted the sky in the distance, although it seemed thinner, as if dying, and deep inside a fist released. She might have been holding her breath—it sort of felt like it.
Sinking into one of her Adirondack chairs, she leaned her head back and set the coffee on a thick arm.
She could have saved him. The thought clung to her like a burr, dug deeper every time she survived another dream-slash-memory. She could have saved Freeman.
If she’d known he was hurt, she could have tried to stop the bleeding, called for an evac, maybe saved his life.
Instead, he’d bled out, his arms around her. Protecting her.
She hated that she’d needed protecting.
Hated that even two nights ago, she’d let herself sink into Riley’s arms as if she were that girl.
Okay, sometimes she was.
And that’s what she hated the most. That she couldn’t be stronger. That after everything, her brothers were right.
She wasn’t as tough as she thought. As she wanted to be.
As she should be.
Boots sounded on the path, kicking rock. She opened her eyes and spied her father, cap on, wearing his jacket, dressed for flying, and heading toward her, a grim expression on his face.
She sat up, then grabbed her coffee and walked to the edge of her porch.
He wore his jaw hard, his eyes steely. “There’s a problem on the line.”
She braced her hand on a pillar. “What?”
He put a foot on her step. “The team brought in a hand crew from the Copper County Correctional Facility, and evidently this morning, a number of the prisoners took off.”
She stilled, not sure how to assimilate that information. “What—I don’t understand. Prisoners?”
“Apparently the fire was bigger than the team thought, and the smokejumpers needed reinforcements. Remember that team I brought in yesterday? Prisoners.”
“Are they dangerous?”
“I don’t know. The team has a US marshal with them, and she called in for backup. There are marshals headed here from Anchorage—I’ll fly them in as soon as they get here. You have fresh coffee?”
She nodded and followed him into the house. He walked over to the pot and poured himself a steaming cup. Then he leaned a hip against the granite countertop. “They took one of the smokejumpers hostage.”
She stilled, her entire body hollowing. “Who?”
“Skye. The girl.”
She shouldn’t feel relief—she knew it—but she put her cup on the island and braced both hands on the cool surface. Drew in a breath. “Okay. So, what can we do?”
“Nothing. Just bring the marshals in. But…that’s not all.”
It was his pause that turned her cold.
“What?”
He took a breath.
“Dad.”
“There was an accident. One of the smokejumpers is hurt.”
“How bad?”
“Serious enough to fly out.”
“Who?”
He met her eyes, shook his head.
And for a second, Riley was in her arms, shaking, his eyes holding onto her. No.
Because she simply could not—would not—care that much.
Aw, shoot. Her voice turned soft, broken. “Don’t say it’s—”
“Sorry, honey. It doesn’t sound life-threatening, but when we drop off the team, we’re supposed to pick up Riley and bring him out.”
She sank onto a stool, her hands on her knees. Nodded. “Okay. I’m going with you.”
“Larke—”
“I’m going with you!” She stood up. “You need a copilot anyway.”
His mouth pinched tight. Because no, he hardly needed help.
Something she should have admitted long ago, maybe. Still.
He set his cup down, his thumb drawing down the handle. “I saw you two together a couple nights ago…”
Oh. “It wasn’t anything, Dad.” She shook her head. “Don’t worry. We watched the sunset.”
“The sunset takes a long time out here.” He wasn’t smiling.
“I don’t have room for anyone else in my life right now. Especially for a bad boy with a dark past.”
“That’s not what I want to hear.”
“Hear this. I just want him—all of them—safe, that’s all. There’s nothing else.”
He took a sip of his coffee, examined it. “And if there was, well…” He me
t her eyes. “Someday you have to turn the page, honey. Let God walk you into new paths, new pastures. Not with this guy, but with someone good. Honorable.”
She gave him a wry smile. “I’m still in the valley, Dad. And I’m not sure how to get out. And I certainly don’t want to be trapped there with anybody else.”
“A blind person can’t lead themselves out of the darkness. You have to ask for help.”
“I’m not blind, Dad. I’m just…still stuck outside the fence, I think.” Her mouth tightened. “I’ll be down in a minute.”
She took the stairs fast, grabbed her shoes, a jacket, a hat, and by the time she returned, her father had finished his coffee, was washing his mug in the sink.
She dumped hers and followed him outside. Cast a glance at the haze of smoke in the distance.
Stay alive.
Really, she should stop asking if she didn’t want to get hurt.
4
Everybody just needed to take a breath.
Just clear their heads.
But yeah, strike three. Or maybe four, five, and six, because their entire callout had gone south.
Riley sat on a boulder, his arm drawn up tight to himself, a little high on pain meds, trying to sort it out.
About five this morning they’d awoken to the disappearance of the prisoners. Tucker had nearly lost his head.
It only got worse when Seth discovered that someone had stolen his bear gun.
Tucker had dispatched him to find Skye.
Riley could admit a little anger at the fact that Thorne had dashed too. But just because he knew his father’s poetry didn’t make him a man of honor.
Then things got very quiet, very dire, and very broken when three of the prisoners—the three youngsters—returned, found by Seth, with the news that the rest had taken Skye as a hostage.
Amend that. A serial killer-slash-rapist-slash-someone very, very bad had taken Skye.
No one protested when Tucker announced he was going after her. With the brunette, aka US Marshal Stevie Mills.
Tucker left Riley with easy instructions.
Call the authorities.
Put out the fire.
Get out.
And yet, the hits kept coming.
“Watchout—Seth. How’s it looking?” The big blond sawyer’s voice came over the radio. He’d taken the helm when…
Shoot. Riley knew better than to walk under a snag. Probably should be grateful it had only grazed him. Left his arm dangling from its socket. Yeah, that had been pretty—him writhing on the ground, trying not to scream as Romeo shoved the scorched tree limb off him.
Even now, the pain could curl Riley into himself. He sat, the arm secured to his body like a straitjacket, and no matter how many painkillers he downed, the pain shot fire through his body, straight into his skull.
He lifted the radio to his mouth. “Seth, Watchout. No sign of the chopper. Smoke is turning, though. We’ll need a flyover.”
It almost hurt more to see his team mopping up without him. Armed with Pulaskis and shovels, they worked the blackened forest, turning over the hot spots, putting out simmering cinders that could ignite with a stiff wind.
However, in the three hours since they’d been burying coals, the wind had stirred off Denali, awakening the blaze that had died down to flickers in the night.
Riley stood up, finding his feet on the scree of rocks where Tucker had run to safety yesterday, and now calculated the thickening smoke, the occasional flash of flame. He toggled his radio again. “Seth, Watchout. I’m seeing some activity on the eastern flank.”
Riley could barely make out Seth’s yellow shirt through the skeletal remains of the forest. “Let’s have Barry give us a report when he drops off the feds.” And picked him up.
Riley hated to admit it, but yes, he probably needed medical attention.
Then he was coming back. Because it wasn’t the first time he’d popped out a shoulder.
He didn’t know why someone didn’t just pop it back in. But Romeo had freaked out the minute he’d opened Riley’s shirt, and okay, there was something protruding from his collarbone.
Honestly, Riley was trying not to freak out, too.
So, yeah, they were so far beyond their three strikes it was getting ridiculous. All that remained was for the fire to kick back up and turn into an inferno, maybe head south and take out that Boy Scout camp.
A couple homes.
Sky King ranch.
No, it wouldn’t get that far.
Riley sat again on the boulder and raised his glasses to scan the fire. Black smoke started to embed the gray, not a good sign. The air smelled of green trees being consumed.
In the distance, he made out the whump-whump heartbeat of a chopper. He turned his glasses toward the noise and spotted the Sky King chopper coming into view. It would put down in the meadow they’d burned over.
He picked up his PG bag and managed to climb the ridge without screaming.
Mostly.
More of a grunt, in his opinion.
The rotors kicked up ash and soot, but the bird set down softly, and he waited until the blades stopped spinning.
Seth had come running, breathing hard as he crunched his way down the ravine.
The side door opened, and a couple blue jacketed marshals got out. Big guys, one was linebacker sized, dark skinned, and raked a gaze over Riley that suggested he was exactly the guy to go after the fugitives.
The second guy got out and the wind flattened his blue jacket against his shoulder holster.
A coil loosened in Riley’s chest. They would find Skye and Tucker and bring them all back safely. Then the front door opened, and the copilot stepped out, her blonde hair pulled back, her face hard as she came over to him.
Oh. She wore her medic face.
“It’s not as bad as it looks,” he said.
“Stop talking.”
She was mad? Apparently, because she grabbed his bag, not in a Hey, I’m glad to see you way but all business and marched over to the chopper, threw the bag in, and pushed him onto the deck. The two marshals were talking to Seth. Riley supposed the big guy, who had at least a couple years on him, did look like the man in charge.
“How’d this happen?” Larke said as she took his pulse. Pressed a hand to his forehead.
“A snag. I walked right under it.” Might as well tell the ugly truth. She was already angry.
Her mouth tightened, as if she might be holding back a comment.
“It could have been worse. It could have landed on my head.”
“Not helping,” she snapped. She opened his shirt and peeled it away. Sucked in her breath as she saw the wound. “That’s definitely a fractured collarbone.”
“The fire is rekindling. I need to get back on the line.”
“What you need is a hospital.” She ran her hands over his shoulder, and he tightened his jaw, let out a grunt despite himself.
“That’s a doozy of a dislocation, too. You might need surgery to get that back into the socket.”
“You can’t put it back in?”
She stared at him. “Did you not hear me? You have a broken clavicle.”
“And we have a fire that is turning!” He shook his head. Closed his eyes. Cut his voice low before he opened them. “Listen. I’m not trying to be a hero. We could be in real trouble here. The fire could flash over, and if I leave, there are only rookies here.” His gaze cast to Seth, who might have heard him, because despite his girth and the fact that the marshals still raked him with questions, he nodded. “They need me, or someone who knows what they’re doing.”
She put her hands on her knees. “I could try and get it back into the socket, but that clavicle is still an issue. Maybe if you have surgery, get a pin it it—”
“Yeah. That. We’ll pin it.” He turned to Barry sitting in the cockpit, still wearing his headphones. “Then, can you drop me back off?”
“I mentioned surgery, right?” Larke snapped.
“If th
e weather holds,” Barry answered. “And if it doesn’t get too smoky.”
Riley nodded. “I could always drop in, I guess.”
“Oh my gosh, what is your problem? Not with a broken shoulder!” She got up. “Just get in the chopper.”
She opened the door to the copilot’s seat.
“Not quite yet, honey.” He got up.
The world tilted, but he forced himself upright as he walked over to Seth. “Listen. If that wind continues to grow, the fire is going to kick back up. Stay ahead of it. If you cut a line from the ridge over to that peak, you’ll keep it from going south, drive it east. There’s a river about a half mile from here. Best bet would be to corral it. I’ll send Barry back with some water dumps, see if we can slow it down, even kill it out before it gets that far, but at this point, with our numbers, we need to think containment.”
Seth nodded, but his eyes contained doubt.
Riley reached out, more for balance than support, but still, he clamped his hand on Seth’s big shoulder. “You remember the Watchout rules Tucker drilled into us, right?”
Seth nodded.
“The most important thing—most important—is safety. Do not wait until the last minute. And know where your safety zone is at all times. Got it?”
Now he’d probably scared the man, but Seth just set his jaw and nodded.
Romeo had come up, joined them, listening with a grim face.
“I’ll be back as soon as I can.” Riley glanced at the chopper, at Larke inside, her mouth in an annoyed line. Turned back to them. “Stay alive. Got it?”
Seth nodded. “Got it, boss.”
“I’m not the boss. Tucker is. But until he gets back…let’s all try not to do anything stupid.”
He limped over to the chopper. Got in and struggled with the door.
Seth stepped up and closed it. The US marshals had already taken off on the trail of the fugitives.
Riley leaned back, cradling his arm, listening to the bird shudder to life.
They lifted off and for a moment, he got a good view of the fire. Blackness scraped the land, the trees broken, gnarled corpses of the once lush forest, the meadow a charred blanket. Dead.
On the northernmost flank, tongues of flames lapped up still-green trees, the land glowing red as the cinders baked the earth.
Summer of the Burning Sky Page 30