Firestorm: Book III of the Wildfire Saga

by Marcus Richardson

  "Okay, doorway up here's rigged to blow if anybody tries to come up after me. We own the high ground, gentlemen—you may commence your attack."

  Charlie shook his head. "Fuckin' showoff," he muttered.

  Jax jumped up against the wall and pulled on his belaying rope, beginning his ascent. "Come on, ladies, it's only a wall."

  Cooper grunted as he tugged on his own rope. "Meet you at the top."

  CHAPTER 42

  Salmon Falls, Idaho.

  DENNY CAUGHT HIS BREATH, leaning against a snow-blasted pine. He squinted up at the goose-down clouds, seeking whatever feeble warmth the day might provide. A general brightness in the in sky told him where the sun hid and that it was nearing mid-morning. The soft look of the slow moving, low clouds warned him of more snow on the way.

  He sighed, looking down at the fresh foot of powder that dragged at his boots and slowed his pace to a heart-thudding crawl. Not that it mattered though—he was good and lost.

  Denny pushed off the tree and slogged up a slight hill, stumbling over buried rocks and roots. He’d wandered away from camp, pondering how to fulfill his vow to rid Salmon Falls of it’s petty dictator and lost himself in the storm.

  No matter how he puzzled it, the facts led Denny to one conclusion: Townsen must die. The man would never give up his power and would burn the town to the ground to keep it. To save Salmon Falls, his friends and neighbors—those that still drew breath—had to avenge the Andertons, George McDonnell, and the men who died fighting at the cabin…

  Townsen must die. There was no way around it.

  More death…there has been so much already…is there no other way?

  And so he wandered through the storm most of the night. Morning found Denny cold, exhausted, and hungry—no closer to a solution that didn’t take him back to the dark place. He wanted—needed—to avoid the place he’d gone inside after the Russians came, when he’d hunted down the stragglers. He’d been successful but merciless and it had cost him. Denny hadn’t realized just quite how much until that dark night at the cabin when Townsen had ambushed them. The fear of what he might become had been too powerful and shut down his ability to fight back. He helped direct the defenders and cared for the wounded…but he couldn’t play an active role in the battle.

  Frustrated at himself and weary of taking action that would only lead to more bloodshed and death, Denny stomped through the snow, not caring where he went, driven by the need to move—to do something. He’d become determined to solve the problem or burn out his anger through exhaustion. He slapped a snow-laden pine bough out of his way and panted on into a small clearing.

  Denny worked his way around a drift and looked down into a slight bowl-shaped depression in the whiteness, surrounded by tall straight pines. Untouched snow blanketed everything, muffling the world. As he stood there, his thoughts faded into a background buzz. Gradually his senses returned as he took in the frozen tranquility before him.

  Jays and crows squawked at each other. Up ahead, a squirrel jumped between trees, creating a small shower of snow. He took a deep breath and felt peace fill him along with the cold, crisp air. He closed his eyes and sighed, feeling the tension escape his body, swirling with his breath as it condensed into vapor.

  Something wet landed on his nose and he opened his eyes, breaking the spell. The heavens had opened again, dumping more delicate flakes on an already white landscape. Denny sighed.

  I’ve got to find shelter. I won’t do anyone any good if I die of exposure.

  His feet, unyielding blocks of ice wrapped in snow-crusted boots, felt like lead weights. Damn. He stomped again, hoping to get the circulation in his feet flowing again. A gentle wind rustled the snow-capped pines as he trudged forward into an uncertain day.

  Too late…whispered the trees, kissed by the breeze.

  Denny froze, listening, but the trees said no more. Shaking his head, he pushed on, feeling a pang of worry tinged with hunger. He stopped at the crest of a slight ridge, looking around as he struggled to slow his heart and catch his breath. The snow came down heavier now, obscuring his view much further than two hundred yards. It was worse than the night before.

  Too late…the trees reminded him.

  “It’s not too late,” he growled, immediately feeling the heat in his cheeks. “Jesus, now I’m talking to the trees.” He shook his head and focused on his surroundings. The area looked familiar, like a dream viewed from another person’s mind. The realization of where he was struck him like a snowball to the face.

  The cabin.

  Fresh snow had erased the footprints and violence of two days ago. The all-enveloping cold had preserved the place as if in hibernation. Denny pushed all memories aside, ignored the screaming he heard in his ears and the iron smell of blood on wood. Shelter—the cabin would provide shelter. He had to reach it.

  Each step brought him closer to his goal—an attainable one this time. Each step reminded him how weak and cold he'd become since venturing out the night before. Each step sent a new throb of pain into his right hand where he’d deliberately sliced his palm to seal his vow.

  Denny looked down. Snow had so encrusted his boots that every step seemed to slow him down a little more. It felt like the cabin actively resisted his approach, as if he was not wanted. Go back, it seemed to say. Go back and forget this place. No good will come of it if you stay…

  Denny struggled through the pain and fear of the last few steps until he stood sheltered from the storm, his hands on his knees before the front door. The door had come ajar after the battle, riddled with bullet holes, but still serviceable. Snow had wormed its way in the crack and sealed the opening as high as Denny’s hip. He pushed forward into the drift and used both hands to force the uncooperative portal open. The sound of wood scraping on ice filled his ears as he tumbled through into the darkened cabin.

  He collapsed on the frozen floor just inside the door, already feeling a slight increase in warmth compared to outside. The wind chose that moment to send a blast of snow in after him as a parting gift. He lay there on his back, letting the snow land on his face and laughed.

  He’d done his best to avoid this place, to avoid the memories and fear wrapped up in the brief time he'd been here. And where had his wandering taken him? Exactly to the place that had forced him to confront the darkness dwelling just below his skin, clawing to break free again. He’d failed to meet the challenge a few days ago and had paid the price of watching his friends fall one by one all around him, shot down by Townsen’s henchmen.

  What price will you exact today?

  Denny stared at the ceiling, watching snow drift down through the hole he’d created. He’d climbed up to see the battle beyond the cabin walls—to escape the choice he had to make down below, to escape the death and screams.

  He sighed, taking a firm grip on the darkness that scrabbled to escape his internal restraints. It sensed an awakening, a chance. Denny decided to give in to inevitability.

  He rolled to his feet and wiped his face as he stood. Heat—he needed heat. He scrounged around in the dim light of the cabin and found the wood stove, dinged by several impacts but plenty serviceable. Denny opened the cast-iron door on squeaky hinges and pulled some of Anse’s wood pile into the opening.

  He opened a thigh pocket on his pants and pulled out the small deerskin wrapped bundle of survival equipment he always carried on his person. Impatient with the gloves making his hands useless for fine work, he bit the fingers of his right glove and pulled his hand free. He grasped the little ferrocerium rod and used the striker to create sparks over a little ball of Vaseline-soaked cotton.

  The third spark caught and the ball ignited. Using his gloved left hand, he carefully deposited the nascent flame inside the stove and added kindling. Within a few minutes, he had a robust fire merrily crackling away in the stove.

  Denny closed his eyes as he felt his hands thaw in front of the stove's open belly. It would take a while longer for the rest of him to thaw out, but it
was start. He turned to the cabin and paused, taking in the dried, wine-dark stains on the floorboards.

  That’s not wine.

  He blinked and the image of Fred Sanders, the father of one of his students, laying over that stain a few nights ago vanished. He was one of the lucky ones. Maybe—a few of the survivors carried Sanders back to town to see Dr. Granger, but with medicine in such short supply and most of the townsfolk sick with the flu, Denny had serious doubts about Fred’s chances.

  When he raised his eyes from the blood stain, he sought out one of the rough-hewn cabinets Anse had installed in the cabin. Upon pulling the creaking pine door open, he found a cache of canned foods, fruit, beans, chili, vegetables, most shot through during the battle. Exploded cans of soups and stews coated the interior of the cabinet and were frozen solid. There wasn't enough left to survive more than a few days and he'd have to use his knife to chip out what was viable.

  Denny’s stomach voiced its enthusiasm thought, so he set to work hacking at the frozen glop to free a can of chili. After a few minutes of cussing, he pried the can loose from the mess and opened it with the P52 opener from his emergency kit. Denny placed the open can on the stove and worried a few more loose. These he set near the stove to thaw, not cook. While the chili heated, he busied himself with scooping out most of the snow on the floor and shutting the door more firmly in its frame.

  The stove didn’t put out much light, but it was enough to see in the near darkness of the abandoned cabin. Denny poked around, half afraid to find a body in the dark corners, though he knew that morbid work had been handled days ago. It wasn’t until he sat back and looked upon the pile of supplies he'd scrounged up that he realized he’d done it all on auto-pilot.

  He'd a amassed a small pile of canned goods, a few frozen and near-to-bursting cans of beer, one boot—two sizes too small—a pair of gloves that fit, a blood-stained John Deere hat, a handful of bullets of varying calibers, and what looked like Deputy Griswold's service revolver.

  Denny picked up the wheel gun and fumbled with it a moment until he got the thing to open and looked in the cylinder. Three shots left. He snapped it closed and pawed through the bullets on the floor. He wasn’t sure which ones went into the gun, having never fired one of these before, so decided it would remain half loaded for now.

  He blinked and sat back, looking at the pile in front of him. He’d had no conscious thought to gather supplies. He’d put no more thought into what he was doing other than it kept him from thinking about what had happened here and what he knew must now be done—and how that might change him.

  Haven’t I already changed?

  No…answered Grandfather Red Eagle’s voice.

  Denny sighed and looked down at his somewhat warm hands. He listened to the quiet hiss as his gloves dried near the stove. A glance at his boots led him to remove them. He’d need to get the ice and snow off those if he planned on getting out of the cabin before spring.

  No use in trying to hide it. I’m losing my mind, he told himself as he put the boots next to the stove to absorb a little warmth and dry out. Before Red Eagle could reply—Denny knew he would—he got to his feet and walked over to one of the shattered windows. A small pile of snow lay scattered below the sill among bits of broken glass. Wind whistled through the abused opening and carried with it a smattering of snow.

  Stepping carefully to avoid any glass on his unprotected feet, Denny peered out into the growing darkness. Night wouldn’t be too far off. He clenched his jaw in irritation.

  I know better than to wander off into the darkness. In winter, no less. What was I thinking?

  Movement at the treeline, perhaps twenty yards away, drew his eye. A big, dark shape moved awkwardly between the trees, weaving to and fro as if drunk.

  “Is that a bear?” he asked out loud and nearly jumped at the sound of his own voice. He stole a glance over his shoulder at the pile of supplies and the revolver, glowing in the light of the open stove.

  Not a lot of good that little pea-shooter will do against a bear…

  He turned back to the window and noticed the creature had cut the distance to the cabin in half. Definitely on a path to his doorstep. Damn.

  Denny backed away from the window and toward the stove. He stooped to pick up the revolver, cradling the now-warm grip in his hand. Moving to the farthest corner from the door, he waited in the shadows. He strained to hear over the whistling wind.

  Crunch…crunch…

  Whatever it was, it approached the cabin slowly. Cautiously.

  Crunch…crunch…

  Denny shook his head. Think. It’s winter. Bears hibernate in winter…it’s got to be a man…but who? The footsteps paused. Denny adjusted his grip on the revolver and aimed at the door. Go away…go away…

  Without warning the door slammed open and a huge silhouette filled the doorway, framed by the drifted snow and whiteness beyond. Denny held his breath and struggled to keep his trigger finger from twitching. He couldn't be sure who it was, and didn't want to shoot an innocent person.

  The man strode into the cabin and headed straight for the stove, trailing bits of snow from his coat. He grunted and dropped a large pack to the floor in a splatter of snow and ice.

  “Freeze!” Denny shouted. The figure whirled to face Denny’s corner and spat a string of obscenities. “Anse?”

  “Denny? Jesus,” replied the bear. “You scared the hell out of me. What are you doing here?”

  Denny exhaled the breath he hadn't realized he’d been holding and lowered the revolver to point at the floor. “I almost shot you! You could have knocked or something…Christ!”

  Anse laughed, a sound more fit for a medieval banquet hall than a small cabin in the woods of Idaho. “Hell, it’s my cabin…didn’t think I needed an invitation. You set that?” he asked, moving to the stove to warm his hands.

  Denny sighed and got to his feet. He left the revolver in the corner. “Yeah, just now.”

  Anse’s eyes, glittering in the stove’s light, peered out from a tangle of black beard and snow. “What're you doing here?”

  Denny stepped up next to his friend and put his hands near the stove. “I don’t know. I needed to think some things through. I just started walking…when I realized it was about to snow again—”

  “Again?”

  Denny ignored the question. “I found myself here.”

  Anse looked him over. “How long you been out in the woods?”

  Denny shrugged. “Since last night.”

  Anse laughed again. “You sure you’re not Eskimo? Shit, Denny—no wonder you look half-frozen.”

  Denny grunted and dipped his finger into the can of warming chili on the stove. It wasn’t hot, but wasn't frozen either. His stomach reminded him it didn’t particularly care at the moment. He ate, holding the scalding can in a glove. Anse rummaged in his pack and produced a spoon.

  “Here, this might help.”

  Denny muttered his thanks around a mouthful of meat-filled chili, the source of which he didn’t want to know. He offered the half-eaten can to Anse, who waved him off.

  “Don’t worry about it, I got more,” he said, motioning to his pack.

  “Why are you here?” asked Denny after a few minutes. He scraped the bottom of the can with his spoon.

  Anse sighed. “Well, with me being public enemy numero uno, it was past time to leave Salmon Falls. Figured the storm would give me a little cover so I grabbed my go bag and high-tailed it.” He took in Denny’s look and shrugged. “Not much left at home anyway—I had some shit squirreled away so when Townsen’s boys raided my house they didn’t get everything..." He sighed. "Only option left was to up and leave. So here I am.”

  Denny looked had around the cabin. The interior appeared decorated by a shipload of drunken sailors. The battle had done Anse no favors. “I can help you clean up…”

  “You think I’m going to stay here?" Anse asked. "No way in hell—Townsen knows this is my place and even though he thinks you killed his
boy, he knows I gathered everyone here." Anse shook his head, sending drops of melted snow flying everywhere. "He won’t take long to figure out he’s going to want my head on a plate right next to yours. I’ll stay here tonight, but come first light, I’m gone.”

  “Where will you go?” asked Denny, suddenly very thirsty. He looked at the empty can. It would make a fine cup, so long as he didn’t put his lips too close to the rim.

  “South, I think. Anywhere, really—I just need to get the hell out of Salmon Falls. This place is too messed up. Maybe the whole world is too, but I figure there’s got to be somewhere that hasn’t just…you know, fallen apart.”

  Denny walked over to the door, took a brief glimpse outside, then scooped up a can of snow and set it on the stove to melt. "You can come back with me to the old ranger station tomorrow, if you want."

  “That where you've been?”

  Denny nodded. “Next to U.P. Lake. No one knows about it except me.”

  “You sure there’s enough room?” asked Anse.

  Denny watched the snow melt as the can heated. “It’s fine. I won’t be staying long.”

  “Where are you going?” asked Anse, rubbing his hands before the stove. He stomped his feet, shedding fresh clumps of slush on the floor.

  “Back into town." Denny stared at the stove. "I have some unfinished business with Townsen.”

  “You’re not going to surrender, are you?”

  Denny looked at Anse and blinked. “What are you talking about?”

  “You haven’t heard, have you?” Anse shook his head. “Townsen’s been on every frequency I can get. He’s saying he’ll stop harassing everyone who refused to swear loyalty to Barron if you give yourself up. He said he’d pardon everyone involved at the cabin, too. Sounds like he wants to end this mess. If you—”

  "If I surrender." Denny frowned, staring at the floor. Surrender. Ending the conflict. Peace. Denny let his thoughts float away from the cabin. Could he really give himself up? That was certainly something he hadn’t thought about before. Townsen believed Denny shot Jeb and he wasn’t the kind of man to forgive and forget.