by Becky Avella
We’re both still breathing. It’s not over yet.
But it was. There was no escape. The area of the circle they were trapped in was still pretty large but shrinking fast. Soon the circle would become one mass of flame, incinerating them. He tried to separate himself from the terror long enough to come up with a solution, but his mind was so consumed with the fear there was no room for problem solving.
He stumbled forward as his empty stomach repelled the thick smoke with dry heaves, humbling him. God, if there is a way out of this, I beg You to show me.
There had been a similar sense of helplessness when he’d woken up in that meadow bound in duct tape. The solution then hadn’t been obvious. He’d had to think creatively. Who would have thought they’d be saved by a boot string. Was there some solution he wasn’t seeing now because it seemed too simple?
Scanning his memory, he tried desperately to remember what the literature the state had distributed to ranchers had said about wildfire prevention and survival. “Don’t try to outrun the flames” had been on there. If he could only recall what he was supposed to do instead! Something about finding the best place to take your stand, and of course there had been the typical “don’t panic” message.
The flames were closing in quickly. They needed to move. He grabbed Deanna’s hand and pulled her up. “This way,” he commanded. The roar was so loud now he doubted she could hear him, but she followed him toward the clearing in the trees that made the center of the burning circle. Every breath Sean took seared his lungs. It was like standing full on in front of campfire smoke and then multiplying that intensity by a hundred. When they reached the middle of the clearing, he dropped her hand. “Get down low—it’s cooler.”
If only he could restrain and calm the horse, but it was impossible. He could barely see the panicked stallion now, running through the haze, crazed with fear, searching for an exit that didn’t exist.
“I want to run,” Deanna sobbed.
“It’s too late for that. You need to stay low—the hot air alone could burn us,” he said.
Bits and pieces of a story he remembered hearing or reading somewhere came to Sean’s mind, about a firefighter long ago who had been the lone survivor when his crew was trapped by a deadly wildfire. What had that guy done to survive? He’d lit a fire and created an area of dead, fuelless space to stand in where the fire wouldn’t have anything to burn. Sean already knew all about back burning—he’d been using it to make defendable space around the ranch—but he didn’t have any matches out here, so what help was that to him now?
He squeezed his head with his hands. Think! You have to think!
And then suddenly, he knew what to try. His eyes widened at the thought. Could this really work? He patted his side pocket, confirming that the survival knife he always carried, the one with the built-in bearing block in the handle that he’d never had need of before, was still in his pocket.
“Deanna!” he yelled. “I need your bootlace!”
She crawled over to him, confusion written all over her. But as she searched his face with her eyes, he knew she was looking for something that would allow her to hope. “Do you have an idea?”
“Maybe. Give me your lace. Quick!” He gestured for her to hurry, hating the way he was barking orders at her, but every second was precious. There wasn’t time to give her an explanation, and he couldn’t afford to offer her false hope, either. If this didn’t work, there was nothing left to try.
For once, Deanna didn’t challenge him, unlacing her boot as fast as she could, while he scrambled on his hands and knees, searching for the right pieces of wood. He tossed a curved branch to Deanna. “I need you to tie your lace to each end to make a bow,” he commanded. “Keep the lace tight.”
She nodded through a coughing fit. “What kind of bow?” she wheezed.
“Just like a regular bow and arrow. The piece of wood will be the curve and your lace will be the string. I can use it to spin another stick and hopefully create enough friction to make a spark.”
“Why would you want to start another fire?”
“If this works, we’re going to fight fire with fire.”
Sean patted the ground, looking for a long stick he could use for a spindle. What he found wasn’t perfect, but he couldn’t be picky. They’d burn to death long before he could find the perfect ingredients for this task. He pulled his knife from his pocket and notched grooves into the spindle, trying to steady his shaking hands as he worked, keeping his eyes off the encroaching wall of fire eating up the space protecting them.
He’d used a fire bow many times as a kid out camping with Dad and Uncle Paul, but even without this life-or-death pressure, he’d never been fast at getting the spindle smoking.
He placed the knife against the arch of his boot, then scooped up all the dry grasses, leaves and sticks he could around it to act as kindling, and then placed the tip of his homemade spindle into the hole on the knife’s handle. He lined the bow up perpendicular with the spindle and offered a quick prayer for help. Then he began to spin the stick with the bow as fast as he could. At first he was clumsy and the spindle wobbled. It fell out of the bow several times. Sean groaned. More time wasted!
Deanna squeezed his shoulder. “You can do this, Sean. I believe in you.”
He soaked up her confidence in him, looking into her beautiful eyes reflecting the firelight. He would make this work for her. He tried again.
“Burn, baby, burn,” Deanna muttered. It felt like an eternity passed before she gasped, “It’s starting to smoke!”
He dropped the spindle and scooped up the smoking grasses into his hand, blowing oxygen into it. When he felt the heat burning his hand, he tossed the grass to the ground, then fell down flat on his stomach in front of it to blow some more, praying for ignition. Finally, his prayers were answered, and small flames licked up the dry brush on the ground. Sean cried out in relief as hope sparked inside him. He had made fire.
“Add fuel!”
He and Deanna kept feeding the little flames until they grew and spread, leaving blackened ground in their wake.
It was a smaller safety zone than he would have liked, but it was growing and it was all they had. “We have to get to the part where it’s already burned,” he cried to Deanna.
They crawled forward on their hands and knees and collapsed onto the blackened ground. Sean prayed the shrinking wall of flames would corral the horse onto it, as well. It was the only hope any of them had left. Deanna wrapped her arms around his waist and then there was nothing more to do but hold each other and pray as they waited for the inferno to pass over them.
* * *
Deanna rolled to her back and moaned, consciousness returning slowly. The darkness was gone, replaced by an early-morning gray. Slants of sunlight sliced through the thick smoke that hung in the air, burning her eyes and nostrils. Ash fell from her lashes as she blinked herself awake. She was like a newborn baby, not aware enough to fully comprehend what she was seeing for a few moments until her brain caught up and oriented itself. A colorless, apocalyptic world spread before her, looking like the aftermath of a nuclear bomb. Everything had burned around them, but their patch of blackened earth had spared them. Sean’s plan had worked.
Deanna could hear voices and the crunch of approaching boots, but she was too weak to sit up. She smacked her cracked, burnt lips, trying to moisten them enough to call for help, but before she could speak, a helmeted man in green pants, a yellow shirt and suspenders knelt beside her.
“We’re here to help,” he said, helping her drink water from his canteen. His smudged face split into a kind grin. “Although it looks like you two saved yourselves,” he said, holding up the bow she’d made with her bootlace still attached.
“Sean?” she managed to whisper.
“Your friend is going to be fine. And your horse, too.”
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On cue, Deanna heard the stallion neighing. You saved us, God. All three of us. His goodness had even extended to the horse. A wheezing sob escaped her lips.
The firefighter squeezed her shoulder. “Hey, it’s over now. You’re going to be okay. There’s a helicopter on its way to take you both to the hospital, and we’ll get your horse to a vet. You rest until it gets here.”
It’s over now, he’d said.
Deanna closed her eyes, completely exhausted. Somehow she knew the firefighter spoke more truth than he could know. Yes, the fire was over. She was alive because Sean’s safety zone had held. But that wasn’t all that was over.
We’re here to help.
This day had been an unending obstacle course. Every time they conquered one threat, a bigger one had popped up to replace it. But now they would have help. A helicopter was coming to take them away. There would be officials who could stop Blake’s men for them.
It was all truly over, and she felt safe for the first time. She used the last of her strength to find Sean’s hand, overwhelmed with gratitude at the touch of his warm skin. She closed her eyes. She could rest now. They were alive. They were together.
And they were done running.
TWENTY-THREE
There was a light rap on Deanna’s hospital room door, and then Sue Lloyd’s face appeared. “Can I come in?”
“Yes, please,” Deanna said, pushing the button to sit up straighter, happy to see a friendly face.
“I brought you these,” Sue said, placing a vase of bright tulips on her bedside table.
“That was so thoughtful,” Deanna said. With Gram gone and Sean somewhere else in the hospital, Deanna had felt so alone. It didn’t matter how much she begged, the hospital staff wouldn’t break HIPAA laws to tell her anything about Sean’s condition. Sue Lloyd might be practically a stranger, but she was Sean’s friend and Deanna was desperate for that connection, for any news to reassure her.
Sue leaned down and gave Deanna a huge hug. “That’s a message from Sean,” she said, winking. “I just came from his room.”
Deanna grabbed Sue’s hand and held on for dear life. “You’ve seen him? They won’t tell me anything. Is he okay?”
Sue nodded. “He said he breathed in too much smoke and has a few serious burns, but it’s nothing he won’t recover from...” Sue bit her lip and hesitated.
Deanna leaned forward. “What is it? What’s wrong?” She’d been so sure that it was all over, but maybe she’d just imagined that because she was hopeful. “He’s going to be okay, right?”
“Oh, honey, I didn’t mean to scare you. I just don’t know if it’s my place to say. But Sean’s going to need your support.”
Deanna’s stomach plummeted, and it took effort to spit out the next question. She was afraid of the answer. “Did he lose his ranch?”
Sue sat on the edge of Deanna’s bed, still holding her hand. There was something so warm about this woman. She could see why Sean liked her so much. “No, it’s not that. The ranch is fine. The fire burned all around it but didn’t cross Sean’s firebreaks.”
“That’s a relief,” Deanna sighed. Even without being there, Sean had saved that, too. So if he was fine and the ranch was fine, what was wrong? What was Sue keeping from her? “What is it, Sue? Please tell me.”
“He’s got a DEA agent questioning him now.”
Deanna’s head spun, dizzy from the speed with which she sat up. Rage filled her. “What? They aren’t accusing him of anything, are they? Because they need to talk to me if they think Sean could possibly...” Deanna would rip the IV tubes right out of her arm if she had to, storm in and demand they listen to reason.
Sue dropped her eyes. “I’m pretty sure they know Sean had nothing to do with the drugs and weapons trafficking. That’s not the problem.” Why wouldn’t she just spit it out already? “The thing is, the leader of the operation turned himself in. He gave them everything they need to make arrests all the way into Canada.”
“Wait a second. Blake turned himself in?” Deanna asked, shocked. “Why would he do that?”
“Blake Ransford?” Sue shook her head. “No, not Blake. He’s been arrested, yes. But he wasn’t the top guy.”
“Austin, then?” Deanna couldn’t believe it. The Jeep Cherokee she’d seen in the meadow must have been Austin’s patrol car. Not because he was there to make arrests, but because he was one of them. “Sean suspected him, but I guess my history with him clouded my judgment—I just couldn’t see it.”
“No, Deanna. Austin was one of them, too, but he wasn’t in charge, either.”
“Then who?”
Sue wrung her hands. “I should probably let Sean tell you this.”
“Just tell me. Who was in charge? Do I know him?”
Sue’s eyes watered. “It was Paul Loomis. He found a working landline last night and called the DEA to turn himself in. They didn’t waste any time getting here. Agents met him at the sheriff’s department at the end of my shift. He’s already been taken into custody.”
Deanna swung her legs over the side of the bed and began to untangle the IV cords from the bed rail. She stood up and slipped a robe over her hospital gown. She dragged the IV tower on wheels with her as she took a few wobbly steps toward Sue. “I’m going to need your help.”
“Anything,” Sue said.
“Take me to him.”
* * *
The DEA agent had gone, leaving Sean alone with the answers to all of his questions. He’d wanted these answers for years, but now he wished he could give them back. The only answer he didn’t have yet was why.
Back in the orchard when Uncle Paul had promised Sean that he’d make things right no matter what, there was no way Sean could have guessed what that meant. When he was climbing Blake Ransford’s hillside to rescue Deanna, Uncle Paul had been phoning government agents to set all of this in motion.
His uncle had been living a lie for over a decade, the leader of an international drug-and weapons-smuggling organization between Kinakane, the reservation and a Canadian counterpart named Evan Pritchard. It was Pritchard who had hired the pilot, Nathan Reid. And it was Uncle Paul who had invited him onto their land.
Blake Ransford had wanted to replace Paul as the leader of the operation and had attempted a coup twice. His first try had happened six years ago and Sean’s father had been an innocent victim caught in the cross fire. Ransford’s second attempt had been recent, forcing Paul to give him Sean’s horse in exchange for more time and guaranteed safety for Sean and his mother. A bargain the agent didn’t believe Ransford intended to honor.
“Your uncle didn’t have enough support or money left to fight him. If you hadn’t gotten in the way yesterday, he thinks Ransford would have succeeded at taking over this time. He would have had your uncle killed in order to solidify his position,” the agent said. “So in a roundabout way, you saved his life.”
Sean was too numb to know how he felt about that yet, how he felt about any of it.
Before he left, the agent had placed an envelope and a business card on the bedside table. “We agreed to let your uncle write you this letter,” he said. Sean imagined the man was anxious to get back to his colleagues. Taking down an operation that stretched across borders would be a big deal. That phone call from Uncle Paul must have felt like an early Christmas present. “I’m sure we’ll be in touch soon. If you think of anything more or you have any questions, call me. My number’s on the card.”
And then he was gone. Sean fingered Uncle Paul’s letter, recognizing the hand that had written his name. It took some time, but curiosity eventually won over his anger. He ripped the end off the envelope, took out the letter and read, “Dear Sean,” but that’s as far as he could get before the words blurred beyond recognition.
* * *
Deanna watched
from the doorway as Sean tried to read the letter he clutched in his bandaged hands. The tremendous weight of his grief pressed down on her own shoulders.
His face was swollen and red, his skin shining with an unnatural sheen. Scratches and burns covered his body, and the gown probably covered worse wounds. She cringed, remembering how he’d shielded her body from the burning embers and branches falling on them from the treetops.
She wanted to run to him, but she couldn’t get her feet to move. Sue had promised to run interference with the nurses, but she’d be able to hold them off for only so long. Deanna gripped the IV tower and prayed for help. Sean’s relationship with Paul was as precious to him as hers was with Gram. She didn’t have any idea how to help him heal from this kind of betrayal. All she knew was that she could not let fear keep her from him this time. Never again.
“Hey, cowboy,” she said.
He sat up, dumbfounded. “You’re here.”
“Did you think they could keep me away?”
“I should have known better,” he said with a feeble attempt at a smile he couldn’t maintain. His eyes filled as he held up the envelope. “You heard?”
“Yes.”
She rolled the tower to his bedside and sat down on the edge. “What will happen to him?” she whispered.
“Prison. For a very long time.” Sean’s gaze lifted to the ceiling.
He was silent for so long Deanna started fidgeting with the hem of her robe. She was intruding. She should have given him more time before barging in here like this.
“I still love him, Deanna,” Sean said roughly, startling her. The pure, raw pain he turned toward her stole her breath. “How can I still love him?”
She cradled his face gingerly, forcing him to look her in the eyes. “Because you are such a good man,” she said, her voice thick. Her thumb swiped his cheek. “So, so good.”
He took her hands into his and kissed her palms, fighting tears she knew he’d never let fall in front of her. The ache in her chest was killing her.