by Ladew, Lisa
Captain Lane stood still, considering. “I should go with you myself, but if I did there would be no one here to tell the volunteers what to do when they start showing up. Ok - I’ll give you Tanner. He won’t go home anyway.”
Emma sighed with relief. Her heart was still hammering and she didn’t feel any better about anything - wouldn’t feel better until Craig was found - but at least she would be moving again.
Captain Lane yelled into her radio. Emma started searching vehicles for spare aid bags, wildfire kits, water bottles, radios, and flare guns. When she found what she needed she strapped it all to her back and started towards the woods, looking for Tanner. She saw him cutting across the charred hillside and waved a big wave, then kept moving. As she passed the Captain she said, “Tell Tanner to switch to channel 18.”
She jogged the 3/4s of a mile to the start of the forest. She was sure Tanner was exhausted but she didn’t need him to keep up with her. Her nervous energy would do the work of two of them anyway. She tied off a length of orange tape on a tree where she entered and plunged ahead. She’d always had a pretty good intuition when it came to this kind of work. When she got in the zone she just ‘knew’ where she should be going and what she should be doing and most times exactly what was wrong with her patient even if it wasn’t obvious. She shut down her thinking mind and started to feel around for her sixth sense, hoping desperately it wouldn’t fail her today when she needed it the most.
Her radio crackled. “Emma where are you?”
“Follow the orange tape Tan, I’m already looking.”
She placed another orange strip quickly and kept moving.
The forest was dark and cool and eerily still. There were no squirrels or birds or chipmunks to be seen or heard. They had all fled the night before when the fire threatened so close, she was sure.
A picture formed in her mind. A hunting shack. The shack from last night where she had found the hunter? Or another? She cast her eyes around the forest looking for any sort of a building. “Craig!” she called suddenly, startling herself. No answer.
She kept walking, feeling a kind of deja vu from the night before, except this time the forest wasn’t on fire.
The forest opened up into an unnatural clearing. She saw a deer blind up in a tree, camouflaged well. She placed another piece of tape, then picked up her pace, thinking there would be some more hunting buildings around this area. The smell of old smoke mingled with fresh pine trees, creating an inviting aroma that didn’t mesh well with her situation. Every step felt surreal. The unnatural quiet allowed her to hear every footfall she made and the sound of her own swishing heartbeat in her ears. She didn’t like it. She wished something, anything would make a noise. Weren’t there even any bugs left here?
The forest got too thick ahead of her to continue that way so she placed some tape and veered to the left. She walked for at least a half-mile. Soon she would come to the far end of what was left of the non-burnt forest. And then what? Would she circle around and find another place of entry and just walk like she had here?
She came upon another unnatural clearing. All the trees had been cut down, but there was a charred pile of wood on the far side of it. Had that been a hunters shack? She ran up to it. The big planks of wood were ashy and sooty, some of them burned more than halfway through. Her heart pounded harder. Someone had set this wood on fire, certainly - had it once been a building? Was she going to find a dead body in the middle of it? “Please no please no please no” she started chanting under her breath without even realizing it.
She tested the first board. It was cool to the touch. She pulled it off the pile and threw it off to the side. Frantically now, she dug at the boards, heaving them as fast and as far as she could. The wood at the bottom started to change. It wasn’t quite as burnt. Some of the pieces didn’t look burnt at all.
There! A flash of orange! Emma whimpered and made a low keening sound, like an animal. He was dead. She knew it. Someone had put him in this little shack and set it on fire. “Craig!” she screamed, whipping into a frenzy. She heaved the planks off him with all her might, uncovering his boots, and then his hips, and then his chest. He wasn’t moving. She kept digging and when the final pieces were flung away she took in the sight of him.
He was lying, face down, helmet still on, in a pool of his own congealed blood. His turnout gear was charred on the back in places, but not burnt through anywhere. The fire hadn’t gotten him when the building collapsed in on him. He must not have died immediately because she saw he had dug a little hole in the dirt by his mouth with his fingers. A sob escaped her. She dropped to her knees next to him, eyes filled with tears. He had saved her. She could not save him.
Her fingers, strictly by habit, snuck to his neck. She felt for his pulse without realizing she was doing it. A light flutter played over her fingertips.
“Oh my God Craig, you’re alive, Craig, hang in there my sweet. I am going to get you out of here.”
She stood up. “Tanner!” She screamed, shredding her vocal cords. A moment later, he burst into the clearing, a look of terror on his face.
“Emma, what!? What is it?!”
“Tanner, I found him. Oh God he’s alive. Get the helicopter over here.”
He grabbed for his radio. Emma turned back to Craig, praying he would live long enough to get med-evaced out in the helicopter.
Chapter 3
Norman packed up his binoculars and headed for the exit. He was satisfied the Sea Cafe was not being watched so his weekly pre-meeting sweep was over. He walked down the stairs of the insurance building, out the exit and across the street to the restaurant.
“Table for one, Sir?” the host asked.
Norman pulled out his badge. “I’ll seat myself,” he said in his gruff, ask-no-questions-and-I-won’t-hurt-you voice and kept on walking, ignoring the host’s confused look.
He stood in the archway and eyed the room. People looked his way immediately. He always cut an imposing figure - standing 6 foot 2 inches tall, but he was unlikely to be recognized in this get up. He wore something different every time they had one of these meetings. It was becoming more like a game to him every time he went out and bought a new outfit. This one was one of his favorites. A dark blue suit with a bolero tie, complete with cowboy hat low over his eyes and cowboy boots on his feet. He felt like Clint Eastwood.
He saw the Senator seated in the back, near the wall. Good, there was an empty table close by. He walked to it and sat down, opening the menu.
The waiter came by. Before he could say a word Norman held up his menu and growled, “Snapper and salsa. Your finest craft beer. Don’t come back till it’s all ready.” The waiter swallowed, took the menu, and left quickly.
He sat back and relaxed, a satisfied smile on his face. It had been a good day. A very productive day. A fun day. He still had his old Navy Seal skills and they had bagged him one big fireman this morning. Norman laughed to himself. The Navy had given him a dishonorable discharge and a short jail term back in 2000, but they couldn’t erase all the ways they had taught him to disable and kill a man. And thanks to a very good, very discreet hacker friend, all record of that jail term had been erased and the dishonorable discharge was turned into an honorable one. No one could prove it had ever even happened, especially since the judge who sentenced him plus the commanding officer who charged him were dead.
Now add one more to the body count. Norman often joked with himself that he was going to lose track of all the people he had killed someday. That fucking firefighter had been easy to kill. Muscles don’t matter when you get shot 3 times. Firefighter. Ha, that was a good one. Norman knew he was FBI, investigating the death of Lucy Kinkaid. When the Senator started asking him to kill people, Norman did it, but he always investigated their back-trail, just so he never again got a nasty surprise like this one. Lucy’s brother was FBI, and Lucy’s fiance was FBI, which really pissed Norman off when he found out. What was the Senator playing at? Killing family members of the FBI
. Not smart. Honestly, though, the Senator probably didn’t even know. He was stupid that way. He didn’t weigh the pros and cons of his actions. He just eliminated anyone who was a threat in the quickest way possible. Norman often thought that if the Senator hadn’t found him to do the dirty work he’d have been exposed already. Norman was smart and he knew how to cover his trail.
When he had first seen Craig Masterson (Craig MacDonnell actually) at Emma’s house he knew he had seen that face before and it was important. His memory for detail had not failed him, and the next morning he woke up remembering where. He looked up the FBI academy picture to be sure, and then had his hacker friend figure out where he was assigned. The friend could find nothing - only that he was undercover. Undercover here in Westwood Harbor. It was actually good luck that the bastard had been interested in Emma, otherwise he might never have been tipped off. Then all he had to do was decide what to do with him. This wildfire had been a blessing. He’d had a reliable tail on Masterson for days and when he’d heard he was going to be at the wildfire at night he decided to take advantage. A gun in the back had convinced Craig to move, and then a few bullets had convinced him to lie down. Norman had set the building on fire and watched for a few trees to go up too, and then got out of there fast. By now, the whole area should be nothing but ash. Who knew if they would even find the body? And since the whole area was on fire anyway, it wouldn’t even look suspicious.
Norman’s thoughts were interrupted by movement at the Senator’s table. Senator Oberlin got up and walked past him on the way to the bathroom, dropping a small piece of dark paper on his table as he passed. Norman palmed it immediately. He watched the Senator walk to the bathroom. Expensive 3 piece suit, balding on top, still trim and strong. He had to be what, pushing 70 years old? Norman hoped he took care of himself. The Senator had promised him Chief within 10 years for doing all the dirty work that couldn’t be trusted to ordinary criminals. The Senator never wanted to hear details, just that the job was done. Norman thought he liked to pretend his hands were cleaner that way.
Norman’s food came, and he ate it quickly, mopping up his sauce with his bread and drinking the beer in one swallow. He threw 2 bills on the table and left without a word to anyone.
Once in his car he unfolded the Senator’s note.
C.N. needs another lesson. Your choice. H-job. See details you know where. Maricio’s.
So Chuck Nance was going to have another ‘accident’ befall him. OK. He’d have to think of something a little more creative than blowing up his factory, setting fire to his house, and loosening the lug nuts on his wife’s car. Either that man had the stubbornness of a mule, or the brains of one. Norman didn’t know what Senator Oberlin wanted from Nance, but he didn’t much care either. He just wanted that Chief’s position. And he didn’t mind fucking with people’s lives in the slightest.
And H-job. Apparently there was another hacker job the Senator needed done, modifying records or something. That was fine, as long as there was cold hard cash sitting alongside those details. His friend didn’t work cheap.
And Maricio’s. Next week’s meeting would be at the same time on the same day, just a different restaurant. Norman thought maybe he’d go in biker gear next time. Maybe a black doo-rag over his head and a leather jacket and chaps. Too bad he didn’t have time to grow a beard. Maybe he could even commandeer a Harley to ride in on.
Norman started to get excited thinking about it. Maybe he’d visit Nance in character in the middle of the night and slice off a finger or something. He shifted in his seat. Damn, his excitement was showing behind his zipper. Hmmm, maybe it was time to visit Lydia or Chloe.
He quickly committed all the details to memory and tore up the piece of paper in little pieces and dumped half of them out his window and put the other half in his ashtray, then started the car and pulled out into traffic.
Senator Oberlin wanted him to eat the pieces of paper and Norman said he did, just to appease him. But damned if he was going to actually do it. That was stupid. If he hadn’t already had enough dirt on the good Senator to bury him 5 times over he would have saved every single paper, but as it was he didn’t have to.
Like the Senator’s first and possibly worst job ever (that Norman knew about). First screwing and then killing a 15 year old girl because she got pregnant with his babies. Norman knew about that one because it was the first hack job Senator Oberlin had ever given him. To erase all medical and autopsy records pertaining to the death of a Christie Callahan on September 13th, 1983. Norman had found the records: 15 year old girl brought to the hospital by a man who found her crawling, in labor, on the side of the road. She didn’t say a word, just screamed. Blood was gushing out of her the whole time. The babies were delivered and were fine, but they were never able to stop the girl’s bleeding. She died a Jane Doe, never even able to give her name.
At first, Norman hadn’t found any records on a Christie Callahan dying that day. He checked the day before and the day after. Still finding nothing he looked up Christie herself. She had been reported a runaway in May of 1983. Case never closed. Norman found her mom and, pretending to still be looking into the case, he asked her some questions. It turned out that her mom suspected Christie had run off with an older man - one who looked almost 40. Christie’s mom didn’t remember much about what he looked like, but she shared what she did remember. She had seen them together once and confronted Christie about it but Christie wouldn’t tell her anything. The day before she ran away, her mom had accused her of being pregnant. Her shape was changing and her breasts were growing. Christie had left the house crying, come back that night, and left the next day for school but just never returned. Christie’s mom told all the details mechanically. Norman could tell she thought her girl was dead and had for a long time. Norman didn’t tell her she was right.
Norman went back to his hacker friend and had him check records on any Jane Does that had died that day. There it was. 15 year old Christie had died from bleeding out during delivery, and the doctor had not noted anything suspicious in the chart. An autopsy had never been done.
Norman reported back to the Senator the records were wiped. The senator searched his eyes for any accusation. Norman had none. What about the baby? the senator wanted to know. It died, Norman said, not sure why. I wiped that record too. Satisfied, the Senator had nodded, and given him another job.
Norman was interested in finding out what had happened to the babies. Adoption and foster system. Only one had stayed in Westwood Harbor. Norman followed the trail and found her. Named Emma Hill by the delivering nurse, and put into the foster system immediately, she was an exemplary Paramedic/Firefighter. Norman was curious, so he arranged a ‘chance’ meeting at work one day. She had inherited the Senator’s light blue eyes, but not his dirty ways. She was a sweet, clean woman. The only woman he’d ever met who he couldn’t see that dirty, waxy layer under her skin. He courted her, pulling out every charming trick he’d ever read in books and on websites. It worked. But he couldn’t hold it together and they divorced soon after. Norman had his friend wipe that record of their marriage too. When Emma agreed to marry him again he wanted it to be like the first time. Like the only time.
On auto-pilot, Norman had made it all the way to his ‘office-away-from-the-office’. His erection had made it too. He smiled. He was about to get out of the car when his cell phone rang. He listened, and his smile got wider. The tail on Emma had found a good reason to pull her over. “Perfect. Make sure she is fingerprinted.” he said.
Then he got out of the car and walked inside, hoping both Lydia and Chloe would be there. He had a lot of celebrating to do.
Chapter 4
Emma didn’t usually know how she felt about God. Her childhood had been just horrible enough for her to wonder if she had been abandoned by God, if indeed God existed. But that didn’t matter right now. Sometimes she prayed under her breath, just a whispered “Please God” but today she said entire prayers, cobbled together from what she h
ad seen on TV and heard from friends. She had a least 40 minutes till she made it to the hospital to see how Craig was, and that was a long time to sit and do nothing but drive.
She sped down the highway in her borrowed car and prayed to a God she desperately hoped was listening. She prayed for Craig and prayed for an answer to the questions that were plaguing her. She had told the helicopter to land right in the clearing they were in. It was too dangerous to try to move Craig far. He had lost a ton of blood by the look of the puddle he was laying in. While they were waiting for the helicopter she had turned him over and tried to asses his injuries. The hole in his turnout jacket suggested he was shot. But why would someone shoot Craig? Why would Norman shoot Craig? Would he really go to those lengths to keep her from dating?
She had opened up Craig’s turnout gear and cut open his shirt to assess the damage. But there was none on the front. He was wearing a bulletproof vest. A much lighter and thinner bulletproof vest than the one she had always seen Norman put on. Emma’s mind had swirled with questions. Why would Craig wear a bulletproof vest to a wildfire? Or ever?
But that meant the blood probably wasn’t from a bullet wound in his chest? Her fingers had crept to his face, which was bathed in his blood. Underneath it, his skin felt smooth, but swollen. She’d felt around his ears and back to the back of his neck and head. His helmet was still on. She didn’t dare take it off at this point. She hadn’t noticed any holes in it from the back but she was starting to get scared it was keeping his skull together. In the back of his neck on the right side she’d found a large, bloody, scabbed over lump. Gingerly she’d probed its edges. Was this a bullet hole? Emma’s paramedic brain had taken over, shoving the rest of her brain into a corner, where it cried like a small child.
As she had heard the chopper come close, and felt its buffeting winds, she felt Craig’s pulse again at his neck. Fluttery, faint, but there. She’d cut his pants open up the right leg and checked the pulse near his groin. Nothing there. That was bad. That was very bad. That’s when she had begun praying. When the chopper landed she gave the medic on board a report - what little she knew. She’d helped Tanner and the medic get Craig onto a board and as the two men carried him she had cut both of the sleeves to his jacket all the way to the collar so the medic could try to start an IV line in the air. She’d squeezed his hand and whispered in his ear “Please come back to me my love.” And then he was gone.