Wildefire

by Karsten Knight

  “Shit!” Colt screamed, seeing the sport utility too late. He twisted the handlebars to the side to avoid the oncoming truck, and the motorcycle pitched to the right.

  It all happened so fast. One moment Ashline was bracing for impact; the next moment the sharp turn of the motorcycle had bucked her so hard to the side that she lost her grip on Colt and tumbled off the bike. She hit the pavement hard, but momentum sent her body rolling onto the dusty shoulder of the road.

  The whiplash snapped her head back, and the impact with the ground rattled her abdomen where her broken rib had just almost healed. When her body finally came to a stop, she looked up through the dusty haze and bore witness to the horrifying tail end of the accident.

  Colt never let go of the bike, which fishtailed as it approached the oncoming SUV, tipped onto its side, and pinned Colt to the ground. Together the motorcycle and passenger slid along the ground on a collision course for the SUV, with sparks flying out from the bike’s chassis.

  Meanwhile, the driver of the SUV had, in a panic, tried to swing back onto his own side of the road, only to 391

  find the tractor trailer still there. The trailer careened off the road and onto the beach.

  The SUV collided with the oncoming bike, with Colt still pinned beneath it. And then the SUV exploded.

  Ashline reached out her hand and screamed.

  Flames engulfed the road. The SUV’s horn blared as the driver, either unconscious or dead, lay with his head on the steering wheel. Ashline’s throat went dry, cutting her screams short, but she lay still in the dirt and continued to sob.

  Something shifted through the smoke. Ash watched with horrified confusion as the crippled Nighthawk came sliding out of the fire with the screech of metal against asphalt until it stopped next to Ashline.

  A silhouette rose out of the ashes of the wreckage.

  With his back to her Colt unsteadily pulled himself to his feet. His leg was bent at a strange angle off to the side, but he grabbed hold of it just above the knee. A hard yank and a cry from him, and the leg popped back into place.

  He turned and staggered out of the fire toward Ashline. The shoulder of his now soot-covered jacket was ablaze, but with a few irritated swats from his hands, he extinguished the flames.

  Most horrifying of all, his head was crooked on his spine. It leaned sickeningly to the right and nearly rested on his shoulder. He finally noticed that the world was tilted funny, and he reached his fire-blackened hands up to his head.

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  He braced himself.

  And he cracked his own broken neck, setting his head back onto his shoulders.

  “No,” Ashline whispered hoarsely. But even as she watched, she remembered back to that Friday night in the cove near the Shelton. With his white shirt ripped open, his chest had been clearly visible in the moonlight.

  Smooth.

  Healed.

  Without her handprint on it.

  “I was going to wait until the honeymoon to tell you.”

  Colt dropped into a crouch in front of her. “My name is Kokopelli.” He held out his hand. “But you can call me Blink.”

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  Table of Contents

  Book design by Laurent Linn

  PART II: PANTHEON

  PART III: SPRING WEEK

  PART I: THE REDWOODS

  PART II: PANTHEON

  PART III: SPRING WEEK