Chasing Fire: An I-Team/Colorado High Country Crossover Novel

by Pamela Clare

  Hunter was the first inside. “You grab the dog. I’ll find the cat.”

  The poor dog stood in the hallway, whimpering, its body trembling.

  Julian approached slowly, held out a hand. “Hey, Crank, buddy. It’s going to be okay. Let’s get you out of here.”

  Julian scratched behind the dog’s ears, got a little wag of the tail. “You’re okay.”

  He yanked off his shirt, wrapped Crank inside it to protect him from embers, and carried the big dog out to the vehicle.

  Embers rained down on them, sharp needles of flame burning Julian’s back and shoulders, radiant heat intense against his skin.

  Julian sucked in a breath through clenched teeth. “Shit!”

  He opened the rear passenger door, pushed Crank into the back seat, then shook off the embers and climbed into the driver’s seat.

  Fuck, that hurt.

  Hunter had left the keys in the ignition—a smart move, as losing them right now would have been fatal—so Julian started the SUV and turned it around, ready to hit the gas the moment Hunter returned.

  Trees and shrubs on both sides of the road were in flames now, the roar of the fire unreal, the air dense with smoke.

  If Hunter didn’t find the cat soon, they would have no choice but to leave it. It wasn’t what Julian wanted to do, but dying in a fire wasn’t big on his list either.

  Somewhere nearby a propane tank exploded, making Crank yelp.

  Julian reached back, petted the terrified animal. “It’s okay, boy.”

  Where the hell was Hunter?

  Then in the rearview mirror Julian saw.

  The house was on fire.

  Flames lapped at its walls, rose up from its roof, raced along the wooden deck.

  “Son of a bitch.” Julian pressed on the horn, a warning to Hunter.

  Another thirty seconds passed.

  Julian was about to jump out of the vehicle and run inside to get Hunter when Hunter ran down the front steps holding a squirming something in a towel.

  Julian threw open the passenger side door, and Hunter climbed in, coughing, something furry and pissed off writhing and hissing in his arms.

  “Ouch!”

  The cat flew from the towel, evaded Hunter’s grasp, and jumped into the back seat.

  Julian slammed on the gas. “I don’t think the kitty likes you.”

  Hunter rubbed a bloody scratch on one hand. “Shut up and drive.”

  From behind him came another BOOM—probably another propane tank—and one more house was engulfed, the street now bathed in a haunting orange glow as the expensive homes and belongings of four families went up in flames.

  Julian sped toward the end of the street and turned right, heading away from the destruction, the wall of flame they’d seen a few minutes ago closer than he had imagined. He floored it, speeding up the hill toward the line of firefighters, who were still hard at work on the backburn, their heads turning once again as Julian and Hunter sped over the crest of the hill and down the other side, overheads still flashing.

  Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Hunter pull something out from beneath his DPD T-shirt. It was a wedding photo of two men, happy smiles on their faces, both dressed in white.

  “I thought they might want this.”

  “Yeah” Julian slowed down, the smoke from the backburn making it hard to see. “You should call the sheriff’s department, let them know we got the animals.”

  After Hunter made the call, neither of them spoke, the rest of the drive back toward Scarlet Springs passing in silence.

  A deputy they didn’t recognize stopped them.

  Julian held up his badge. “We’re working with Sheriff Pella. We’re looking for someone named Kenzie.”

  “Ah. Okay. Great.” The deputy pointed to a dark-haired woman who stood off to one side. “That’s Kenzie there.”

  Julian parked and reached into the back seat for his shirt, tugging it gently from beneath Crank, who no longer seemed afraid. He slipped it over his head, wincing as fabric rubbed against what where probably second-degree burns.

  Hunter frowned, leaned over to look at Julian’s back. “You’re burned.”

  “What of it?”

  “You need medical attention.”

  “I’m fine.”

  “Okay. You stay here with Crank and Catzilla, while I go get Kenzie.”

  “I’ll go.” Julian stepped out, careful not to let the cat escape, and walked over to Kenzie. She was speaking with two men in expensive suits—the men from the wedding portrait.

  “Kenzie?”

  She stopped talking, looked over at Julian, tearstains on her cheeks. “Yes.”

  “I’m Julian Darcangelo, Denver Police SWAT. Sheriff Pella sent us to get Crank and Kahlo. They’re in our vehicle.”

  Relief lit up her face. “Oh, thank God!”

  One of the men pressed a hand to his heart, his eyes going shut, his head falling back on an exhale.

  The other reached out to shake Julian’s hand. “Thank you so much, officer. I’m Chip. This is my husband, Charles.”

  “Good to meet you, and you’re welcome.” Julian led them back to the SUV and watched as Crank was reunited with his people and with Kenzie, his tail wagging.

  Hunter joined him. “I’m not sure how you’re going to get the cat out of the vehicle without getting sliced up.”

  “I’ll go get a carrier.” Kenzie dashed off.

  Chip saw the scratches on Hunter’s hands. “Did our Kahlo do that to you? I’m so sorry.”

  “Don’t worry about it.” Hunter grinned. “I’ve had worse.”

  Julian snorted. “That’s the truth.”

  A few minutes later, Kenzie returned with a pet carrier. “Here you go.”

  Charles extracted Kahlo from beneath the driver’s seat and tucked her safely inside. “Aw, baby. Have you had a scary day?”

  Kahlo gave a pitiful meow.

  Then Hunter reached inside the SUV again and pulled out the portrait. “I managed to take this on the way out the door. I’m afraid the rest is gone by now.”

  Chip and Charles took the portrait from him, stared in astonishment first at it and then at each other. Then they turned to Julian and Hunter, tears in their eyes.

  Chip held the portrait against his chest. “How can we ever thank you?”

  “You saved what was important. The rest is just stuff.” Charles smiled through his tears. “Thank you so much.”

  “We’re just doing our job,” Hunter said.

  “You’re welcome. I wish we could have done more.” Julian turned and walked around the passenger side of the vehicle, got in, and buckled up, the two men’s joy at being reunited with their pets taking some of the pain out of his burns.

  Hunter climbed into the driver’s seat beside him and wiped his eyes. “Smoke.”

  “Yeah.” Julian sniffed. “Me, too.”

  Hawke walked down the line, his crew working hard, charred fuels crunching beneath blackened boots. They’d burned out a good hundred yards now, stretching from one drainage to the other. It was the biggest backburn he’d ever set.

  Would it be enough?

  He’d made a half dozen calls to NIFC and the Rocky Mountain Control Center, demanding air assets. He’d been approved for a Type 1 crew, a couple of SEATs, and a Skycrane helicopter for water drops, but the pilots had to refuel and fly up from Manitou Springs.

  Yeah, any damned minute now would be great.

  Several homes had already been lost, their demise hidden behind smoke and flame. Marc Hunter and his buddy Julian Darcangelo had been lucky to get out of there alive. They didn’t have radios, so Hawke had no idea why they’d gone in. Someone must have been trapped. If so, it had been a close call.

  Hawke hoped the people of Scarlet Springs were paying attention. Residents had fought him and the county every time they’d tried to thin the fuels around town. He loved the forest as much as any of them, but he understood something they didn’t.

  Forests b
urned.

  Fire was part of the natural cycle of life up here. For the better part of a century, people had been suppressing all fires. Now, the forests were unnaturally dense, the fuel load critically high. And after a dry summer like this one…

  Shit.

  Why couldn’t they understand that by opposing fire mitigation they were endangering their own lives and property and putting firefighters at risk?

  A call came over his radio. “Scarlet Command, eight sixty-five.”

  Deputy Marcs.

  Hawke reached for his hand mic to answer her. “Scarlet Command. Go ahead.”

  “The phone lines at Camp Mato Sapa are down. They did not get the evacuation order. Break.”

  Hawke’s heart gave a hard knock. “Eight sixty-five, I’m listening.”

  “There are forty-three children and perhaps twenty adults still at the camp. They have no idea there’s a fire coming their way. I’m heading there now.”

  Fucking hell.

  Though he couldn’t see the camp from here, he knew the fire had to be close.

  “I’m about to lose radio… I don’t think … hear me once … in the canyon.” A burst of static ended contact.

  Son of a bitch!

  Forty-three kids and twenty adults were trapped in a canyon in a fast-moving crown fire.

  How the hell had this happened?

  Eric would have ordered Dispatch to call for a Chinook helicopter, but there was no way it would arrive on time. To assemble a crew, do pre-flight checks, get airborne, and fly to the camp would take an hour, if not two. Everyone there would be dead of smoke inhalation or thermal injuries long before then.

  Hawke had one option. “Scarlet Command to Dispatch. Tone out the Team, emergent. Tell them to take every vehicle they have and head up to Camp Mato Sapa to evacuate sixty-three people. Make sure they know the fire is moving fast. They cannot delay or linger.”

  Would Megs and the Team make it? Were they already too late? If they made it to the camp, would the road burn over, entrapping them all on the way out?

  The thought dropped like lead into Hawke’s stomach.

  It was his job to keep people safe, his job to make sure no lives were lost to fire. Had he failed already?

  Fuck.

  There had to be a way out of this.

  Hawke heard the tone for the Team go out over his radio. He turned to face the fire, its roar like the engines of a dozen jet fighters.

  Silver’s voice cut in. “Here it comes.”

  “Get out of there, Silver!”

  “Already on my way back.”

  “This is it, folks.” Timing was everything. “Silver, confirm when you’re out.”

  Seconds ticked by.

  Silver’s voice came over the radio. “In the black!”

  Hawke gave the command. “Light it up!”

  He watched as his men ran forward, lighting everything they could on fire before retreating into the black and walking back to the road with their tools and drip torches to watch the spectacle unfold.

  Hawke stood his ground. “Come and get it, bitch.”

  The flames from the backburn spread, rose up, dark smoke billowing skyward. But instead of being caught by the wind and running eastward into the black, the flames of the backburn were sucked toward the hundred-foot-tall wall of the main fire, pulled in by the bigger fire’s greed for oxygen, burning away all the fuel in the fire’s path as they went.

  Hawke watched, barely able to breathe as the two walls of flame drew closer together, one like a tidal wave of orange, the other smaller. The heat was almost unbearable, forcing him back. He heard the whirring sound of a camera.

  Ramirez.

  The guy was a friend of Rossiter’s, so Hawke tried not to be irritated.

  “You should evacuate back to the road,” he called out.

  Ramirez nodded, turned, and jogged back to where Hawke’s crew stood.

  He heard a shout, and then a call came in over the radio.

  “Scarlet Command, the fire has fingered off to the south! It’s making a run up the south side of that drainage toward Ski Scarlet.”

  Goddamn it!

  That’s exactly what Hawke hadn’t wanted to hear.

  It was getting away from them again. It was making an end-run around the backburn. It could jump back across at any time, ignite the forest and the homes behind them, making it impossible for them to get back to town.

  If only that fucking Skycrane or the SEATs were here. A few thousand gallons of water in the right place at this precise moment would have been their game-changer.

  Hawke didn’t hesitate. “Everyone fall back to Ski Scarlet!”

  “You got it.”

  But Hawke barely heard the reply, the fire moving toward him with the force of a hurricane. It sucked the backburn into itself, the two walls of flame merging. Then the main head of the fire sputtered, shrank, went out.

  It was like someone had flicked a switch, the silence deafening, dark smoke hanging like a curtain in the air, twisting in the wind.

  Cheers.

  Jenny Miller’s voice came over his radio. “It jumped the river to the north! There’s a finger headed straight east toward town.”

  Hawke’s stomach sank.

  God help them.

  He reached for his mic, gritted his teeth in helpless rage. “Dispatch, Scarlet Command.”

  “Scarlet Command, go ahead.”

  “Close Boulder Canyon to westbound traffic, and order the immediate evacuation of Scarlet Springs.”

  Chapter 10

  Austin parked on the access road beneath Pinnacles a hundred yards west of Azure Lake. Smoke filled the sky to the west, flames making its underbelly glow orange. He shouldered his pack and ran toward the isolated cabin as fast as he safely could in the terrain. He’d finally gotten Sutherland’s permission to leave the barricade to another ranger and head to Haley Preserve to evacuate Bear.

  There wasn’t much time.

  Austin had been able to see the fire from the access road, and it looked ugly. He’d lost radio contact the moment he’d stepped away from his truck, as his handheld radio didn’t get signal up here. He had no idea whether Hawke and his crew had been successful with the backburn. If they hadn’t, the fire would be heading his way.

  “Bear!” He called out as he neared the cabin, not wanting to startle the big man. “Hey, Bear! It’s Austin Taylor. You home?”

  He stopped, glanced around the clearing, saw seven small wooden crosses standing side by side on the edge of the forest. A little cemetery.

  Still no sign of Bear.

  Shit.

  “Bear, are you here?” Austin made his way around the outhouse and cabin.

  The cabin looked old, logs that had long ago been stripped of their bark polished by wind and weather, the chinking a mixture of mud and grass that was as hard as brick. Some of the chinking looked new, proof that Bear maintained the place.

  Austin found a neat stack of firewood next to the front steps. In front of the cabin stood an old-fashioned well pump with a tin bucket below. That must be where Bear got his drinking water—a better option than Azure Lake.

  “Bear? It’s Taylor.” Austin walked up creaking stairs to a door of split planks.

  Its string was out.

  He knocked.

  No answer.

  Austin hesitated, not wanting to violate Bear’s privacy, but concern got the better of him. What if Bear were hurt or sick—or dead?

  Austin pulled the string and stepped through the door—and back in time.

  A rough-hewn table stood in the middle of the main room, eight hand-made chairs around it, a worn, hand-braided rug beneath it, a kerosene lantern sitting in its center. Wooden shelves held antique enameled dishes and cast-iron cookware, big milk jugs sitting beneath an iron sink that emptied into a large tin bucket. A wooden washtub sat there, too, complete with an old washboard.

  It was like something out of a history book.

  Austin crossed to
the soot-blackened hearth, held his outstretched palm above gray ash. It was cold. Then again, it was the middle of the summer.

  A small chest of drawers stood against the wall, crocheted doilies sitting beneath an old book and a faded photo of a man, a woman, and six children—four boys and two girls.

  Eight family members.

  Seven crosses outside.

  Was one of those little boys Bear? Did the graves outside belong to his family?

  Austin picked up the photograph, tried to recognize the man he knew. Yeah, there was no chance of that. He’d never seen Bear without his bushy beard.

  Austin set the photo down, picked up the book. On the inside of the front cover, were written the words, “Diary of Rebecca Fletcher.” The first entry was dated May 5, 1959.

  Did this journal belong to Bear’s mother or someone else in his family? That would be something if it did. No one in Scarlet knew anything about his background.

  “Today, Abel and I begin our new life in the mountains of Colorado, where, by God’s grace, we will raise our family away from the temptations and licentiousness of the world. Matthew and little Luke have already made themselves at home, playing in the meadow as young boys should, while Mary, who is not yet weaned, stays with me near the tent. Abel has promised to have our cabin built before the end of the month, and I shall make do without complaint. Abel has often told me of his ancestors, who came over on the Mayflower. I can only imagine what the young mothers onboard went through trying to survive their first days on new shores. Compared to the hardships and privations they surely endured, my life is easy.”

  Smoke.

  Shit.

  Austin set the book down beside the photo, glanced into two small bedrooms. There were six small beds and one large bedstead, but no Bear.

  “Bear, where are you?” Austin walked to the front door, stepped outside—and froze.

  The sky rained embers, the forest to the west in flames.

  “Holy shit.”

  Austin ought to have run straightaway for his truck, but something stopped him.

  The photograph. The diary.

  If this cabin was doomed to burn, he couldn’t leave them.

  He pushed his way back inside, grabbed the photo and the diary, and stuck them in his pack. He wished he had time to search the place. This cabin held everything Bear owned, but Austin didn’t have time to do more. If he didn’t get his ass out of here now…