by Pamela Clare
Silver pointed to it. “That little guy hid in the shelter with me.”
“Good.” Joaquin watched the rabbit. “For a moment, I thought I was seeing shit.”
He glanced around at a changed landscape, forest replaced by blackened tree trunks and smoking ash, the blue sky hidden. The clothes he’d put on this morning lay against the ash, charred black, synthetic fibers melted. The fire had moved eastward, toward Scarlet.
All at once it hit him—how close they’d come to dying. He trembled uncontrollably now, whether from shock or stress he didn’t know.
Mia.
Had she heard? He hoped to God no one had called her. If she heard his helicopter had gone down in front of the fire…
Hell.
He needed to call her. He tried his phone again.
Nada.
Silver glanced over at Joaquin’s camera bag. “Did your camera make it?”
Joaquin took it out, turned it on, looked at the lifeless screen. “Nah.”
“Bummer.” Hawke said. “Sorry.”
“Don’t worry about it.” Joaquin set the camera down, reached inside the front of his underwear, and pulled out the memory card. “My photos are safe at least.”
The other men stared at him.
Joaquin held up the memory card. “I figured if my dick melted, photos wouldn’t matter much anyway.”
The others burst into laughter, interspersed with coughing fits, Joaquin laughing—and coughing—with them.
Holy Mother of God, they were alive. They were alive.
What about Rossiter?
The thought ripped away Joaquin’s momentary euphoria.
Rossiter and the others with him hadn’t had fire shelters.
Silver pulled shelter fabric over Hawke, who had begun to shiver. “We’re probably all going to get a little shocky. Keep warm. If you’ve got water, drink it.”
No one had water.
Joaquin needed to get to Mia. “Maybe I should hike out, get help.”
Silver shook his head. “They had our position when we went down. They’ll find us as soon as they can get a rescue chopper in the air.”
Minutes dragged by as they waited, pain grinding Joaquin down. John asked for an injection of morphine, but Joaquin held out, wanting to do all he could for Hawke, who was now drifting in and out of consciousness.
Silver was worried—Joaquin could see it on his face. He gave Hawke another injection, took his pulse, stayed beside him.
Soon, a desperate thirst joined Joaquin’s list of miseries, his body needing fluids to replace what had been lost from his burns.
And still there was nothing to do but wait.
Marc nudged the drone’s controller out of the water with his boot and held it in place while Deputy Marcs slipped her hands into a pair of nitrile gloves. It had taken all of two minutes of wading in the reservoir to find the damned thing.
She picked it up, bagged it. “Thanks for your help with this. You three sure come in handy in a crisis.”
“We’re just doing our jobs,” McBride answered.
They all looked to the west toward the dark wall of smoke. Every time it seemed to have moved more than Marc would have imagined it could. It wouldn’t be long now till it reached the backburn. If it got past the fire crews there, nothing short of a miracle would save Scarlet.
Deputy Marcs put the evidence in her trunk. “Where are you off to now?”
Marc met Darcangelo’s gaze and then McBride’s. “I think we’d like to stay here. If there’s anything we can do to help bring in survivors…”
Darcangelo came right out with it. “We can’t leave with our friends still missing.”
Deputy Marcs seemed to understand. “I’ll take you over to The Cave—Rocky Mountain Search and Rescue Team’s headquarters. Rossiter is a tenured member, so you’ll be among friends. If there are survivors to bring in, the Team will be involved in that effort.”
McBride gave her a nod. “We’d be grateful.”
They climbed into their vehicles and followed her through thickening smoke to a big, square building with two enormous vehicle bays—probably an old firehouse. They parked and followed Deputy Marcs in through an open bay door.
“The Cave,” Darcangelo looked around at the cavernous space, its walls hung with climbing and rescue gear. “I see where they got the nickname.”
They passed through another door and found a handful of people gathered around the radio. Heads turned as they entered.
“Julia.” An older woman with shoulder-length gray hair stood, lines of worry etched into her face. “Any news?”
“We caught the kids who were flying the drone. These guys helped with that. They helped with the evacuations earlier, too.” She quickly introduced Marc, Darcangelo, and McBride to the others, a flurry of names passing by in a rush.
“This is Megs Hill, the Team’s founder, and her spouse, Mitch Ahearn, also a founder. Nicole Turner, Sasha Dillon, Bahir Acharya, Creed Herrera—all Team members and friends of Gabe Rossiter’s.”
“He’s a good buddy of ours, too.” Marc shook their hands.
Herrera eyed him and Darcangelo, his lips quirking in a half smile. “He’s told us about the two of you. He calls you ‘Marcangelo.’”
McBride chuckled. “Marcangelo. I like it.”
Marc and Darcangelo shot him a withering look.
One of the women—Sasha?—smiled, tear stains on her cheeks. “I feel like I know you.”
Marc wasn’t sure how to take that. “We’re here to help bring Rossiter and the others in. Joaquin Ramirez was in the chopper that went down. He’s a good friend of ours, too.”
Megs nodded, the anguish in her eyes at odds with the hard set of her jaw. She was suffering as much as they were—maybe more. “Thanks for your help today.”
She sat, went back to listening to radio traffic.
“Can I get you three some water?” Nicole asked.
Now that she mentioned it …
“That would be great. Thanks.”
Marc followed her to a small kitchen, Darcangelo and McBride beside him.
Nicole opened the fridge, took out three bottles of water. “This has got to be the worst day ever. Gabe, Chaska Belcourt, and Chaska’s grandpa are missing. Eric Hawke and Brandon Silver are missing. They’re our friends. They’re like family. They’re the heart of the Team.”
Darcangelo twisted off the top to his bottle. “We can’t give up hope—not yet.”
“At least they found Austin Taylor alive—and Bear, too.”
Marc wasn’t sure who Austin Taylor or Bear were, but a life saved was always a reason to be grateful. “That’s good news.”
“Megs and Ahearn—they never had kids. I think we’re like their kids, you know? She never says it, but I know she loves us. If Eric, Chaska, and Gabe are all dead …” Tears welled up in Nicole’s eyes. “I don’t know how any of us will deal with that, but I think it will kill Megs.”
“We know their wives and kids.” Marc couldn’t bring himself to say more.
Nicole rested a hand on Marc’s arm, a moment of shared distress between strangers. “The woman with the dark hair sitting next to Megs—that’s Eric Hawke’s wife. She just told him today that she’s pregnant. The woman with the strawberry-blond braids—she’s Brandon’s girlfriend. They refused to evacuate. They’re waiting for news.”
Marc couldn’t blame them.
He and Julian followed Nicole out of the kitchen in time to see Megs slam her cell phone down on the desk. “They say the governor is aware of the situation and is leaving the deployment of resources to the appropriate agencies. What a load of bullshit!”
“Doesn’t he care about our town?” Sasha asked.
“Not enough to send the Supertanker. Bastard!” Megs looked over at Marc and the others and filled them in. “Hawke called for it before he went up in that chopper. The super of the hotshot crew requested it, too. As far as I know, no one has gotten back to them.”
�
�Sheridan.” Marc looked from Darcangelo to McBride.
McBride’s cell phone was already in his hand. He tapped in a number, lifted the phone to his ear. “Yeah, Sheridan. It’s McBride.”
Marc met Darcangelo’s gaze, listened while McBride brought Lt. Governor Reece Sheridan up to date on the situation, giving him the bad news about Rossiter and Ramirez. Sheridan was a good buddy of theirs. His wife, Kara, had worked with Sophie and Tessa at the Denver Independent, and the three women were best friends.
If anyone could help, Sheridan could.
“They’ve got a handful of local crews and one hotshot crew battling this monster, with two small air tankers and a single helicopter making bucket drops. They’ve asked for the supertanker but are getting bullshit and red tape instead. Can you kick the governor in the ass and get some help sent our way?”
At this, every head in the room turned, people staring at McBride with astonishment.
“Hurry,” McBride said. “There isn’t much time. If help doesn’t arrive soon, Scarlet will burn to the ground, and more lives may be lost.”
He ended the call.
Megs stood. “What did he say?”
McBride slid his phone back into his pocket. “He says he’ll do everything he can.”
“When Reece Sheridan says he’ll do everything he can, he means it,” Darcangelo reassured her.
Marc thought they should know. “He’s a good friend of Rossiter’s, too.”
Megs exhaled. “Thank you.”
Marc hoped to God that Sheridan would be able to pull the right strings in time. The survival of Scarlet Springs might well depend on it.
Chapter 17
Conrad lifted the kennel out of the living area of Nate West’s enormous horse trailer and carried the dog to the section of the barns that had been set aside for them. He didn’t know their names the way Kenzie did. “Here’s the last one.”
Kenzie looked into the kennel. “Hey, Buster.”
She checked the pooch off her list. “They’re all here.”
“Do you want me to start taking them for walks?” asked Quinn, Kenzie’s manager.
Kenzie had set up a schedule for her staff so they could work despite the evacuation. Conrad was just glad she would have help caring for twenty dogs in a new, unsecured environment. It was going to be a big job.
“That would be great, Quinn. Thanks.” Kenzie pointed. “I managed to grab a few leashes on the way out.”
Quinn held one up. “I found them.”
“I wish we didn’t have to leave the dogs kenneled.” Kenzie set the clipboard aside. “I want to check on Winona and see if she needs help.”
“I’ll come with you.”
The Boulder County Fairgrounds had become Scarlet Springs in microcosm. Rose sat in the shade of a tree giving free tarot readings to evacuees, while Joe and Rain, who had brought food from the restaurant, made sandwiches for folks who were hungry. A few members of the Mudbugs were taking a break but had promised the full band would get together for a free evening show. Familiar faces were everywhere, everyone doing their best to get through this.
“You didn’t even bring beer?” Hank asked Joe.
“No beer, Hank. Want some water?” Joe held out a bottle.
Hank took it. “Life is cruel.”
Wasn’t that the truth?
Megs had sent a text to all Team members telling them about the chopper crash that had landed Hawke, Silver, and two other men in the fire’s path. They had survived the crash and deployed fire shelters, but no one had heard from them since. She’d also told them that a rescue chopper had found Taylor and Bear but that neither bodies nor survivors had been found at Camp Mato Sapa.
Nothing would be the same after today. Homes had been lost and probably lives, too. The homes could be rebuilt, but Scarlet would be changed by loss and grief. Vicki and Hawke were so in love—Naomi and Belcourt, too. Naomi was expecting a baby.
Fuck!
Life was so damned unfair.
They found Winona in a small outbuilding sitting beside Shota’s crate, slipping him ice cubes. They kept their distance, not wanting to alarm the wolf.
Winona glanced up, and for a moment there was hope on her face.
Conrad hated to take that from her. “They found Austin and Bear, but we haven’t heard anything new from the camp.”
“Sorry,” Kenzie said.
“I’m glad Austin is okay.” Winona turned back to Shota, slipped another ice cube through the bars on his crate. “I’m trying to keep him cool and hydrated.”
Kenzie glanced around. “Where are the other animals?”
“The baby moose and fawns are in the barn with the llamas, but the rest are gone,” Winona said. “Jack and Captain Langeland got in touch with other wildlife shelters—the ones in Lyons and Golden and the raptor sanctuary in Fort Collins. They drove down and took as many animals as they could handle. It’s better for the animals this way. Being here with all the noise and strange smells—it would have been too stressful for some of them.”
Every once in a while, something happened to restore Conrad’s faith in humanity. “I’m glad it worked out that way.”
Kenzie crouched down, looked toward the wolf’s crate. “How’s Shota?”
“He’s still dopey, but he won’t be for much longer. He can’t stay here. It isn’t safe for him or anyone else. That wolf sanctuary near Conifer has a truck on the way. They’ll be taking him in—at least for a while.”
What did she mean by that?
Winona loved that wolf. Everyone knew that.
Before either he or Kenzie could ask, Winona changed the subject.
“Are the dogs settled?”
Kenzie nodded. “Quinn is taking care of them for now. Chip and Charles went to get food and water bowls. I’m going to try to find ice.”
“Ask Captain Langeland,” Winona suggested.
“Let us know if you need anything, okay?” Kenzie said.
“Thanks.”
Conrad and Kenzie left her alone and walked back, hand in hand, to find Inez watching the dogs and Nate West waiting for them.
“I’m about to head out,” he said. “I thought I’d check to see if you needed anything else.”
Kenzie gave him a hug. “I don’t know how to thank you. What would we have done if you hadn’t come along?”
“You’d have found a way. I’m just glad I could help.” Nate pulled off his cowboy hat, ran his fingers through sweaty hair. “What are you going to do now?”
“We’ll stay here until we get the all-clear to go home again. Most of the dogs’ owners are out of town. If the kennel burns…”
“If the kennel burns, we’ll set you up at the ranch until you can rebuild.” Nate took his wallet out of his pocket, drew out a card, and handed it to Kenzie. “Call me if you need anything. I’m leaving the trailer here. We’ll come back and help you transport the dogs back up the canyon when it’s time.”
Conrad shook his hand. “Thanks, man. We’re grateful.”
“What are neighbors for?” Nate tilted his hat at them and set off toward his trailer.
That was the thing about the Wests. They were filthy rich—and modest as hell.
For the first time since the evacuation began, Conrad was alone with Kenzie.
He drew her into his arms, wanting to comfort her, needing the comfort of her. He knew she must be hurting as much as he was.
“Oh, Harrison, it’s just awful. I feel sick thinking about what Eric, Chaska, Gabe and the others must have suffered.”
He kissed the top of her head, held her close. “We don’t know anything for sure yet.”
Kenzie looked up at him through blue eyes filled with tears. “If they’re gone … What will Vicki and Naomi do? Naomi’s about to have a baby. Winona will be crushed. She and Chaska are so close.”
“We’ll do all we can to support them.” There wasn’t anything else they could do.
“At least Austin is safe.”
�
�Yeah.” That had been much-needed good news.
“If they didn’t find bodies at the camp, does that mean they got away?”
“Maybe.” It might also mean that the bodies were so charred or buried in debris they hadn’t been visible from the air, but Conrad couldn’t bring himself to explain this to her. “As soon as it’s safe, the Team will head up to the camp to search.”
“They’ll need an HRD dog.”
Gizmo and Gabby were both certified in HRD—human remains detection—but Conrad didn’t want Kenzie up there.
“It doesn’t have to be you, babe.”
“Yes, it does.” The determined look on her face told Conrad her mind was made up. “My staff can handle caring for the dogs. We should head back up to Scarlet with Gizmo and Gabby. Our Team stickers will get us through the roadblock, won’t they?”
“Yes, but it could be rough up there.” He knew she’d seen corpses before, but this would be different.
“I know, but they’re our friends.” A tear spilled down her cheek. “It’s our job to bring them home. I don’t want it to be anyone else.”
“Yeah.” Conrad drew her close again, kissed her.
“Sorry to interrupt…” Rain stood there, worry on her face, Angel in a carrier on her back. “Have they found Austin? We haven’t heard any updates since we left.”
Conrad looked into Kenzie’s eyes, nodded. “They found him, and he’s going to be okay. He’s hypothermic from riding out the fire in a lake. Bear is okay, too.”
“Oh, thank God!” Relief blossomed on Rain’s face.
“I’m afraid there’s bad news, too,” Kenzie said.
Rain’s smile vanished. “What is it? Tell me.”
Eric’s body ached for water, not even the morphine taking the edge off his thirst. It followed him into unconsciousness, gnawed at him, shredded him, his mind churning up images of lakes, creeks, rivers, glasses and bottles full of cool, clear water.
As a paramedic, he knew it was his body’s response to his burns, but that didn’t make it easier to bear.
He drifted off again until his own moans woke him. “Water.”
“Sorry, chief.” Silver took the cap off another autoinjector, jammed it into Eric’s right quadriceps. “We don’t have any.”