Firewolf

“I keep telling Jack that he was born to be a catcher and Ray and Carter could hold the mounts. I’d like to ride, but if they’re faster I’d let them go, instead. Only now Carter’s in witness protection. So we need a fourth. I suggested Carter’s brother Kurt. He’s smaller but strong. Jack said he’d think about it. Jack Bear Den is a detective on our tribal police. His brother Carter and my friend Ray Strong are hotshots. Turquoise Canyon Hotshots. That’s us. Kurt Bear Den is a paramedic with the air ambulance. I’ve been a hotshot since I came home but it’s only six months, the fire season. So I need more work. I was supposed to meet Cheney Williams.”

Her eyes popped open. “I know him.”

“You do?”

“He works with my dad. He’s a financial guy for the documentaries. Contracts, I think. Something. I’m not really sure. He’s around a lot.” Meadow felt a rumble in Dylan’s chest, like a growl.

“I was told that he’s an attorney in environmental law. Working to stop that house.”

“You haven’t met him?”

“No. My shaman recommended me.”

She lifted her chin. It was easier to breathe. “Was he up there?”

The rough stubble on his chin brushed her temple. “Probably. He was meeting me there.”

“Do you think he got out?”

Silence was her answer.

“Who would do this?”

His body tensed. “I’m planning to find that out.”

“The whole ridge exploded. The rocks were flying everywhere. I can’t believe they didn’t hit me.” She told him everything. About how she was filming and the red fireball and the house collapsing and the trees ablaze.

“You filmed the whole thing?”

“Yes.”

“Why were you here today?”

“I’ve been here several times during the construction. My father sent me. He has a shooting schedule.” She didn’t say that her dad hadn’t used any of the footage she’d shot. That she was beginning to think her assignment was a snipe hunt, designed to be rid of her, keep her busy and out of the clubs. That last headline had embarrassed them. Too much attention, her mother had said.

Too much was better than none at all, she thought, and she lowered her head.

“Your father sent you here. Today.”

She didn’t like the way he said that.

“Well, he couldn’t have known this would happen.”

His silence was her only answer. Meadow frowned. She didn’t like that silence. There was something sinister and judgmental about it.

“My father is a saint. He’s spent his whole life raising awareness of really important issues with his films.”

Still no reply.

“What are you implying?” she asked.

“Heck of a coincidence.”

“I could say the same for you.”

“Yes. That occurred to me,” he said.

The hairs on her neck lifted. She felt the need to fill the silence.

“Lucky you were here,” she said.

“Yeah.” There was a long pause. “Lucky.”

“You saved my life.”

“Not yet, I haven’t.” He moved again, trying his radio and getting nothing but static. He slipped the antenna out from under the fire shield and tried again. This time he got through to someone and she heard him give their position and ask for assistance. He also asked them to contact Detective Jack Bear Den on Turquoise Canyon Reservation.

He retracted the radio antenna inside the shield and she saw the black plastic tip had melted.

“I guess my car and Wi-Fi antenna is toast.”

“You have internet out here?”

“I did. I was streaming my footage.”

“You captured the explosion and streamed it...where?”

“My social media. Vine, Snapchat, Instagram. I also have YouTube, Facebook and Google+ and send footage to my remote server.”

He went very still. “So anyone could see what you shot.”

“Yes. That’s the point.”

“So you don’t need to make it out of here alive for someone to see what you saw.”

The hairs on her neck now began to tingle.

“What are you saying?”

“I think you and I were sent here to die.”

Chapter Four (#u14c721b8-bff3-5fae-b9ac-a24d6df9f612)

Dylan tried to put the pieces together. He didn’t know if he was injured. During the worst of the burn-over he’d felt as if the skin on his back had burned. He knew from his training that it was not uncommon for a deployed hotshot to suffer burns. But the shelters worked. And theirs had worked. They were alive and the worst had passed. The worst of the firestorm. But now he wondered if by sending a distress call he had alerted whoever had sent them that they had survived. Radio channels were easy to monitor. If his hunch was right, they needed to get out of here before help arrived because the worst of the firestorm might still be out there.

The vehicles would be useless. He’d heard the tires blow and both gas tanks explode. His poor truck. He didn’t even own it yet. Meadow would likely have a new Audi by morning.

If they lived that long.