worry now.
Jack knelt at a boulder and kneaded a knot loose. He tossed the webbing and carabiners into a green canvas duffle.
The team disassembled the raising system, belay lines, anchors, and safety lines, breaking them down and packing them away.
When done, Luiz made one last check, walking cross-contour, making sure no equipment would be left behind. He found none.
“Okay, you two get back to your fire,” he said. “Jack, I owe you one.”
“One?” Johnny howled. “And what about me? What about my fire? You’ve got a debt to repay, dude, like tonight. Night shift.”
“I don’t do fire.”
“Yeah, right. Like I don’t do rescue. See you at seven.”
“By the time we get to the cache, I’ll be wasted. And I’m not letting him drive home,” Luiz said, nodding at Thomas. “I’m taking him. Plus, I need to stop at that pickup that caught fire on the desert. When this call came in, I was investigating. Left in a hurry. Need to stop and get some things.”
“You’re making excuses.”
“I’m not, and there’s something strange about that pickup. No bodies or anything, but I wouldn’t’ve been surprised. Gotta check something. It’ll be late when I get back.”
“Then we’ll see you late. Ask dispatch for directions.”
“But . . .”
“And, that one you owe Jack. Hell, there aren’t enough beers at Elena’s Cantina to pay him back. But give it a try.”
“You’re right. Next time at Elena’s, I buy.”
“Deal.”
“Do I get any say in this?” Jack asked.
“Don’t blow the deal, boss.”
Luiz bent down and hefted a pack frame loaded with rope coil, slipped an arm through the strap, and slung it over his shoulder. He pointed Foss at another pack, ignored the big man’s grumbling, and turned to Thomas. “Let’s go,” he said, starting into the brush.
Somehow it felt there would have been more war stories, more rehashing of details, more trading of barbs, but Luiz wasn’t that way.
Thomas extended a hand. He held Jack’s eye.
“Take care of yourself,” Jack said.
“You, too, my friend.” Thomas turned and followed after Luiz.
Jack waited, watching until the others disappeared into the brush. “Our turn,” he said, to Johnny.
Backing, Johnny took hold of a serviceberry branch, steadying himself. “You’re not waiting on me. And you owe me. You’re lousy at taking advantage of negotiating position. Luiz is a cheap bastard. You would have gotten off with nothing, maybe one beer max. Which means, your rope man would’ve been buying his own. You gotta keep your priorities straight, unless, of course, you’re buying.”
The old Johnny. “Quit talking. Start hiking.”
—·—
Back on the plateau, the sense of urgency returned. Smoke sat over the terrain, and the smell of it mingled with the stench of dust. Breathing became harder.
They reached fire line with sun glaring down through pockets of smoke. Orange skies sat over the tops of ponderosa pine. No firefighters were to be seen, only line with green on one side, smoky, barren landscape on the other.
Johnny reached for his radio. “Manion, this is Reger.”
No response.
“Simons, this is Reger.”
“Go ahead.”
“We’re back at the fire, near where we left you. Which way do we go to get to your location?”
“Either direction. South, then west to get to me. North, then west to Manion.”
“Who needs bodies? And how’s it going?”
“Other than changing plans multiple times, okay. Christy, need them your way?”
Another wait, then, “That would be good.”
Johnny, listening closely, said, “What do you mean, changing plans?”
“No luck putting line around what we burned this morning. We were lucky to get around both flanks. Afternoon winds. All we could do was try to keep up. We herded it north and west. We’re moving as fast as we can on the south side, no problem. Christy’s squad is pushing it west. She’s got all the heat.”
Johnny looked at Jack. “Guess we’re heading north.” An ear still to the radio, he took off at a fast clip. “Christy, we’re on our way.”
They found the squad, pushing northwest. With two extra bodies it wasn’t long before they hit slickrock. To the south, Luiz and another ranger arrived after sunset and helped Simon’s squad reach the body of the fire.
Tied in, Johnny plopped down to assess the situation.
Jack watched him. Not exactly as planned. Not exactly bad. Tomorrow’s winds will be make or break.
Chapter 6
Jack stood on open ground, burned-over grass at his feet, black all around. He stared across at the next ridge. Open flame tore through small pines and oak brush, but few of the big trees. The flame at their feet burned well, and some would possibly die—their growth producing cambium layers boiled—but most would survive.
Wind whipped under the back of his helmet and he quickly pulled back the flap of his belt weather kit, slipped out the anemometer and checked the wind speed. Gusts to thirty.
Gray Beard—Simons—appeared, walking the line, carrying a paper sack. He handed it over. “Special delivery. Lunch, sent up from the canyon.”
“Thanks. Ready to get back to your park?”
“Whenever. Did Foss make it back?”
“I’m sure. We’ll get you home, don’t worry. Hope we didn’t make your life harder.”
“Hey, you dealt with his bullshit. Don’t see that happen much. Last year he was a pain, this year he’s arrogant. Something about his brother becoming a bigger big shot. Somewhere back east. Throws it around like he’s next in line for some big job. Intimidates the hell out of the Chief.”
“I can imagine.”
“Know his brother?”
Jack’s jaw tightened. “Unfortunately.”
“Any good?”
“Guess.”
