Chapter 32

CHAPTER 32

It was Fine who spotted the tracks. Two parallel lines cutting through the woods. They were hard to spot on dry ground, but the crushed leaves showed a clear enough path to follow. It wasn’t easy, but Fine had a lot of experience with tracking.

“Shows they went that way but haven’t come back. Think it’s more campers?”

Weatherman sighed in irritation. They had already rousted a group of hikers from their campsites and started them moving toward the base to get them to safety. The air was winter cold as usual this time of year, but the bite had a singed, smoky flavor to it. The fire still burned and was moving fast at the last radio update.

Both he and Fine had helped construct one of the firebreaks yesterday. It was backbreaking work but necessary. Table and Mute helped drive the graders that cleared the vegetation while others felled some of the trees to keep the tops from igniting and passing the flames along in the branches. The wind had already picked up for the impending storm coming down from the north and wasn’t helping the fight. The fire warden had a huge map of the area and planned out where to make controlled burns to keep the wild one contained, but it had already jumped in some places.

“This area here near the creek is where I understand some people might set up a winter camp. I ’spect the smoke drove ’em out, but it’s easy to get turned around and head the wrong direction. I want all y’all to make a quick run of the creek and only the creek to see if anyone is still around. Just one run, mind you, and then get out of there. Stick by the water, got it?”

Weatherman didn’t know if this search and rescue type of mission was protocol, but he didn’t argue. He was bone-tired and grumpy from lack of sleep. He didn’t remember the last time he ate something besides the protein bars he and Fine had stuffed into their gear, and they were down to their last two bottles of water. The air was smokier and smokier, and he longed for the next time he could take a clean breath.

Still, those tracks might mean people either stuck or lost.

The radio crackled, and Fine clicked it to answer. “Repeat, over.”

It was hard to hear through the static, but the faint words sent alarm through both men.

“The fire jumped the last break, and the wind changed directions. It’s headed your way. Get your asses out of there now!”

Weatherman cursed long and hard as he gazed at the four-wheeler tracks. They were fresh enough to tell him that yes, someone was at the end of them, and that someone was probably still there. Maybe an old guy trying to protect a family moonshine still or a group of kids that had more daring that sense. Either way, he couldn’t leave until he checked it out. “Let’s go in a ways and listen for anything.”

Fine reluctantly agreed, but Weatherman thought it was more because he didn’t want to be left alone in the woods. They followed the tracks for about a quarter mile before stopping. This was close to the area where they’d found the bear baits some weeks ago. They shut off the two four-wheelers and waited a moment.

Weatherman closed his eyes and tuned his ears to the ambient noise of the forest. There was a low-pitched ring that resembled tinnitus; otherwise, it was deadly silent.

Then he heard it.

A scream.

It might have been a woman, a man, or an animal. It was faint, but something sounded in pain.

“Did you hear that?” he asked a white-faced Fine.

It came again.

“I heard it that time.”

Weatherman sniffed the cold air. He had only one choice. “If you want to bug out, I won’t judge you, but I’m gonna go check it out.”

Fine swallowed hard but found his balls and started his squat vehicle. “Let’s go.”

They went about another mile and a half into the thick brush. It was slow and rough, but the tracks kept going. The weird ringing in Weatherman’s ears intensified, and he realized this was the beginnings of brown noise. Fire itself was silent, but the kinetic energy it gave off produced random low frequency sound waves. The beast was on its way.

Another scream reached them, and it sounded a lot like an angry animal, but it could still be a human. It was definitely closer.

“Over there!” Fine pointed to something in the distance.

It was hard to make out, but there was an old cabin among the trees. Whatever was screaming came from that structure.

“Something or someone is trapped inside.” Weatherman glanced at the ground. “It’s probably faster to go on foot than try to finagle this path. If it’s an animal, we’ll free it to take its chances. If it’s a person, we can carry them back here easily enough.”

The two men approached the back of the cabin with caution. Suddenly, angry voices could be heard, and Weatherman held up a fist in a muted stop command. Two men were arguing hotly, but with the brown noise interfering with his hearing, it was hard to tell what the problem was.

Fine tapped Weatherman’s shoulder to get his attention and pointed at the cabin in a soundless “Do you see what I see?”

He could make out a large wood table with a cage on top. An angry, hissing mountain lion was spitting and swiping at the bars. Just beyond it sat a row of drying racks with curing hides stretched out. Barrels that matched the ones they’d previously found were stacked next to two beat-up four-wheelers and one brand-new, top-of-the-line Polaris Scrambler.

As luck would have it, they’d found their poachers.

Isolated in the woods.

In the middle of a forest fire.

“Fuck,” Weatherman said under his breath.

“You got that right. What do we do?” Fine asked.

Weatherman unclipped his gun from its holster and eased it into his hand, pointing the barrel down. There were two rifles on their four-wheelers, but they were useless at the moment. “It’s more important that we get them and us to safety. We can worry about arrests once we get out of here.”

They crept closer, squatting low and taking as much care as possible not to startle the two men arguing. Through the brush, Weatherman spotted Clem Gustler and some snooty man in pretend cowboy clothes. He held a gleaming hunting rifle in his hands. Their voices barely made it above the underlying growl that seemed to radiate throughout the air.

“Would you just shoot the damn thing, motherfucker, so we can get the hell off this mountain?” Clem shouted.

“You promised me a real mountain lion hunt. It’s not the same if I kill it in a cage.” His patrician lip curled. “I’ve paid a lot of money for these putrid accommodations. It was a nasty, uncomfortable ride on that filthy machine. There are no bathroom facilities?—”

“Cain’t you smell it? There’s a goddamn forest fire burning out there. We let that cat loose, it’s gonna take off, and you won’t get nothin’.”

“Medicate it and it won’t run fast.”

Clem spat a brown stream on the ground. “That ain’t no different than just killin’ it in the cage. Just point your fancy rifle at the head and pull the fuckin’ trigger.”

Snooty shifted the long gun in his hand. “I don’t want to destroy the head. I want the whole hide with the skull and head intact; otherwise, my colleagues can’t tell it’s a mountain lion and not some other animal.”

Weatherman had heard enough. The area was primed for radiant combustion. Wildfires heated up the areas around them like convection ovens with looping heat columns, and anything that reached the right temperature could catch fire and spread farther. The colder air helped keep that possibility down, but the increased wind negated that affect. Firebrands blown into fresh fuel also kept the beast fed and growing. “Fine, follow my lead.”

“Um, Bryce? I think we should….”

Fine’s voice sounded panicked. Weatherman glanced over at his fellow officer, and the cold that hit his chest had nothing to do with the winter wind.

Walt Gustler stood behind Fine with a rifle pointed at the back of the ranger’s head.

“Don’t make no moves, Mr. Rangers. Let’s git on over to Clem and the fancy man. C’mon now.”

Weatherman eased his pistol back into the holster but didn’t put the clip on. “Walt, you feel that heat? Are your eyes watering from the smoke? That fire is on its way, and it’s moving fast. We’re not here about the bears or that cougar. We’re here to get you fellas to safety.”

Walt licked his lips in confusion. He shifted from foot to foot and kept looking around at the trees. He’d never been known for his cognitive abilities, but the man wasn’t stupid. “I don’t wanna be here no more, but Clem said we gotta do what the fancy man wants so we get paid.”

Weatherman stood slowly and spoke softly. “Money doesn’t mean much to dead men, right?”

Walt lifted a hand to wipe his dirty, sweating brow. “You gotta talk sense to Clem. Let’s go.”

Weatherman lifted his hands in the air, and Fine did the same. Clem grabbed his own rifle from the table and pointed it at the two men when they suddenly walked from the underbrush into the cabin’s yard.

“What the fuck? Where the hell did you come from?”

If this whole situation weren’t already bad enough, it was about to get worse. The wind picked up with several gusts. Not winter cold but one with a hot breath. Weatherman looked up to see bright orange firebrands dancing in the treetops. The constant rumbling drone flared as two large pines ignited with a whoosh.

Snooty jumped back and dropped his firearm in the dirt. “Oh my gawd! I’m so out of here.”

He turned and ran to the expensive, shiny four-wheeler, plunking his butt on the seat.

“Hey, motherfucker!” Clem shouted. “You can’t leave ’til you pay us!”

“Sue me!”

Clem lifted his rifle and pulled the trigger. The man screamed as the bullet pierced his spine and burst from his chest in a red spray. He tumbled from the vehicle, and his pants leg caught on one of the pedals, leaving his body hanging there half on and half off.

Walt dropped his gun and yelled, “You kilt him!”

“No shit, Sherlock!”

Weatherman snatched his pistol and desperately tried to gain some control. “Clem, this has gone far enough. Let’s get on our vehicles and get out of here while we still have a chance. The fire might already have us surrounded, but if we all make a run for it, we might make it.”

Clem laughed with an evil sneer. “You’re one dumb motherfucker, ain’t cha? You think after seeing me shoot that asshole, I’m gonna go skipping down the mountain arm in arm with your ass?”

The noise was lower and wider. More trees ignited, and Weatherman knew the underbrush was next. Soon this whole area would be engulfed. The choices open to him and Fine were die by fire while running for their lives or die by bullet in an instant.

I’m so sorry, Opal.

He snapped up his pistol and braced for the hit he knew was coming.

Clem staggered back as a splash of red hit his chest. His mouth opened as if he couldn’t believe what just happened. “You shot me!”

Walt slung the rifle over his shoulder. “Yep.” He ran to the Polaris, jerked Snooty’s dead body from the four-wheeler, and started it up.

Fine got his voice back. “D-Do we stop him?”

“No.” Weatherman ran to the cage and shot the cheap lock off. He opened the door and jumped back as the big cat exploded from the steel bars. The animal didn’t waste any time before it took off into the woods.

“Good luck, buddy.” He didn’t waste any more words, just waved at Fine to start running.

It was a long way back to their vehicles, and the terrain was hard to manipulate with any kind of speed. Their best bet was to get to the individual fire shelters they carried. At this point, it was the only chance they had—and a crapshoot at best. The shelters were a last-ditch effort that might or might not save their lives.

The air grew hazy with smoke. Weatherman could hear Fine’s labored breathing as they ran. Another danger of forest fires was the toxic gases the flames gave off. Carbon monoxide was one, along with a concoction of hydrocarbons, nitrogen oxides, carbon dioxide, and several volatile organic compounds. This recipe brought lung damage at best and death at worst. He coughed and pulled his shirt over his nose and mouth, making it awkward to run and breathe, but he had to keep going. His eyes burned, and his mouth had a woody taste to it. His legs pumped as fast as he could make them, and he prayed he wouldn’t fall. If he or Fine went down, it was over.

Another rumble split the sky.

They almost missed the four-wheelers. Fine was crying when he spotted them in the distance. “Over there!”

A bush flared up next to one of the vehicles.

“Grab the shelter! Deploy!” Weatherman yelled. His voice came out garbled, and he coughed hard to clear what he could. He snatched up the pack and tore it open as he kept running. “Get closer to the creek!”

Both men wrapped the shrouds around them to shield themselves as they ran. Their only chance was to get to a clear area and finish deploying the silvery sheathes.

They stumbled along, coughing and gasping. Weatherman’s eyes watered as he searched for any open spot. He finally spotted something through the poisonous vapor. “There!”

He threw himself on the ground and rolled to get the shelter anchored. Fine bumped his side as he landed next to him, but neither man had time or breath to speak. A roasting heat rolled over them in a hot, dry wind, scorching their lungs as they gasped for whatever air they could get.

Another huge rumble crashed above. Weatherman whipped the shelter over his head and tucked himself into a ball with his hands over his ears and mouth just as the flames reached him in a deafening roar.

God, take care of my family.