Protecting the Flame Page 22

  “Good idea.” She didn’t want to sign off. “I’d better go. Good luck, Will. Thanks for…” Being my friend. Being a good man. For being someone she wanted to hold close, skin to skin, with no barriers or regrets. His wife was one lucky lady. “Everything.”

  “Thank me later,” he said. “You and I? We’re not done yet.”

  Chapter 4

  “That’s en-enough, th-th-that’s enough.” Averting his face, Hunter gave her hand a weak shove. He sucked a dribble of broth from his lower lip. “Don’t waste any more food on me.”

  “Come on,” she coaxed, trying to maneuver the steaming mug back to his mouth. “You have to stay hydrated at the very least, and Will said the salt was good.”

  “Huh. G-g-good for yuh-you.” Hunter let out a weak laugh that nevertheless fizzed with both despair and a sort of hysteria. Shuddering, he hunched down in his seat as if trying to capture as much heat as he could. “C-c-can’t stop sh-shaking. That’s b-b-b-bad, isn’t it?”

  Well, it certainly couldn’t be good. It was early afternoon of the seventh day. The day before, she’d disassembled enough of the cockpit to move both the fire and reflective barrier closer to Hunter. The cockpit was open to the night sky and would never be toasty, but heat pulsed at her back, and she’d dragged off her watch cap. She might be weak from lack of food, but at least she was warm.

  “Look,” she said, sponging fever sweat from Hunter’s forehead, “you need to keep drinking like Will said. So you’ve got to cooperate, Hunter. Otherwise, what are we doing here?”

  “G-g-good,” Hunter stammered then forced out the rest, “question. W-watching me d-d-die?”

  She bit back the urge to snap. “You know why I’m here. I’m trying to keep you alive so you don’t die before they find us. You have to have faith, Hunter.” My God, what was she saying? But she did have faith and how weird was that? She had faith in Will. She might even have found a little faith in herself. After all, she was still here and Will was right: there was a life, a small flame inside, she had to protect. If she didn’t, no one would.

  “F-f-faith?” Hunter gave that hysterical hyena’s cry again. “You th-think W-W-Will…if the g-g-guys my d-dad get h-here…”

  “I know, I know.” She didn’t need chapter and verse again. Earlier, she’d thought she’d caught a faint grumble of something like a motor drifting up from the valley. She’d gone absolutely still, trying to parse that out, but the sound had been as ephemeral as a soap bubble and did not come again. Hunter hadn’t commented either. Probably her imagination, then.

  She glanced at her watch. Almost two. Already, though, the distant hazy peaks were beginning to purple, and shadows gathered in the lower, northern slopes and along the valley’s floor.

  “There’s only about three hours of daylight left, and it’s been two days since the drone,” she said. “Not much time left today for any bad guys to put in an appearance unless they’re into roughing it for a night.” Which they might be. Anybody who did hike or ride in would have to be ready for that possibility, but she kept coming back to the reality that people were looking for them. Surely, they couldn’t be so far off-course the plane wouldn’t be spotted, or the fires she kept going both here at the cockpit and back at the fuselage.

  She and Will had discussed that, whether it made sense for her to keep shifting between the two locations, but she’d pointed out she would have little else to do, and staying on the move would be better than remaining in place. Besides, the more fires there were, the better the chance someone—like Hank Patterson’s people, that Kujo guy—might spot the thermal signature via the right kind of drone or helicopter. Although they’d switched on the ELT and switched off the other transmitter, the simple fact of no search planes or helicopters having appeared wasn’t a hopeful sign. On the other hand, military drones didn’t necessarily operate where they would be spotted or heard because this defeated the purpose of, say, sneaking up on the bad guys.

  “Listen.” Squaring the mug on a bit of intact console near Hunter’s left hand, she stood, but too fast. A swoon of vertigo swirled through her head, and she staggered, nearly falling back into the fire.

  “H-h-hey!” Hunter’s hand shot out and grabbed her coat to steady her. “Are y-you…”

  “I’m fine.” She swallowed back against another swoop of dizziness. Her mouth was sour and rank, though she wasn’t worried about tossing her cookies. She had absolutely nothing in her stomach to vomit.

  And therein was the problem. Other than a cup of broth drunk under Will’s careful eye the day before, she’d had only water. Her blood sugar had to be in the basement. It wasn’t that she had no appetite. She was trying to make the half an MRE and two energy bars, all the food she had standing between her and outright starvation, last. Well, there was the Almond Joy, but she would only touch that when she’d exhausted every other option. Tearing into it before then would be a complete jinx. Yes, call her superstitious.

  Though she could still bait the wolves. It wasn’t a bad idea, except she didn’t have any weapon now other than the hand axe, KA-BAR, and her flare. That had been quite the discussion, too. Will wanted to leave the rifle, but that would mean them traveling with only a knife or axe and no ability to hunt. She would have the fires. So long as she tended them, she was reasonably certain she would be safe. She would also be starving, but six of one, half dozen of the other.

  It was the afterward part, if Hunter died before help or the bad guys came, she was a little fuzzy about. The plan was for her to follow the trail the others would leave. It was, in fact, a decent idea. If worse came to absolute worst and Hunter died, she could either hunker down in place or leave. Without a rifle, she wouldn’t be able to take out the wolves or a cougar (or its friends; geez, she hoped it didn’t have friends). She could snare food, but she would have to be farther down-valley for that.

  Oh, stop. She was tired of thinking and rethinking the same thoughts. “I’m going back to bank the fire at the fuselage. It won’t be dark for a couple hours yet, but I want to give myself plenty of time.” As Hunter opened his mouth to protest, she put a hand on his shoulder. “I’m not leaving you. I won’t be long, but I do have to do this. The more hot spots I keep going, the better the chance someone will see.”

  “Oh-oh-k-kay.” Swallowing hard, Hunter jerked a nod. “Ok-kay. J-just b-be b-b-back before the wuh-wuh-wolves…”

  “I won’t let the wolves get you.” Dragging on her watch cap seemed to take a lot longer than it ought to, but she still managed a smile. “You know what we really need? You ever seen Dracula? Not the one with Bela Lugosi but the remake with Gary Oldman. Coppola film?”

  “Uh…” Hunter’s brow crinkled. “N-n-no. Who’s C-C-Coppola?”

  “Director? Apocalypse Now? Never mind,” she said, waving away Hunter’s perplexed expression. “Anyway, there’s this great scene where Anthony Hopkins, who’s Van Helsing…do you know the Dracula story at all?” When Hunter shook his head, she sighed. “Well, you do know he’s a vampire, right? So, the good guys are out to stop Dracula only they get surrounded by these vampire brides in the woods, and so Professor Van Helsing lights this circle of fire to keep them out. It’s really cool. Anyway, that’s what we need, a ring of fire to keep the baddies at bay. Something that would burn a long time. Torches, maybe, or something.”

  Hunter opened his mouth, closed it then said, “We m-might could d-do that.”

  Chapter 5

  Tools. Hunter had specified which tools she needed to bring back. A Phillips No. 2, a monkey wrench. She kept going over the list in her head as she made her way back, which seemed to be taking her longer and longer. Hungry. Getting weak and… She pushed all that away with an impatient mental shove. She had to focus here. Monkey wrench. Wire cutters to be on the safe side.

  But you’ll probably get by with the Phillips, if it comes down to it, Hunter had said. All you have to do is unscrew all the cowl fasteners that are still intact.

  “Right,” she panted as
she tried to make her feet move faster. “Piece of cake.”

  What else? Oooh, something to catch liquids. A bucket. She needed to bring the bucket they’d been using for a chamber pot. Maybe also spare clothes? Clothes could be dunked, fashioned into torches, and oil theoretically ought to burn for a long time.

  It was amazing they hadn’t thought of this before. Why not use the ton of avgas, too? Hunter said it burned well in a container at a rate of about three minutes an ounce but wasn’t something you’d put in a bucket or next to a fire. I don’t know if sparks would make it go ka-BOOM, Hunter had said, but I’m not real anxious to find out either.

  Actually, she knew the answer to this one because she’d asked the same question about the scene in Thelma and Louise where the two women shoot the fuel tanker of a creepy guy who’s been leering at them for most of the movie. Of course, the tanker went up in a huge fireball. Except the MythBusters guys said that couldn’t happen. A gunshot wouldn’t cause an explosion, but a spark could.

  If there was one thing all these firs and pines had it was plenty of resin, which meant plenty of sparks.

  So, the gas was out for her big Van Helsing fire-ring, unless she could figure a way of burning only small amounts. Maybe line small depressions in the snow with Visqueen? That could keep water from mixing with the gas. She could almost visualize it, too, like the oil cups of a menorah. An image of Bubbe Sarah, head covered with a lacy veil, lighting her old-fashioned nine-branched oil candelabra floated to the front of her brain.

  I bet I can do that. She could use clothes for wicks and then they’d have something that would be exactly like a menorah, too, but on an industrial scale because while the Chieftain’s engine cowling was damaged, the engine was intact—and so was the oil pan.

  “How much oil are we talking?” she’d asked when Hunter suggested it. “And what kind?” Synthetic oil wouldn’t burn for long. It was designed not to in order to cut down on engine fires.

  “M-mineral oil,” Hunter had said. “About eight qu-quarts. Engine’s n-new, s-so you d-don’t use synthetic. G-g-gunks up the works.”

  She wondered how long mineral oil would burn. Maybe a pretty long time if they were talking pure. Her bubbe had used a special grade of olive oil for her menorah because the rules were that the oil or a candle must burn for a minimum of thirty minutes every night. The flames in Sarah’s menorah didn’t go out until near midnight most evenings, same as the candles her own mother had used. She remembered being little and wandering down to the kitchen well after her parents had gone to bed to find the menorah, which her mother had put in the sink to guard against fire, still burning.

  Wheezing from the exertion, she paused at the verge and studied the Chieftain’s remains. Only that morning, she’d thought how the thing really felt like a wreck, a husk of something long abandoned. Even the trickle of smoke from the fire she was tasked to keep burning seemed more like something from the aftermath of some calamity. In some ways, she’d actually dreaded coming here to stoke this fire because she was never sure if Hunter would be alive when she got back. This morning, she’d actually considered letting the damn thing go out. Then, she’d stay with Hunter until…well, until whatever happened did.

  But now we have a plan. We have a way of lighting up the night.

  First things first: stoke this fire. That wouldn’t take long. Then grab the tools, the bucket. And cloth and the gas with some plastic liner. Ooh, wait. The Visqueen might not be the best idea. Carrying the gas in that spare bladder would work, but burning it in plastic could be pretty toxic…She chuckled at that. Toxic gases were the least of her worries. Still, it would be nice not to kill herself any sooner than absolutely necessary. She might still decide the gas was too much trouble, but she was totally down with whatever burned and kept burning.

  The woods were still, even more so than normal. Her steps were loud in the quiet, the snow made crunchy from several days of softening by the sun only to freeze back up as soon as the light was gone. The tracks and chunked snow left by the others were clearly visible. She could pick out Mattie’s smaller prints alongside her mother’s. When she’d seen them off, Will had been in the lead, a smooth slight trough showing where he’d been towing the inflatable raft, while Scott brought up the rear. Mattie had waved frantically until the very last, when they’d come to a bend and were swallowed up by trees. Even Scott had tossed a look back…though there was something in the set of his shoulders that made her a little uneasy. She wasn’t sure why, but she bet he sensed she and Will were leaving him out of something and that this didn’t sit well.

  Well, yeah. Using the hand axe, she hacked off small twigs for kindling. A cop with a drug problem? Leaving Scott out of this particular loop seemed wise.

  Sliding branches atop orange embers, she smiled as the fir caught with sputters and pops, the resin providing a ready, easily flammable medium. Once the fire was crackling, she ducked into their now-abandoned fuselage. The place seemed enormous now that there was no one inside. Her sleeping bag was still spread on the deck as was her backpack. Shrugging off a lighter, smaller pack she used to carry items back and forth, she went to the cargo locker and opened the lid. The locker was empty of everything except the toolbox, several lighters, a package of batteries, a roll of extreme weather duct tape, and a packet of firesticks. Opening the toolbox, she selected the Phillips, the wire cutter, and a socket wrench. Transferring her flare from a parka pocket to her hip, she slipped the tools into her jacket.

  As she stood, her gaze fell on that empty avgas bladder still in the cargo hold. Maybe she should try the avgas trick. If oil burned, certainly oil and avgas were better, right?

  Grabbing the bladder, she worked her way out, made another quick check of the fire then went around to the other side where she’d dragged the still-full bladders. Unpacking the extra, she unfurled a short hose attached to one of the containers already filled with gas, released the clamp, and listened as fluid gurgled and sloshed. Don’t fill it too much. She kept hefting the rapidly filling bladder. Liquids always weigh a ton—

  “What are you doing?”

  “Oh!” Startled, she jumped back, dislodging the hose, which flew from the bladder’s mouth, releasing a spray of avgas.

  “Jesus!” Scott shouted as gas sprayed the front of his parka and jeans. He hopped back, his boots making splashing sounds in the gas still gushing out of the hose. “What the fuck?”

  “Scott.” Bending, she fumbled with the clamp and stopped the flood of fuel. “What are you doing—”

  She stopped when she saw the two men standing behind Scott. One was young with the crooked nose of a brawler. The other, older man had a jowly, hangdog look that reminded her of Tommy Lee Jones. Both wore big, kitted-out black balaclavas they’d rolled up to their foreheads, snowsuits, heavyweight Pac boots, expedition ski mitts, and black turtlenecks. From the snaps on the collars of their snowsuits, she also saw she’d been right about what she’d heard earlier in the day. The snaps were for riders to snap to snowmobile helmets.

  “Who are you?” she asked.

  “Agent Talbot.” The Tommy Lee Jones lookalike extended a gloved hand. “DEA.”

  “Oh, my God.” She automatically took the offered hand, but what she really wanted was to fall down. She was suddenly even weaker, but now with relief. “How did you get here? Did Will…are they, is everybody…”

  “They’re good. Met up with these guys and a whole rescue party on the trail. Will sent me back to help out with the DEA. You know.” Scott shrugged. “Seeing as how it’s my job and all.”

  He got my dad killed, and he got kicked out of the cops. That’s what Mattie had said. And he’s lucky he’s not in jail because he should be.

  “Yes,” Talbot seconded, still gripping her hand. “Detective Paisley here says you have something we very much want to see.”

  “Oh,” she said. “Well, wow, you don’t know how good it is to see you guys. I don’t know if we could’ve made it through another day.”
/>   Another day? Hah.

  Chances were she had no more than five minutes left.

  Chapter 6

  “You’ve got the key?” Talbot was inspecting the locked panel where she’d found the drugs and cash.

  “Yes.” No point in lying about it. They knew she had it because Scott knew. Scott must’ve pried the information from Mattie somehow, or maybe he’d overhead the girl talking to her mother.

  Think. Pulling the key from a pocket, she fiddled with detaching it from the watch chain. She could’ve handed the chain to Talbot, but she needed every second she could manage to figure out what to do. “How did you find us, Agent Talbot? We’ve been stuck up here for days. Was that your drone we saw? We heard it a couple days ago, but boy, it really took you guys—”

  “You need help with that?’ It was the younger guy. “Why don’t you—”

  “No, no, I got it.” Slipping the key from the chain, she offered it to Talbot. “Sorry, a little shaky. I haven’t had anything to—” She dropped the key as Talbot extended his hand. “Oh God, I’ so sorry. I…”

  “It’s fine.” Pulling off a glove, Talbot scooped the key from the snow. He wiped it and his hand dry on his snow pants.

  “So how did you find us?” she asked, pocketing the chain and fob again. Instead of shoving on her gloves, she stuffed them into a pocket then slipped her hands into her hip pockets. The right was a tight fit, what with the flare. She took a step back, mindful where she put her feet, then wondered if that would even matter.