Tara worked hard to keep a straight face. She got a kick out of her bunkmate’s talent for putdowns. “Where’s your pack?”
Angela spun around. “Oops, I left it by the scale.” She hurried over to retrieve it.
Tara noticed Rego and Hudson standing next to Angela’s pack as she bent to pick it up. Hudson shot Tara a winning smile. “Good luck,” he called over to her, staring at her intently as Angela walked back to her.
Hudson’s gaze made her uneasy. She gave him a polite nod and turned her back to him.
“This feels heavier than a bag of wet gators,” grunted Angela, as she adjusted the weight on her back. “Staying up late last night was not a good decision.”
Tara bent to stretch her hamstrings. “Not with a fitness test today.”
“Don’t worry. I’m in decent shape.” Angela flexed her toned bicep.
Tara spotted Ryan in his yellow fire shirt, talking to a group of test monitors. Wow. Some guys rocked the Nomex, and Ryan was definitely one of them. Yesterday’s image of him flying the plane while bathed in Denali’s alpenglow inserted itself in her brain. She blew out air and angled for a better view as he helped testers adjust their pack weights and offered them water bottles. He clearly knew how to set people at ease. She admired that about him.
“You’re smiling at him,” breathed Angela in Tara’s ear.
“Who?” Tara’s defensiveness popped out before she could lasso it.
“Don’t give me that. You know who.” Angela aimed her shades in Ryan’s direction. “Look at him charm the crowd. He could talk a squirrel off a nut truck.”
Tara burst out laughing. “You’re killing me, Divina.”
Ryan called for the group’s attention. “Okay, people. Today’s pack test will test your muscle strength and aerobic endurance—the things that could make the difference between life and death on a fire.”
What a commanding presence. Tara chuckled, recalling his freaked-out expression when they’d crashed in the hallway the other night. A total opposite of his work demeanor.
Tara and Angela positioned themselves behind the start line.
“Everyone ready?” Ryan called out. “If you need water, we’ll provide it. Monitors will call out your time. Twelve laps under forty-five minutes. First group to the starting point.”
“Hey, Waters, Divina.” Liz Skowran appeared on the other side of her. “Ready for this barbaric shitshow?” She flashed them a toothy grin.
“Yes ma’am. Okay, ladies, let’s kick it.” Tara waited for the go signal and braced to start.
Angela shifted her pack. “My head is killing me.” Her eyelids drooped and even her makeup didn’t hide the tired lines on her face.
“Five, four, three, two, begin.” Ryan clicked his stopwatch and scribbled on his clipboard.
The herd took off at a brisk pace. The three women stayed even with each other as several flamingo-legged people breezed past. Liz and Tara pulled ahead. As they approached the first mile mark, Tara heard coughing a short distance behind her. She slowed and glanced back at Angela, who had stopped with coughing spasms.
Tara fell back and put a hand on her shoulder. “Angie, are you okay?”
“Sipped water…down wrong pipe." Angela coughed so hard she bent over, her shades falling to the ground.
Tara picked them up.
“Go on, I’ll be fine.” Angela gasped, waving her away.
“You sure?” asked Tara.
“Go now! I’m fine.” Angela’s coughing lessened, but she seemed fatigued.
Tara resumed her power walk stride, glancing over her shoulder at her friend.
“One mile,” called out a monitor with a stopwatch, noting numbers and scribbling on a clipboard. Tara pushed hard. Sweat formed at her hairline. She peered back to see Angela stumbling. Something was wrong.
Should she go back? She slowed, trying to decide. What’s more important, helping a friend or doing my own test? Tara stopped and went back to help.
“Shoot, I can do this—I’ve done it before,” Angela puffed toward Tara. “Go on.”
“No. I’ll help you.” She grabbed hold of Angela, helping her along.
“Twelve minutes,” hollered a monitor, noting their numbers on his clipboard.
They weren’t going to make it with twenty-two minutes left.
“I can’t—I feel dizzy—” Angela stopped, panting.
Gunnar rode up on a bike and stopped. “What’s wrong?”
“Angela is feeling lightheaded.” Tara helped her friend off the track to the grass.
Angela pressed fingertips to her temples. “I feel awful as all get out…I…” she trailed off and her knees buckled.
Gunnar threw down his bike and caught her before she hit the ground.
“Let’s get this weight off your back.” Gunnar unbuckled the straps and helped Angela out of her pack.
“Thanks. That feels better,” mumbled Angela, wiping her forehead.
“Man, this feels heavy.” Gunnar lifted Angela’s pack and peeked inside. He pulled out two ten-pound weights. “I gave you one weight. There’s two in here.”
“What? How can there be two?” panted Angela, staring at him in alarm.
Gunnar seemed puzzled. “No wonder you had a tough time.”
“How could that have happened?” Tara helped her friend to sit on the grass.
Ryan jogged up. “What’s going on?”
“Angela couldn’t finish. Her pack was over-weighted,” said Tara.
Ryan gave her an odd look and squatted next to Angela. “Let’s check your heart rate.” He pressed fingers on the side of her neck, checking his watch. “How do you feel?”
“Like grim death. Everything’s spinning.”
“Your pulse is erratic.” Ryan offered her his water bottle. “Drink this. Slowly.” He nodded at Gunnar. “Take her to the med clinic.” He keyed his radio. “Need a golf-cart at the one-mile mark.”
A voice on the radio acknowledged.
Angela’s doe-eyes watered. “I can do this. Let me try it again.”
Tara turned to Ryan. “She can test again, right? This wasn’t her fault.”
“First we have to get her to the med clinic.” He extended an arm to Gunnar. “Let me see her pack.”
Gunnar handed it over. “I only gave her one ten-pound weight. There’s two in here.”
Ryan lifted it. “It does feel heavier than forty-five. I’ll weigh it to be sure.”
The golf cart pulled up. “Come on, I’ll take you.” Gunnar helped Angela into the back seat and hopped in next to her.
“You’ll be all right, Angela,” Tara called after
