“Never said anything that wasn’t true.” Hudson reminded him of a fangless rattlesnake coiled on his bed. All rattle and no bite.
Ryan thought a moment. “Tara strung you up on the moose all by herself? She’s strong, but…” He pursed his lips amused, visualizing his ripped girlfriend bench-pressing Hudson. He couldn’t keep a grin from forming.
“Woke the fuck up and couldn’t get the fuck down. Ow.” Hudson winced, moving his leg. “Had to get a ride to AFS with a village crew from Circle.”
“Is that right?” Ryan folded his arms. Humor the douchebag. “Maybe they did it, thinking you might have put extra weight in Angela’s pack before her fitness test.” He stood at the end of Hudson’s bed. “So, did you, Mike?”
Hudson’s demeanor changed to unconcern. “Doesn’t matter. My stepdad runs the whole shit-show. I’m not worried, but your slutty girlfriend should be. I’ll make sure she’s fired.” Hudson shrugged. “And I’m pressing charges.”
Ryan stared at Hudson as if he’d sprouted devil horns, which wasn’t hard to imagine. “You’re what?”
“You heard me,” sneered Hudson.
“Dude, that’s fucked up, even for you.” Tara wouldn’t deliberately harm anyone—it didn’t fit her. He moved closer. “What happened up there? Truth.”
“God’s honest truth?” Hudson leered at him. “I nailed her.”
Ryan debated whether to beat the shit out of Hudson or just slug him. “Care to elucidate?”
Hudson’s lipless grin reminded Ryan of a happy serial killer boasting of his latest conquest. “Your slutty girlfriend slept with me. She’s a tiger.” He growled like one.
The walls rushed in at Ryan and back out again. He fantasized torturing Hudson with a drip torch, then dousing him with salt and acid. Damn, he left his drip torch with his fire pack. He considered smothering him with a pillow.
“Don’t think so. Tara can’t stand your sorry ass.” Ryan’s neck vein pulsated.
“Don’t believe me? Check the pocket of my shirt.” Hudson pointed to a chair in the corner with his dirty yellow Nomex draped over it.
Ryan walked over to the sooty shirt. He stuck his thumb and forefinger in the pocket and retrieved a dirty orange bandana smelling of smoke and eucalyptus. He studied it, incredulous.
“My souvenir for screwing her. She’s a good lay.”
Ryan knew Hudson was baiting him, but he couldn’t stop himself. Like a shot, he lunged and grasped Hudson’s hospital gown with both hands, yanking him close. “She wouldn’t give this to you. How’d you get it?” He knew this bandana held special significance for Tara. She was never without it.
Hudson smirked, cocky as hell. “Told you. I fucked her.”
Ryan twisted Hudson’s gown around his putrid throat. “That burning ash pit was nothing compared to what I’ll do to you,” he gritted, tightening his grip until Hudson’s face turned red.
Hudson narrowed his eyes. “You can’t touch me. My stepfather will fire your ass, pussy boy.” He lifted his cell phone. “I can make it happen right now.”
“Told you before not to fuck with me.” Ryan twisted Hudson’s gown with one hand and snatched Hudson’s phone with the other. He shoved it in his back pocket.
An abrupt siren sounded on Ryan’s phone. He knew what the text was without having to read it: Fire call! Report to Jump Shack ASAP.
He ignored it, still locked on Hudson, fighting the urge to kick his ass into next week.
“Hey tough boy, answer your phone,” gurgled Hudson.
Ryan let go, shoving Hudson hard against the headboard.
“Ow!” hollered Hudson. “You assaulted me.”
The tendons in Ryan’s neck and shoulders were so taut he thought they might snap. He stretched his neck and reset his shoulders. “You lucked out. I was getting ready to throw your pathetic ass through the window.”
“You don’t have the guts.” Hudson flashed him an overconfident grin.
“We’ll see.” Ryan slid on his Ray Bans and headed for the door, gripping the edge for control. If not for the fire call, he would have gone to work on the bastard.
“Gimme my phone,” snarled Hudson.
Ryan aimed a fake, toothy grin at the asshole. “Don’t think so.”
A nurse peeked around the door. “Time to change your dressings, Mr. Hudson.”
Ryan pointed his Ray Bans at him. “Shame about your mishap, Mr. Hudson. Too bad you won’t be back on fire anytime soon—if ever.”
“I said gimme my phone,” Hudson shot back, wincing as the nurse applied an antiseptic.
Ryan shrugged. “You must have misplaced it.” He left the room, his boots pounding the linoleum to the exit. He shoved the front hospital door open with such force, people turned and gaped. He sprinted to his car, peeled out of the parking lot, and sped through an intersection, unconcerned what color the traffic light was. Flicking eyes at the speedometer, he gunned it all the way back to Fort Wainwright, topping ninety.
He pulled out his cell and danced his thumb on Tara’s number. The call wouldn’t connect. Spotty cell service could be a pain in the ass at a fire base camp. He blew out a heavy sigh.
Hudson said some damning things. Ryan couldn’t for the life of him figure out why, other than he was an evil lunatic.
I’ll get to the bottom of it after I jump this fire.
Thankful for not being pulled over during his NASCAR sprint to Fort Wainwright, Ryan bolted from his Mustang into the Jump Shack. He beelined for his locker in the Ready Room. Gunnar was already suited up and helped Boone and the rest into their jump suits. Ryan shoved Hudson’s phone into a zippered pocket. He’ll sift through it when he gets some down time.
“Our chariot awaits. Get your ass in gear.” Gunns helped Ryan into his Kevlar jump suit and they waddled out to the Dornier 228 fixed wing, propellers spinning.
“Where to?” Ryan clipped his PG bag onto his harness and secured it.
“Delta Junction. Storm blew in, lightning and sixty mile per hour winds
