“How close?”
“Two miles and closing. We’re jumping that portion, and the two CASA loads behind us will jump the Fort Greeley and Delta blowups. This fire’s nasty. They even had to evac bison from the Delta Junction Bison range.”
Ryan’s brows came together. “Hope Alyeska Pipeline Company shuts down their pumps to slow oil flow. Fire and crude oil don’t exactly mix.”
The loadmaster heaved cargo boxes into the back of the plane while Zombie barked orders. “O’Connor, you’re jumper-in-charge for third load. Boone, you’re JIC for second load.”
Gunnar lobbed a sandwich and some energy bars at Ryan as they boarded the jump ship, helmets tucked under their arms.
He settled into the aft of the plane and consulted his watch. ETA was thirty minutes. Fairbanks skies again full of smoke.
The Dornier lifted off. “Lots of tongues wagging down there.” Gunnar gestured with his head. “You should know what’s being said.”
“What tongues, who’s wagging?” Ryan rubbed his eyes, still agitated from his confrontation with Hudson.
“Guys at Wainwright are saying Tara’s sleeping around at fire camp.”
Ryan narrowed eyes at Gunnar. “What the hell are you talking about?”
“Hudson’s on social media posting all kinds of crap about her.”
“I visited the dickhead in the hospital, thinking it was the ‘right’ thing to do.” He shook his head. “What a waste of time.” He unzipped his pocked and retrieved Hudson’s phone. Not much juice left. He tapped the Facebook icon and up popped Hudson’s page. He scrolled, and sure enough, what Gunnar told him was true. He took screenshots of Hudson’s defamatory posts.
“What did Hudson say when you saw him?”
“That he slept with Tara and accused her of trying to kill him.” Ryan held up Hudson’s phone. “Same shit he posted here. The guy is messed up.”
“Scroll deeper, bro. He posted she did her fire instructor to pass training. And even screwed Jon Silva.” Gunnar shook his head.
Ryan scrolled with his thumb and saw the comments. “Evil prick. Why the hell would he do that?” He ran his fingers through his hair, peering out the windows. How had things spiraled down so fast?
He powered off the phone and shoved it in his pocket, zipping it closed. He pulled out Tara’s orange bandana from the sleeve he’d tucked it in. “Hudson said she gave this to him, but she wouldn’t do that. She’s never without it.”
“Sorry you had to hear about all the scuttle-butt about Tara.” Gunns leaned back, squinting out the window at the smoke.
“So you decided to tell me before we jump a blow-up near the biggest fucking oil pipeline on the continent.” Ryan shook his head, drumming his fingers and thumb on his thigh. “Your timing sucks, bro.”
Gunnar shrugged and adjusted his helmet and face mask. “Thought you should know.”
“Nothing I can do until after this fire, Gunns.” Ryan put on his helmet and took deep breaths. “Time to focus. See you on the ground.” He peered out the oval windows at the tall flame towers eating toward the Trans-Alaska Pipeline like it hungered for crude. They didn’t have much time.
Stu motioned to Ryan after removing the door, smoke and heat blowing inside. “High winds aloft, the jump spot is that large clearing. Two hundred yards of drift—don’t fly into the burn.” Stu pointed and tossed streamers out the door.
Ryan studied the conditions, watching erratic streamers toss like feathers. He nodded at Stu. “Yeah, got it.” Steady. Horizon. Focus. He gaped at the enormous swirling smoke columns.
The Dornier circled, jumping, and bucking from unstable air pushed by large thunderheads.
“Your objective is to protect the pipeline and you need to do it yesterday. Careful down there.” Stu waited for eye contact.
Ryan glanced at Stu and nodded. Stu slapped his shoulder and he leaned back and pitched himself out as he’d done countless times, disliking the whooshing sound of air whipping him like a piece of paper. He toggled hard for the clearing but winds pushed him toward burning trees. He toggled a hard left, forcing his stubborn chute toward the jump spot.
“Dammit!” He toggled hard as a gust rushed him toward a tall spruce. Skewering himself was a greater concern than jumping from the plane. He’d heard the horror stories and didn’t want to become one.
He missed the spruce, but hit the taller, dead snag next to it. He drew his feet together to kick the spear of the leader tip aside. Thankful for the metallic mask protecting his face, his body became a human chainsaw, shaving off brittle limbs and branches as he slid down the dead tree stem. One sharp branch tip threatened to harpoon his right leg. He prayed his Kevlar jumpsuit would do its job. His boots snapped branch after branch until he jerked to a halt. His chute caught the top of the snag and he dangled high above the ground.
He squinted up at the gaping hole in his chute. The nylon had torn. When it tore further, he dropped down a few feet. It ripped and he dropped again. Please hit a seam and hold. That’s why we sew reinforcements on the chute seams. He reached inside the pocket of the lower right leg of his jump suit for his let-down rope. Another rip dropped him further.
“Get the lead out. There’s this thing called a fire about to crisp our asses!” yelled Gunnar from the ground below.
“Think I don’t know that, dicklick?” The fast-advancing flame front rushed heat at Ryan’s face. He had to work fast.
“You’re fifty feet up. Want daddy to come rescue you?” Concern replaced Gunnar’s usual, carefree manner. “Make tracks, dude, or we’ll incinerate.”
Ryan eyed the flame towers racing toward them. “The top of this mother better not snap off,” he muttered, working at lightning speed to tie one end of the rope on the trunk so he
