Tara shoved the GPS tracker in her back pocket and held out the dog-eared topo map to Rego. “Screw the GPS. Where do you think we are according to this?”
“Here, Deadman’s Ravine.” He pointed to the same spot on the map both Silva and Tara had pointed out.
“We have to climb this damn-near vertical mountain.” Tara squinted at an area on the topo map where the lines squeezed together. “This is our only way out.”
Rego glanced at the barely visible base of the mountain. “We sure as hell can’t stay here.” Debris and firebrands now rained down on them.
Tara returned the dead radio into Silva’s waist holster. “I’ll get everyone out, okay?”
“Thanks.” Silva nodded with bloodshot eyes. A racking cough consumed him, and he doubled over.
“Listen up, everyone,” shouted Tara, pointing to the slope. “I’m taking over for Silva. We’ve got to run for it up that steep mountain. Rego, help me get everyone up. Haul ass!” Tara knew this escape route was a gamble. Fire ran fastest uphill, but they’d die if they stayed in the ravine.
“Don’t have to tell me twice,” Tupa intoned in his deep voice.
“Tupa, help Liz with Silva. Go!” Tara dodged airborne debris as she broke into a run to the base of the hellacious mountain.
Rego herded the crew like a border collie as they followed Tara up the mountain like frightened, lost children. Tupa grabbed Silva on one side and Liz took the other, sliding her arm around Silva’s waist. He towered over her, but Liz was strong. If anyone could get Silva up the mountain, Liz could.
Tara brought up the rear to make sure everyone got out before the ravine lived up to its name. She scrambled up, clawing at rocks and clutching alder to hoist herself up the near-vertical incline. Sometimes she clambered on all fours. She tripped on a dropped Pulaski and nearly lost her footing. Moving fast proved treacherous, but they had no choice.
It was then she thought of her good friend. She called out. “Angela, are you up there?”
“Behind you,” called out Liz. She barely made out the figures of Liz and Silva up ahead in the heavy smoke.
Tara peered behind to see a figure climbing. “Angela?”
“I’m here,” panted Angela.
“Come on, Angie, hurry!” Tara thought everyone was ahead of her. In her near-panic state she hadn’t noticed Angela lagging behind.
An alder branch slapped Tara’s face as she continued scaling upslope. Needle-sharp spruce boughs spiked her skin. Thank God for goggles.
Another low rumble grew louder.
“Retardant ship is back!” shouted Tara. The DC-10 was a sure indicator they’d die if they couldn’t outrun the flames. Tara prayed the drop would buy them time enough to escape. Her head throbbed.
“Everyone down!”
Metal gates opened, hurling another ocean of gel at them as the DC-10 passed over, leaving only the petrifying rumble and the snap of flames powered by high winds.
“Go, go, go!” Tara’s terror spurred her to climb faster.
A blood-curdling scream sounded behind her and faded. Tara stopped, coughing under her neckerchief. She peered down into smoke. “Angela?”
No answer.
“Angie, answer me!” Tara picked her way down, peering through smoke. Couldn’t see a damn thing. Did Angela fall?
“Liz, help Jon and keep going. I’m going back for Angela,” Tara called up to her.
“Okay, but hurry.” Liz tugged Silva upward and they vanished in the smoke.
Tara debated. She was alone, but she couldn’t leave Angela. She picked her way back down, her boots seeking purchase.
“Angela, answer me!” she screamed, her boots sliding on loose soil.
No response.
“Angela!” She dug her heels into the rock shale. Each downward progression meant death if she didn’t get her ass in gear. Her next step avalanched her down a rockslide. Arms flailing, she clasped an alder, held on, and stopped herself from sliding to the bottom.
Her boot thudded against something. Coughing, she made out a figure, face down on the precipitous incline, unmoving.
“Talk to me, Angela.” Tara knelt next to her. Still no response.
Oh God, is she dead?
Tara slapped her cheeks. “Angie, please, say something,” she choked, tears rolling. She saw Angela’s chest move. Breathing, but unconscious. She must have hit her head. No time for first aid. No time for anything. “Oh God, Angie, how do I get you up this stinking mountain?”
Think. Dad slung me over his shoulder when I was little. Fireman’s carry.
Tara stabilized herself and dug her boots in. She removed Angela’s pack. She couldn’t carry both and had no choice but to leave it. Grabbing Angela’s arm, Tara tugged her friend to a sitting position, her head flopping like a rag doll. She bent to position Angela across her shoulder and struggled to stand. Her boot slid and she teetered, fighting to keep her balance.
She gripped Angela with her left arm and keep her right hand free to grasp brush and tree limbs to pull herself up. Her friend grew heavier with each uphill push. Tara clung to the side of the mountain, her head down. She lifted her left leg and dug her boot in for stability, then pushed off with her right foot. It was slow going with the extra weight.
The flame front closed in roaring like a pissed-off Godzilla, snapping and exploding trees. Smoke billowed, choking her. Where’s the damn ridgetop?
Step up, dig in, step up, dig in.
Angela’s too heavy. I won’t make it.
She stopped, panting hard. Teetering, she lost her footing. As she fought to keep from skidding, Angela slid off her shoulder and rolled downhill.
“No-o-o--!” screamed Tara as her dear friend disappeared into heavy smoke.
Chapter 35
Zombie met the jumper’s bus when it stopped at the Jump Shack. He flagged down Ryan and Gunnar.
“A crew is in trouble on the Shackelford Fire. Need to send a couple of jumpers with current heli-rappel certification. Looks like it’s you two.” He peered over skinny eyeglasses at Ryan. “More hazard pay and overtime will put you one step closer to your Cessna.”
The jumpers exchanged impassive looks.
Ryan marveled at Zombie knowing which carrot to dangle. It was no secret how badly Ryan
