like cats!â
Megan shuddered.
He took something out of his pants pocket and flicked one hand against the other. Megan realized he was striking a match.
He flung the lighted match onto the balloon fabric. A path of fire raced along the edge of the balloon, following the trail of gasoline.
Shane lit another match and threw it in the wicker basket.
Poof! Flames erupted, filling the center of the basket.
Shane did not wait to watch the balloon burn. He ran to the car and got in.
Boom! The propane tank in the basket exploded. Pieces of the metal frame that had held the gas jets flew into the forest. Flaming wicker shot into the air like rockets.
Megan ducked, holding her hands over her head.
Shane started the engine.
I need to be a better witness than I was last time, Megan thought. She wasnât worried about describing the man; she knew exactly what he looked like. But if she got out of this alive, the police would ask her about the car as well.
While Shane made a U-turn, Megan looked at the license plate. There was just enough firelight for her to see it: KKB 513. She repeated it to herself: KKB 513.
With no way to write it down, she feared she would forget it, so she made up words to go with the letters.
Kittens. Kylie. Balloon.
There were five cats. Thirteen was considered an unlucky number, and this was definitely Meganâs unlucky day.
Kittens, Kylie, balloon
; five cats and unlucky thirteen.
Shane drove away from the fire.
From her place behind the tree, Megan watched the carbump along. The road was little more than a path, but she could tell it led down the hill. She watched until the red taillights disappeared into the trees.
By then the entire balloon was on fire. Yellow and red flames leaped skyward, illuminating the meadow where the balloon had dropped. Shane had landed close to the eastern edge of the grassy area; if the balloon had traveled much farther, they would have come down in the woods.
Some tall grass next to the blazing basket started to burn. The fire spread away from the basket, as more grass and underbrush ignited.
This could start a forest fire, Megan thought. This whole hill could go up in flames!
She ran to the burning grass and stamped on it, smothering the flames with her shoes.
A patch of weeds near the top end of the balloon caught fire. Megan tried to stamp it out, too, but those flames were higher. They leaped around her ankles, scorching the cuffs of her jeans.
Megan jumped aside. She took off her windbreaker and raised it over her head to beat at the fire.
She remembered the envelope. Whatever was in it, Shane had acted as if it were important. She took the envelope out of her windbreaker and wedged it into the back pocket of her jeans before she flung the windbreaker down on the fire.
Whack! Whack! She hit the flames over and over until only smoke remained.
Sparks rained down. A clump of weeds flared up. Megan circled the balloon, stamping out hot spots that threatened to spread.
Maybe someone will see the fire, she thought. Maybe the Forest Service has a lookout tower that has a view of this area. Perhaps an airplane will fly over and the fire will be visible from the air. By now, people at the balloon festival would have notified the police; maybe a police helicopter was already searching for her.
The fire died down within minutes. The balloon was completely gone; only a charred, smoking section of the meadow remained where the beautiful blue-and-green fabric had landed. The basket continued to smolder.
Megan wondered if she should keep the fire going. She could break branches from the trees and feed the flames. She could stay near the fire so that if a helicopter did fly over, the pilot would be sure to see her.
But what if no air search was in progress, or they didnât fly over this area?
I should hike down the path that Shane drove, she decided. It must connect with a road at the bottom of the hill. If there are grizzly bears and mountain lions in
Megan shuddered.
He took something out of his pants pocket and flicked one hand against the other. Megan realized he was striking a match.
He flung the lighted match onto the balloon fabric. A path of fire raced along the edge of the balloon, following the trail of gasoline.
Shane lit another match and threw it in the wicker basket.
Poof! Flames erupted, filling the center of the basket.
Shane did not wait to watch the balloon burn. He ran to the car and got in.
Boom! The propane tank in the basket exploded. Pieces of the metal frame that had held the gas jets flew into the forest. Flaming wicker shot into the air like rockets.
Megan ducked, holding her hands over her head.
Shane started the engine.
I need to be a better witness than I was last time, Megan thought. She wasnât worried about describing the man; she knew exactly what he looked like. But if she got out of this alive, the police would ask her about the car as well.
While Shane made a U-turn, Megan looked at the license plate. There was just enough firelight for her to see it: KKB 513. She repeated it to herself: KKB 513.
With no way to write it down, she feared she would forget it, so she made up words to go with the letters.
Kittens. Kylie. Balloon.
There were five cats. Thirteen was considered an unlucky number, and this was definitely Meganâs unlucky day.
Kittens, Kylie, balloon
; five cats and unlucky thirteen.
Shane drove away from the fire.
From her place behind the tree, Megan watched the carbump along. The road was little more than a path, but she could tell it led down the hill. She watched until the red taillights disappeared into the trees.
By then the entire balloon was on fire. Yellow and red flames leaped skyward, illuminating the meadow where the balloon had dropped. Shane had landed close to the eastern edge of the grassy area; if the balloon had traveled much farther, they would have come down in the woods.
Some tall grass next to the blazing basket started to burn. The fire spread away from the basket, as more grass and underbrush ignited.
This could start a forest fire, Megan thought. This whole hill could go up in flames!
She ran to the burning grass and stamped on it, smothering the flames with her shoes.
A patch of weeds near the top end of the balloon caught fire. Megan tried to stamp it out, too, but those flames were higher. They leaped around her ankles, scorching the cuffs of her jeans.
Megan jumped aside. She took off her windbreaker and raised it over her head to beat at the fire.
She remembered the envelope. Whatever was in it, Shane had acted as if it were important. She took the envelope out of her windbreaker and wedged it into the back pocket of her jeans before she flung the windbreaker down on the fire.
Whack! Whack! She hit the flames over and over until only smoke remained.
Sparks rained down. A clump of weeds flared up. Megan circled the balloon, stamping out hot spots that threatened to spread.
Maybe someone will see the fire, she thought. Maybe the Forest Service has a lookout tower that has a view of this area. Perhaps an airplane will fly over and the fire will be visible from the air. By now, people at the balloon festival would have notified the police; maybe a police helicopter was already searching for her.
The fire died down within minutes. The balloon was completely gone; only a charred, smoking section of the meadow remained where the beautiful blue-and-green fabric had landed. The basket continued to smolder.
Megan wondered if she should keep the fire going. She could break branches from the trees and feed the flames. She could stay near the fire so that if a helicopter did fly over, the pilot would be sure to see her.
But what if no air search was in progress, or they didnât fly over this area?
I should hike down the path that Shane drove, she decided. It must connect with a road at the bottom of the hill. If there are grizzly bears and mountain lions in
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