better than
beating the bushes looking for a solo hiker on foot. Leaving anyone out here
wasn’t an option, particularly a civilian who wouldn’t know how to take cover
and maximize his chances of survival. As soon as the fire hopped the hill, the
entire hotshot team would be flat-out sprinting for safety. There simply
weren’t too many good spots here to hole up and hope for the best.
The road split. “You voting left or
right?” Luke asked the bobblehead stuck to his dash. The cheerleader doll
sported the Incident Commander’s face, cut out from a newspaper article and
glued on. The guys on his team loved practical jokes, and that one had been fun.
The doll’s blond hair and supersized tits shimmied as he steered the truck
left.
There were undoubtedly all sorts of
valid and compelling reasons why Rogue Camper wouldn’t have evacuated
voluntarily. Car troubles. Sleeping pill. Heart attack. Wannabe photographer
who thought scoring an up-close-and-personal video of the firestorm would
guarantee YouTube stardom and a thousand bucks from the local news station.
None of these, however, were reasons worth dying for. After two tours in
Afghanistan, Luke had seen all sorts of reasons for dying. Some he’d been on
board with. Others had been flat-out stupid. Fire fell into the second
category.
There.
He caught a flash of metal through
the trees. Someone had parked a beat-up, powder-blue Cadillac by the stream.
Another foot and the car would have been in the water, although the six inches of mountain water didn’t pose much of a
danger. It was the principle of the thing. Someone had converted the old
Cadillac into a truck, the low boat of a car now sporting a bona fide truck
bed. He couldn’t see a tent in the clearing, but there was definitely a blanket-covered
mound in the back of the Caddy.
Shit. If the camper was already
dead, the return trip would suck.
Pulling over, he radioed in his
position. “I’ve got our missing vehicle. I’m making contact now.”
“Roger that.” Pick’s voice crackled
over the headset. “Load him up quick because the fire’s gonna crest soon and I
left my fucking crystal ball at home. Maybe the flames jump the road, maybe they
don’t, but I wouldn’t be hanging around to admire the scenery.”
“Ten-four.” He left the truck ready
because a speedy getaway was clearly the order of the day. When he got out, the
air was smoky but still breathable.
“Black Mountain hotshot crew.” He
announced his presence as he strode toward the Caddy. If the guy was still
okay, scaring the camper into a heart attack would only make the situation more
challenging. “The campground’s under a mandatory evacuation.”
He shone his flashlight into the
truck bed, expecting to see movement. And… got nothing. A small white head popped up
from beneath the blanket mound. The dog was small and squat, its sides wider
than it was high. It panted happily, the crystals in its pink collar flashing
in Luke’s light. Okay. If the dog was breathing fine, the camper should be too.
He’d roust the sleeper, get him or her back into the Caddy and onto the road. Reaching
into the truck bed, he grabbed the closest piece of Blanket Mountain and shook.
“Fire department. There’s a
mandatory evacuation.”
Sleeping Beauty sat up, and Luke
had a whole different problem on his hands. Or, rather, in his palm , because he was cupping a
stranger’s breast. Granted, it was a mighty fine breast that was completely free-range
beneath a worn T-shirt. Mystery camper had huge tits.
“If you’re not buying me a beer,
that boob’s off-limits. I’ve got a guard dog, and Vicious will kick your ass.” Maybe
the exhaustion and grogginess in her voice explained how she’d slept through a
forest fire creeping up on her. The earplugs she yanked out had to have been a
contributing factor as well. Who the hell wore earplugs way out here in the
forest where the only night noises were a few crickets and marauding
beating the bushes looking for a solo hiker on foot. Leaving anyone out here
wasn’t an option, particularly a civilian who wouldn’t know how to take cover
and maximize his chances of survival. As soon as the fire hopped the hill, the
entire hotshot team would be flat-out sprinting for safety. There simply
weren’t too many good spots here to hole up and hope for the best.
The road split. “You voting left or
right?” Luke asked the bobblehead stuck to his dash. The cheerleader doll
sported the Incident Commander’s face, cut out from a newspaper article and
glued on. The guys on his team loved practical jokes, and that one had been fun.
The doll’s blond hair and supersized tits shimmied as he steered the truck
left.
There were undoubtedly all sorts of
valid and compelling reasons why Rogue Camper wouldn’t have evacuated
voluntarily. Car troubles. Sleeping pill. Heart attack. Wannabe photographer
who thought scoring an up-close-and-personal video of the firestorm would
guarantee YouTube stardom and a thousand bucks from the local news station.
None of these, however, were reasons worth dying for. After two tours in
Afghanistan, Luke had seen all sorts of reasons for dying. Some he’d been on
board with. Others had been flat-out stupid. Fire fell into the second
category.
There.
He caught a flash of metal through
the trees. Someone had parked a beat-up, powder-blue Cadillac by the stream.
Another foot and the car would have been in the water, although the six inches of mountain water didn’t pose much of a
danger. It was the principle of the thing. Someone had converted the old
Cadillac into a truck, the low boat of a car now sporting a bona fide truck
bed. He couldn’t see a tent in the clearing, but there was definitely a blanket-covered
mound in the back of the Caddy.
Shit. If the camper was already
dead, the return trip would suck.
Pulling over, he radioed in his
position. “I’ve got our missing vehicle. I’m making contact now.”
“Roger that.” Pick’s voice crackled
over the headset. “Load him up quick because the fire’s gonna crest soon and I
left my fucking crystal ball at home. Maybe the flames jump the road, maybe they
don’t, but I wouldn’t be hanging around to admire the scenery.”
“Ten-four.” He left the truck ready
because a speedy getaway was clearly the order of the day. When he got out, the
air was smoky but still breathable.
“Black Mountain hotshot crew.” He
announced his presence as he strode toward the Caddy. If the guy was still
okay, scaring the camper into a heart attack would only make the situation more
challenging. “The campground’s under a mandatory evacuation.”
He shone his flashlight into the
truck bed, expecting to see movement. And… got nothing. A small white head popped up
from beneath the blanket mound. The dog was small and squat, its sides wider
than it was high. It panted happily, the crystals in its pink collar flashing
in Luke’s light. Okay. If the dog was breathing fine, the camper should be too.
He’d roust the sleeper, get him or her back into the Caddy and onto the road. Reaching
into the truck bed, he grabbed the closest piece of Blanket Mountain and shook.
“Fire department. There’s a
mandatory evacuation.”
Sleeping Beauty sat up, and Luke
had a whole different problem on his hands. Or, rather, in his palm , because he was cupping a
stranger’s breast. Granted, it was a mighty fine breast that was completely free-range
beneath a worn T-shirt. Mystery camper had huge tits.
“If you’re not buying me a beer,
that boob’s off-limits. I’ve got a guard dog, and Vicious will kick your ass.” Maybe
the exhaustion and grogginess in her voice explained how she’d slept through a
forest fire creeping up on her. The earplugs she yanked out had to have been a
contributing factor as well. Who the hell wore earplugs way out here in the
forest where the only night noises were a few crickets and marauding
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