Chapter 12
Moe had set the two glasses of lemonade on a table next to the porch swing when the explosion ripped through the peace and quiet, shaking the timbers beneath his feet.
Smoke billowed out of the southern end of the lodge.
Moe raced back toward the door he’d just come through. When he opened it, smoke and dust wrapped around him, making him cough. He dragged his T-shirt over his face and stepped into the foggy haze that had been the beautiful, light-filled lobby.
Unable to see past the nose on his face, Moe turned to his left and touched his hand to the wall. Moving slowly, he felt his way around the room, bumping into end tables, easing around couches and chairs and running into display signs.
Though he kept hunkered low, the smoke burned his eyes and lungs. Still, he pushed forward, cursing how slow he had to move, knowing he didn’t have time to waste. He had to get to Breely and get her out of the lodge before smoke inhalation claimed her.
When he finally made it to the hallway where the restrooms were located, he pushed through the door of the ladies’ room. Inside, the smoke and haze weren’t as thick. It didn’t take long to check all the stalls.
His heart sank to his knees. Breely wasn’t there.
Back out into the thickening smoke, Moe didn’t know where to begin. “Breely!” he called out through the fabric of his shirt.
He strained to listen for her response.
Had she run out into the lobby, gotten confused and collapsed due to smoke inhalation? Or had she headed for the nearest exit?
She was a smart woman. She’d get out through the nearest door.
He remembered the emergency exit at the end of the hallway and worked his way toward it. With one hand on the wall, the other in front of him, he ran until his hand hit the wall at the end of the hall. He pushed against the door lever and burst out into the open.
Moe dragged air into his lungs and scanned the area for Breely. She wasn’t there.
He ran around the side of the building toward the front of the lodge.
Nothing moved in the parking lot. Breely wasn’t there.
On the street beyond, a gray pest control van drove past as if nothing was wrong when, in fact, things had just gone to shit.
Where was Breely?
Moe raced back around the lodge to the rear, hoping Breely had come out that direction and was looking for him.
Stone and Kyla ran up from the barn. Tinker and John Jacobs raced up from the direction of one of the storage buildings.
Moe met them near the back porch.
“What happened?” Stone asked.
“There was an explosion,” Moe coughed. “I can’t find Breely.”
“Where was she the last time you saw her?” Kyla asked.
He tilted his head toward the lodge. “She’d gone to the restroom.”
When Kyla started for the entrance, Moe caught her arm. “I checked. She’s not in there.”
“The smoke and fire seem to be coming from the kitchen,” John said. “What about Cookie?”
“Sweet Jesus.” Kyla took off running.
They raced to the end of the building where the kitchen was located in time to see Cookie stumble through the kitchen door and drop to his knees, coughing and hacking.
Moe rushed to him. “Was Breely with you when the explosion happened?”
Cookie shook his head and coughed harder. “Last I…saw her…she was …with you.”
Sirens wailed in the distance, growing louder.
“Is there anyone else in the building,” Kyla asked.
Stone’s eyes narrowed. “Our team is all out for the day.”
John shook his head. “All the guests either checked out this morning or headed out to Yellowstone for the day. Shouldn’t be anyone inside.”
“Except Breely,” Moe started for the door.
Stone grabbed his arm. “It’s too smoky.”
Moe strained against Stone’s hold. “Let go. I need to get her out.”
“Does she have her phone on her?” Kyla asked.
Moe nodded. “In her back pocket.”
“Didn’t you put a phone locator app on yours and hers?” Kyla asked.
“Yes!” Moe dug his cell phone out of his back pocket and clicked on the phone finder app. If he knew exactly where she was, he might get to her faster.
The app brought up a map of West Yellowstone with a blue dot indicating his location and a circle with Breely’s tiny image pinpointing her position.
Moe cursed. “She’s not here.”
“What do you mean?” Stone leaned over Moe’s shoulder.
“She’s not in the lodge. She’s on Canyon Street headed north.”
“Toward the airport,” John Jacobs said.
“I’m calling the sheriff.” Stone stepped away and dialed 911.
Moe’s heart squeezed hard. How had he failed her so badly? He looked around. “I have to get there. If they put her on a plane…”
“Can you handle a dirt bike?” John Jacobs asked.
Moe nodded. “Raced them as a teen back in South Dakota.”
“Take my dirt bike,” John said.
“I’ll get it.” Tinker raced down the hill to a storage building.
Moe shook his head. “They have too big a head start.”
“You can go the back way,” John said. “Give me your phone.” He traced a thin line on the map. “That’s a dirt road. It’ll get you there faster. It just isn’t good for cars, but the motorcycle will handle it.”
With hope swelling in his chest, Moe took off after Tinker.
An engine roared from the metal building. A moment later, Tinker blasted around the side on a bike that had to have been used racing in motocross. He stopped beside Moe and leaped off.
Moe hopped on, hit the throttle and headed down the highway leading northwest out of town. Not far past the edge of West Yellowstone, he turned onto the dirt road John had shown him on the map. It was bumpy, full of potholes and overgrown with weeds and brush.
Moe hadn’t ridden a dirt bike in a decade. It bounced and jerked as it hit rough patches but handled the uneven terrain. Better than Moe did.
The dirt road intersected with another dirt road that ran parallel to the airport runway. This road was straight and more even than the previous road.
Moe opened up the throttle, leaned over the bike and flew like the wind.
Ahead, a speck in the sky got bigger, heading toward the north end of the airport. The closer it came, the better Moe could make out what it was.
A helicopter.
From what Moe remembered, the helicopter pad was near the smoke-jumper school at the north end of the airport.
The helicopter approached the airport and hovered over the pad.
Moe had the bike at full throttle. He could make it go faster but still wouldn’t get there before the helicopter that was slowly lowering to the ground.
As he neared the airport terminal area, he left the dirt road and turned into the parking lot where he’d picked up his rental car. At that moment, a maintenance vehicle passed through a gate, and the gate was closing slowly behind him.
Moe hit the throttle, swerved around the maintenance truck and raced out onto the tarmac.
The helicopter’s skids were just touching the ground, the length of the runway away.
What looked like a gray van drove past the fire training area, heading for the chopper.
Moe pushed the bike as fast as it would go. It wasn’t fast enough.
The van stopped short of the helicopter blades. The side door slid open. A blur of movement exploded out the door.
Red hair whipped in the wind as Breely darted away from the van and the helicopter.
Two men raced after her.
She ran at least thirty yards before the thinner man tackled her to the ground and held her there until the big guy caught up. Together, they lifted her between them.
Rage burned inside Moe. Just a little further.
His time was running out. The men had Breely and were heading to the helicopter.
Moe was fifty yards away when the men reached the chopper. As they tried to get inside with Breely, she bucked and twisted.
The thinner guy stumbled, dropped his hold on Breely’s legs and fell to the ground. He was up in a second, reaching for Breely’s legs.
She kicked out, catching the man in the chin and sending him flying backward.
When he came back at Breely, he backhanded her across her face.
Her head snapped to the right, and she lay still.
Moe’s hands tightened on the handlebars. He’d kill the guy for hurting Breely.
The men lifted her up and into the helicopter.
As they scrambled in behind her, Moe reached the helipad, driving up from the rear of the aircraft.
He raced straight for the open side door.
As he came alongside, the chopper started to rise into the air.
Moe flung himself off the bike and in through the open doorway, landing on top of the bigger man who’d been struggling to get to his feet.
He knocked the big guy flat on his belly.
Breely lay on the floor beside him, her eyes closed.
The helicopter rocked, hovering a few feet from the ground.
The skinnier guy cocked his leg and swung his foot straight at Moe’s head.
Moe rolled in time to avoid the man’s boot.
As the foot whizzed past his ear, Moe grabbed the man’s leg, twisted and shoved him backward.
He fell, landing hard against the other door.
The big guy beneath Moe bucked.
Moe rolled off him and let the man get to his knees.
As the man was pushing to his feet, Moe kicked hard, landing his boots in the man’s side with enough force to launch him backward.
He staggered a few feet. The helicopter pitched to the starboard.
The big man teetered, arms flailing wildly and fell out.
Moe leaped to his feet.
The other man pushed himself upright and lunged at Moe. Bigger and heavier than Moe, he had the advantage of weight.
Moe had the advantage of agility.
The man swung his fist.
Moe swayed right, grabbed the arm and twisted it up and around, jamming it high between the man’s shoulder blades.
Below him, Breely stirred and pushed to her feet. Her eyes widened when she saw Moe with her captor subdued.
She glanced around, grabbed a headset and yanked the cord out of the socket. Then she leaned over the back of the pilot’s seat, looped the cord around his neck and pulled tight. “Land! Now!” she yelled over the roar of the engine.
The pilot rocked the craft, trying to throw Breely off balance. She only pulled tighter.
Finally, the pilot lowered the helicopter, landing in the middle of the runway.
Once on the ground, she shouted into the pilot’s ear. “Shut it down! Now!”