Chapter 22 #3
“Cripes, Ace! You know the Forest Service and Precision Aviation regs about firefighters carryin’ weapons.”
“I’m technically not an aerial firefighter today. Someone shot at you, and Kylie’s been kidnapped. Plus, Deanna isn’t answering her phone. Let the Forest Service fire me, but I’m not heading out unarmed.”
Colton wanted to argue, but someone tried to kill him today, so all bets were off.
“Good point. My tanker took three rounds,” he said, turning onto the forest road. “One went through the slurry tank. Had it hit the fuel line, I wouldn’t be here right now.”
“Any idea where the shots came from?”
“Not sure. Had to be someone who knew my flight path,” said Colton. “Westlake texted me, saying Mills thought the shots came from the north of my position near the Copper Creek blowup.”
“Or someone on the Air Attack channel.” Ace studied a map on his phone. “There’s another Forest Service road on the north side that leads to cabins near Georgetown Lake.”
Colton tossed his phone on the dash. “Still nothing from Deanna.”
“She probably has spotty cell service,” Ace said.
“She went looking for Kylie. I guarantee it.” Colton took a turn too fast, tires sliding on the gravel.
“Sweet mother of holy hell, slow down, dude!” Ace grabbed the “oh shit handle,” to right himself. “Deanna’s a smokejumper. She’s got this.”
“Not against someone with a rifle, desperate enough to shoot aircraft.” Colton swung onto another road and floored the gas pedal. The truck fishtailed hard, tires chewing through loose gravel.
“Mother of God, Colt, slow the fuck down!” yelled Ace.
Colton rolled his eyes at his buddy as they climbed into the mountains, passing smoky, burned areas. Active fire burned to the west of them, devouring the forest. Without aerial support, the ground crews didn’t stand a chance.
“There.” Ace pointed to a barely visible side road. “This road leads to the old mining district. A dozen old cabins up there, mostly abandoned.”
Colton turned, the truck bouncing over ruts and washouts. His phone rang, but when he grabbed it, Westlake’s name appeared instead of Deanna’s.
“Davis, where are you?”
“Searching for Kylie. And Deanna isn’t answering her phone.”
“She signed out a Forest Service truck three hours ago to drive up toward Mount Haggin, said she’d be scouting for fire crew escape routes when the fire moves that way,” said Westlake.
“Mount Haggin, huh?” Colton gave Ace a thumbs-up. “Lots of cross-country ski cabins up around there.”
“The ADLC officers found Zeb Rader’s truck at a trailhead near you. No sign of him, only camping gear and extra fuel cans. He’s definitely in these mountains,” said Westlake.
“We’ll keep our eyes open,” said Colton.
“Davis, return to base and let the professionals handle it.”
Colton ignored the last and ended the call.
Ace examined his weapon again. “You really think Deanna’s out here?”
“I know she is.” The same premonition had gripped him four years ago, before the weather took a turn for the worse. “She wants to find Kylie. She feels guilty, thinks the kidnapping was her fault.”
“By getting herself killed?” blurted Ace. “That’s no way to do it.”
Colton bit his lip as the road conditions worsened with each mile. Twice they stopped to chainsaw through a couple of blowdowns from the high winds. The smoke thickened as they drove uphill, reducing visibility to less than a quarter mile.
Colton’s phone found one signal bar. He tried Deanna. One ring, then voicemail. “No answer.” His hand tightened around the phone, his jaw ticking.
“Maybe someone else has her phone,” reasoned Ace.
The possibility hadn’t occurred to him, and his breath snagged.
A Forest Service truck appeared through the smoke, parked at an angle blocking half the road. No one was inside.
“I’ll bet that’s Deanna’s Forest Service rig,” Colton said, parking behind it. Both men got out, Ace keeping his hand near his concealed weapon.
Sure enough, Deanna’s daypack rested on the passenger seat, along with her handheld radio. The keys dangled in the ignition.
Colton furrowed his brow. “She wouldn’t leave her radio or her keys.”
“Not voluntarily,” said Ace.
Colton circled the truck, searching for evidence of a struggle.
Nothing.
No scuffed dirt, no drag marks, no blood. The smoke swallowed the road in both directions and gave back nothing.
“Deanna!” His shout died in the thick air. The engine ticked as it cooled, and the wind combed the treetops.
He reached into the cab and pocketed her keys and radio. If she came back, she wouldn’t be going anywhere without finding him first. If she didn’t come back . . . he refused to finish that thought.
“Zeb Rader’s truck at a trailhead.” Ace scanned the tree line, hand near his concealed weapon. “And now hers, sitting empty.”
“Don’t.” Colton swallowed. Hard. “Don’t say it.”
But the facts stacked up, cold and quick. A kidnapper loose in these mountains. A shooter who knew flight paths. And the woman he loved, out here alone.
Frustration and anger had grown into a gritty resolve as the smoke up the road thinned, and a figure took shape inside it, coming toward them fast.
Ace’s hand dropped to his Glock.