Page 55 of Fireline

“Easy…easy does it.”

She put one boot in front of the other. Forced herself to keep going. One crumbling passage then another. More than once she freaked herself out, thinking she’d heard scratching or boots splashing in water.

“Hey! Who goes there?” A man’s voice echoed through the tunnel.

Nova jumped, sending pain tearing through her body. White stars cluster-bombed her vision.

She had to be hallucinating.

A beam of light swept the floor in front of her. Less than twenty feet away stood the outline of a hulking figure.

Her instinct was to curl up in a little ball and hide. She’d faced down a mountain lion, but she didn’t have any more fight in her.

“I…I’m sorry—” Her voice came out hoarse.

“Speak up!” the figure bellowed. “Who are you, and what’n blazes are you doing in my cave?”

Nova swallowed. A hot tear rolled down her cheek. “I—I fell through a shaft and I’m hurt—” The lump in her throat made it hard to speak “My name is Nova. I didn’t mean to intrude. There was a fire and a mountain lion…”

“Sounds like you’ve been through a lot.” The man walked closer, his face illuminated by the flashlight. Bearded, with wild tufts of white hair, the old man looked downright grandfatherly. “Nice to finally meet you, Nova. Name’s Henry.”

Nova’s heart skipped a beat. No…okay…yes. She was definitely hallucinating. “Figures. I did hit my head. You’re not real.” She sagged against the wall. “Of course I think of you now. Probably because of Booth.”

“Who’s that?”

“This guy on my team. He was a Homeland Security agent and tells all these stories about a man named Crazy Henry that he says are all true.” Hope trembled in that single cracked word.

The old man straightened, then chuckled. “My reputation precedes me. Can’t say I get many visitors.” His brow furrowed. “In fact, I discourage it.”

“Crazy Henry! Booth was right.” She rasped an incredulous laugh that morphed to coughing. “You see, there was a fire. At the smokejumper base. I had to save this woman, but then Booth had to save me. And then he saw the guy who set the fire, and they fought, but he escaped. Then Booth went to meet his friend Crispin, and some other guy had beat him up then shot him. So we got a helicopter to take Crispin to the hospital so we could fight a wildfire. And before we go, Booth tells me he’s not really even a smokejumper. He’s a Homeland agent.”

Nova realized the words were pouring out, but she couldn’t stop herself. “Then we tried to save this mining camp, and I saw someone in a cabin. But the cabin collapsed and we almost died. And Crispin walked right out of the hospital. But some man called Booth saying he had Crispin, and Booth left saying he wanted his old life back, and I haven’t seen him. Not that I would out here…”

Nova rolled her eyes. Nausea churned in her stomach. She pushed on with her story while she still could.

“I did my routine skydive with my jump buddy, but his chute failed. He crashed into me. Thank God, because it kept him from…well, we finally got untangled, and he got his reserve out but…I don’t know if he made it because the wind dragged me through the fire and right over a cliff.” She paused.

Her breaths came in shallow pants that burned her broken ribs.

Henry cocked his head. “I’m assuming this is where the mountain lion comes in?”

She didn’t have it in her to do anything but nod.

“Now, that’s quite a tale.” Henry scratched his chin. “So this smokejumper Homeland agent…Booth, you said. He’s taking care of Crispin?”

“I…I guess.” Her head swam with dizziness. Whatever adrenaline had kept her going was waning. She couldn’t?—

Nova’s legs folded under her.

Henry caught her. “Okay, girlie. We best get you someplace where you can get some water and rest.”

She didn’t protest when Henry scooped her up, but her body did. Her breath caught, which sent lightning bolts of pain screaming through every muscle. She heard Henry grunt and then nothing at all.

ELEVEN

The trip back to Ember passed in a hazy blur. Booth clenched the steering wheel and pressed the gas pedal flat to the floor. He darted his eyes between the road and the rearview, expecting to spot Floyd or one of his men.

On the seat beside him, Crispin either slept or faded in and out of consciousness, his breaths shallow and uneven. His skin was pale, and beads of sweat dotted his forehead. Probably had an infection in his surgical wound.

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