Page 72 of Weatherman

“Hey, motherfucker!” Clem shouted. “You can’t leave ’til you pay us!”

“Sue me!”

Clem lifted his rifle and pulled the trigger. The man screamed as the bullet pierced his spine and burst from his chest in a red spray. He tumbled from the vehicle, and his pants leg caught onone of the pedals, leaving his body hanging there half on and half off.

Walt dropped his gun and yelled, “You kilt him!”

“No shit, Sherlock!”

Weatherman snatched his pistol and desperately tried to gain some control. “Clem, this has gone far enough. Let’s get on our vehicles and get out of here while we still have a chance. The fire might already have us surrounded, but if we all make a run for it, we might make it.”

Clem laughed with an evil sneer. “You’re one dumb motherfucker, ain’t cha? You think after seeing me shoot that asshole, I’m gonna go skipping down the mountain arm in arm with your ass?”

The noise was lower and wider. More trees ignited, and Weatherman knew the underbrush was next. Soon this whole area would be engulfed. The choices open to him and Fine were die by fire while running for their lives or die by bullet in an instant.

I’m so sorry, Opal.

He snapped up his pistol and braced for the hit he knew was coming.

Clem staggered back as a splash of red hit his chest. His mouth opened as if he couldn’t believe what just happened. “You shot me!”

Walt slung the rifle over his shoulder. “Yep.” He ran to the Polaris, jerked Snooty’s dead body from the four-wheeler, and started it up.

Fine got his voice back. “D-Do we stop him?”

“No.” Weatherman ran to the cage and shot the cheap lock off. He opened the door and jumped back as the big cat exploded from the steel bars. The animal didn’t waste any time before it took off into the woods.

“Good luck, buddy.” He didn’t waste any more words, just waved at Fine to start running.

It was a long way back to their vehicles, and the terrain was hard to manipulate with any kind of speed. Their best bet was to get to the individual fire shelters they carried. At this point, it was the only chance they had—and a crapshoot at best. The shelters were a last-ditch effort that might or might not save their lives.

The air grew hazy with smoke. Weatherman could hear Fine’s labored breathing as they ran. Another danger of forest fires was the toxic gases the flames gave off. Carbon monoxide was one, along with a concoction of hydrocarbons, nitrogen oxides, carbon dioxide, and several volatile organic compounds. This recipe brought lung damage at best and death at worst. He coughed and pulled his shirt over his nose and mouth, making it awkward to run and breathe, but he had to keep going. His eyes burned, and his mouth had a woody taste to it. His legs pumped as fast as he could make them, and he prayed he wouldn’t fall. If he or Fine went down, it was over.

Another rumble split the sky.

They almost missed the four-wheelers. Fine was crying when he spotted them in the distance. “Over there!”

A bush flared up next to one of the vehicles.

“Grab the shelter! Deploy!” Weatherman yelled. His voice came out garbled, and he coughed hard to clear what he could. He snatched up the pack and tore it open as he kept running. “Get closer to the creek!”

Both men wrapped the shrouds around them to shield themselves as they ran. Their only chance was to get to a clear area and finish deploying the silvery sheathes.

They stumbled along, coughing and gasping. Weatherman’s eyes watered as he searched for any open spot. He finally spotted something through the poisonous vapor. “There!”

He threw himself on the ground and rolled to get the shelter anchored. Fine bumped his side as he landed next to him, but neither man had time or breath to speak. A roasting heat rolled over them in a hot, dry wind, scorching their lungs as they gasped for whatever air they could get.

Another huge rumble crashed above. Weatherman whipped the shelter over his head and tucked himself into a ball with his hands over his ears and mouth just as the flames reached him in a deafening roar.

God, take care of my family.

CHAPTER 33

All the DragonRunners men had returned, tired, dirty, hungry, and thirsty.

All of them except one.

I fell to my knees at the news. My legs wouldn’t support me anymore.

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