Flashover (21 page)

“Listen, your boss wanted his stuff back and now you know where it is, so there's no reason to hurt anyone, right?”

“My boss wanted to thank you for the information and to release you from your obligation, Mr. Luzan.”

The man's voice edged up an octave. “Fine, fine. I don't care about me. I want you to promise you're not going to hurt Ivy and Tim, or Moe either.”

“That's a little melodramatic.”

“I don't think so after what happened to Cyril and Roger Smalley.”

“I did hear something about his car exploding. Tragic, really. You'd expect better from a European machine.”

“Don't play games. You won't hurt them, right? You'll get your stuff back and leave them alone?”

“Goodbye, Mr. Luzan. Don't call here again.”

After a nod from his boss, he disconnected and he went downstairs to hang the Closed sign in the bookstore window.

I
vy stood with her hand frozen in the air as the door slowly opened. Moe peeked out, his gaze darting back and forth, mouth twitching. It took all her self-control not to shout with joy. “Moe, hi. We are so glad to see you. Are you okay?”

He nodded.

“Can we come in for a minute?”

Moe stayed motionless for a moment and then he pulled the door open.

They went in. The space was dusty and hot; the only decoration was Moe's red sleeping bag and two brown paper sacks. A tiny TV sat on an old desk, Moe's videotapes beside it.

Tim settled himself on the floor next to Moe, who had folded himself into a small ball. “Moe? Your mother has been so sad that you ran away. Can you tell us why you left?”

He rocked slowly on the grimy floor.

Ivy was pleased to see empty water bottles on the floor. The poor man was not dehydrated. A half-empty box of graham crackers sat at neat right angles to the edge of Moe's sleeping bag. She joined them. “Did you get scared?”

He stopped rocking and nodded.

“Was it because of Cyril?”

Moe nodded again.

Ivy tried to catch his eye. “Did he give you something to hold for him?”

No answer.

Tim held up a cautioning hand to Ivy before he turned back to Moe. “It must have made you very sad, when you heard Cyril died.”

Moe didn't answer but his sniffles told them he'd started to cry.

Tim touched Moe gently on the arm. “It's sad when someone dies, isn't it? Your mother said you had a cat named Comet. Remember Comet?” He waited for Moe's nod. “Comet died and that made you very sad, too. Your mom said the pastor came to talk to you and he told you Comet was with Jesus.”

Moe stopped rocking and put his head on his knee, eyes closed.

Tim's voice was soft. “Jesus loves all of His people just like He loves Comet.”

The face Moe turned to Tim was dirty and streaked with tears. “Cyril?”

“Jesus holds Cyril next to His heart, Moe. He loves him and He loves you. When people go to live with Him, there are no more hurts or bad feelings. Do you understand?”

Ivy watched Tim as Moe wiped his sleeve across his face. At that moment, she felt an all-encompassing love for Tim. She knew, without question, that he was meant to be her soul mate, more important than her job, closer than her work brothers. The truth could not be denied any longer, no matter what the risk or the potential for hurt. Tears started up in her eyes. Tim had always been there for her. Why hadn't she seen it until now? She'd been blinded by Antonio's allure.

Swallowing hard, she fought for control. Though she wanted to wrap him in the biggest hug she could imagine and never let him go, she knew their main goal at the moment had to be solving the puzzle Cyril had left behind.

Tim had given Moe some graham crackers and a drink of water.

Ivy waited for him to eat a little. “Cyril gave you something, something to hold for him, didn't he?”

Moe nodded.

She kept her voice level. “Do you have it here with you?”

He rose and picked up the paper bag, handing it to Ivy before he went to work on the crackers again.

Hardly daring to breathe, Ivy opened the bag. It held two books. She pulled them out and laid them on the floor. One was a copy of
Animal Farm
and the other,
Cannery Row.
Her mind struggled to make sense of it. “Books?”

Tim came next to her and they flipped through the pages.

Moe's voice startled them both. “Forty-seven, six, fifteen, sixteen, seventeen.”

“What does that mean, Moe?” Ivy asked.

“Forty-seven, six, fifteen, sixteen, seventeen,” he repeated.

Tim flipped through
Animal Farm
and she did the same with
Cannery Row.

“Try page forty-seven,” Tim said, feverishly turning pages.

She found the page. “I don't see anything weird.” Her breath caught. “Wait, wait a minute. There are some numbers stuck here in the sixth paragraph.”

Tim peered over her shoulder. “Yup, just like Moe said. Page forty-seven, paragraph six, lines fifteen, sixteen and seventeen.” He squinted. “If you look at every second character of those lines I'd say we've got some kind of formula, or at least part of one.”

Her nerves jangled. “A formula for ZTR7 by any chance?”

He stared at her. “I'd bet money on it. And I'll bet
Animal Farm
has an interesting page or two also.”

“So someone is smuggling the drug formulas…”

“Supplied by Roger Smalley…”

“…hidden in books, and Cyril found out somehow and snitched a few copies. I'll bet he did it when he worked for the package and mailing company.” Ivy gaped.

“Boy did he pick the wrong package to pilfer.”

She felt like she'd been trapped in a spy movie. “But who…?”

Tim removed a bookmark from between two pages. His face was grim. “It says Corner Street Bookstore, Sergei Evans proprietor.”

She was struck dumb. Sergei Evans, quiet Mr. Evans, a smuggler? A murderer?

Tim's eyes danced in thought. “It's ingenious, really. Send a shipment of books to your buyer and who is going to be suspicious? Even if the books are seized by someone, who is going to take the time to go through each page to look for incriminating info? Who would think of it in the first place?”

Ivy took out her cell phone to call the police. There was no signal. “We'd better get Moe out of here and get these books to Detective Greenly.”

Tim was already working, rolling Moe's sleeping bag up and talking softly to him. “We're going to get you home, Moe. Your mother will be so happy to see you. Are you ready to go?”

Moe didn't answer. He stood and packed the empty water bottles neatly into a paper bag.

Ivy put the books in her backpack.

 

Nick watched from his parking place just behind Tim's truck. Through his binoculars he could see them enter the cabin. He also noted the scooter parked in front of the place. Bingo.

He'd taken the time to finalize the solution with Sergei before he'd left.

“The affair has ended badly. Leave the merchandise. Just clean it up. We'll go home for a while,” Evans had said.

“It's not good business. They'll look into the deaths of three people, especially a firefighter.”

“It can't be helped. They may have put the details together. It would be incomplete to let them live.”

“The bodies are piling up.”

“You will make it look like an accident, an unforeseeable tragedy. Remove the people and the merchandise at one time.”

“What about the flyboy nurse?”

“If you do your job right, there will be no evidence to support any claims he makes. Besides, the New York people will take care of him soon enough. I will arrange to borrow a large sum of money in his name. When he defaults, they will not be happy.”

“You're sure?”

“Yes. We will fly home tonight on a red-eye.”

Nick sighed, squelching a sliver of discomfort. It wasn't the killing that bothered him, rather the numbers. One body can be overlooked, maybe even two, but this was over the top. Still, orders were orders and he was not one to question. He held up a hand to double-check the wind. They wouldn't escape in this terrain. Death by wildfire. It was too perfect.

Then he pulled the propane torch from the trunk and fired it up, staring at the flame that flared to life, blue as the wing of a butterfly.

 

Ivy stiffened as the familiar smell hit her.

Smoke.

She raced outside and grabbed the binoculars. She didn't need them to see the smoke that billowed from the canyon just above their location. Through the viewer she spotted the car on the ridgeline pull out and move away. Even as she watched in horror, the flames roared to life in a wall that traveled down the narrow canyon with an audible whoosh.

The hideous facts unrolled themselves in her mind.

Wildfire was quick and deadly, and all the conditions were perfect for an inferno.

Capricious winds that could change direction in a moment.

Low humidity.

Low fuel moisture.

Rugged terrain, steep, inaccessible, heavy brush.

They'd need air tankers, strike teams, a massive response.

But there was no time. No time.

She yelled to Tim and Moe. “Someone set a fire. We've got to move now.”

Tim came out, holding Moe by the hand.

“Can you get a signal on your cell phone?” Ivy asked as she pulled on her backpack.

He shook his head. “No, I tried a minute ago.”

“Doesn't matter anyway. They'd never get here fast enough. The wind is funneling the fire down the canyon and everything is dry as tinder. Our only chance is to get to the truck first.” She grabbed Moe's other hand and they ran, stumbling, through an ever-thickening layer of smoke.

There was no way to get around it. They were at the bottom of a canyon bordered on both sides by thickly wooded mountains. The woods, she knew, were severely desiccated thanks to the unusually dry spring. The dry pines would burn like napalm on a stick. She'd seen them literally explode from the ferocious heat.

Moe stumbled and fell. He lay in a ball, whimpering. Tim knelt next to him. “It's okay, Moe. We've got to run to the truck and we'll be okay.”

Ivy dared a look around. She saw a thick wall of flame moving behind them, engulfing everything in its wake. The crowns of the trees glowed like embers, and Ivy knew the fire would jump from tree to tree like a live thing. In spite of her training, her years of fighting fire, she felt the fear take hold in her gut. Being burned alive, what a way to go.

Shoving an arm under Moe's elbow, with Tim on the other side, she propelled him along. “We've got to run.”

She thought about trying to make it to the river that ran along the west side of the canyon, but it was rough ground, boulder-strewn and thick with grass. The best option, the only option, was to get to the truck.

They half carried Moe, tripping and faltering as they raced over the dry grass. She fell heavily, feeling a snap as her wrist gave under her. Tim was there, helping her up.

“Are you hurt?”

She gritted her teeth. “I think I broke my wrist.”

No time to think about the injury. She could hear it now, the crackle and hiss of the fire bearing down on them. The truck came into view, gleaming white against the blackness.

“Only a little farther,” she yelled over the din. “Keep running.”

Her blood surged as they reached the truck. Tim fumbled for the keys, jamming them into the door.

Moe tugged on Ivy's arm.

“It's okay, we're going to make it Moe,” she said as calmly as she could, coughing against the acrid fumes.

He tugged again.

When she finally looked at the spot where he pointed, her knees almost gave way.

The tires, all four of them, were flat, slashed by the fire setter's knife.

“Y
ou've got to take me, Charlie. There's a reason you own your own helicopter and now is the time to put it to use.”

Charlie blinked, staring at him. “Mitch, what are you saying? Somebody is going to kill Ivy and Tim? How? Why?”

“I can't explain it now. We've got to get to Sugar Pine Lodge.” He unrolled a map on the table. “Here. You've got to fly me here.”

“That's crazy. We can't just take off at the drop of a hat. There are procedures.”

Mitch slammed his hands down on the table. “Listen, Charlie. I've messed up, screwed up my life with gambling and ruined my future. Please help me before they pay the price for my sins. I'm begging you.”

Charlie let out a deep breath and nodded. “Okay. Let's do it.”

They drove at breakneck speed to the private airstrip where Charlie kept his chopper. Ignoring the strange look from a mechanic working on a small plane, they jumped in and buckled up.

Charlie flipped on the radio to catch any emergency traffic.

Moving rapidly away from the airstrip, Charlie and Mitch exchanged an agonized look when a message came over the radio.

Wildfire.

North side of Sugar Pine Mountain.

Code three response required from all available personnel.

Mitch swallowed hard. “Please, God,” he whispered. “Don't let me be too late.”

 

Ivy stared at the tires. A strange calm settled over her. They were trapped. There was no possible way to outrun the fire without the truck. No options, no way out.

Entrapment was a firefighter's worst nightmare, but she didn't feel afraid for herself. Instead she looked over at the two men who both watched her with a look of horror on their faces.

The fire was close now, so close she could feel the heat warming her neck.

Tim understood. She could see it in his face.

“We're out of options,” he said, his voice steady.

She nodded.

He looked at her, his eyes bright, a love and longing in his face that took her breath away. Then he inhaled deeply and turned to Moe. He took his hand and turned him away from the fire. “We'll watch this way now, Moe. I see a lot of pinecones. Do you want to help me count them?”

Her heart fractured into tiny pieces. Tim, spending his last minutes trying to ease the soul of another. It had taken her so very long to realize what he meant to her. She loved him. For the first time, it felt completely right. And now she would lose it all in a matter of minutes.

She felt an exquisite shiver go through her like a rush of cold water. A determination took hold and filled her mind and senses. The decision came in an instant. She would not give him up, give them up, until every last bit of life was burned out of her body.

She felt around on the bottom of her backpack with her good hand.

They were still there, two fire shelters, the thin film of aluminum that had saved some lives in desperate circumstances.

Some lives.

She removed them and Sergei's doctored books, which she stuffed into her waistband before she dropped to the ground.

 

Tim saw her movement out of the corner of his eye. He turned to watch her scooping pine needles and leaves away until she'd cleared a small circle, fumbling because of her injured wrist.

Tim fell to his knees, copying her. “What are we doing?”

“Clearing the ground of any fuels. We're going to use the fire shelters.”

He didn't answer, didn't question. It was the only way. God willing, they could make it work, they would make it work.

He pushed her gently to the side and began to scrape away the debris until the area was as clear as he could make it, until his fingers were raw and bloody.

They had to yell now, to be heard over the advancing fire. “I've only got two shelters and they're made to protect one,” Ivy yelled. “I'm going to put Moe in mine with me. Watch how I do it so you can deploy the other one.”

“No way,” he yelled back. “Moe is going in mine.”

“This isn't the time to argue. They're not designed for two. You take the single.”

Blood roared in his ears. He grabbed her by the arms and shouted so loud his voice crested the noise of the fire. “You listen to me. Forget your hero stuff, forget your constant need to be in charge, forget it all. You are going to have the best chance I can give you to survive, do you hear me? I will not risk your life any more than we have to.” His voice dropped slightly. “I am not going to tell your mother that she's lost another daughter to fire. Moe is with me and that's the end of the story. Am I making myself very clear, Ivy?”

She blinked, mouth open. “You don't even know how to deploy one,” she yelled.

He let her go. “I can follow directions. Anybody can be a hero, Ivy.” For a moment, he thought she would not acquiesce. Then without a word she handed him the shelter and a pair of gloves.

“Watch. We only have another minute. When you get in, put on the gloves and hold the shelter in place, keep your face as close to the ground as you can.” She tried to pull the red ring to split the plastic down the middle, but the bundle slipped out of her numb hand.

He took it from her, opened hers and helped her position it around herself. When he was sure she had her bag in place, he unfurled the long silver strip on the other one. They hooked their feet under the straps and grabbed the top straps with their hands.

“Okay. Put Moe underneath you so he doesn't move. Fold down the floor panels and hold them down under your legs. Push the sides away from your body to make a space for air.”

Tim nodded as he fumbled with the fabric, energy pulsing through him like an electric current. “If I remember correctly, this will buy us only a few minutes.”

Her eyes were wide. “Don't come out until you're absolutely sure the fire has passed over.”

He nodded, a tension filling every pore, every atom of his being. “All right, then. Let's do it.”

Tim talked quietly to Moe. Somehow he got the man to come and they crawled into the shelter. The fire was nearly upon them. He felt the heat, the angry exhalation of the fire as it chewed up the final distance between them. He watched her face, just before she disappeared into the shelter. He saw it all there in her eyes—the love, the fear, the faith.

“God,” he whispered, “if You can't save all of us, please save her. Save Ivy.”

He tucked himself inside and the fire was upon them.

 

Mitch strained to see through the smoke.

“These conditions aren't safe,” Charlie yelled over the roar of the rotor. “We've got to pull out. They're going to bring in an air tanker soon and we can't be in the way.”

“One more minute.” He stiffened in shock, leaning against the small window. “I can see them. They're deploying shelters. We're too late.” He watched in despair as the fire swallowed them up.

 

Ivy's brain reminded her that the air was a few precious degrees cooler at ground level. She knew the material was designed to withstand temperatures of up to four hundred degrees. She also knew that conditions outside the shelter would kill her instantly. Still, the overwhelming panic that filled her every cell took all her strength to combat.

As the shelter began to shudder from the fire-generated winds, she started to pray.

The heat became unbearable. Where the wind pressed the shelter sides into her body, her skin burned.

Through the pinholes in the fabric she could see firelight like living embers devouring the very space in which she lay.

“Please, Lord.”

The scream of the fire, with all the power of a monster, bore down on her, buffeting the shelter, trying to rip it from her hands.

“Save us,” she screamed in her mind as her body seemed to boil from the excruciating heat.

 

Mitch and Charlie watched as the flames passed over the shelter and traveled in increasing fury down the canyon.

“Did they…?” Charlie started again. “Do you think they made it?”

“Put her down there.” Mitch pointed to a charred spot away from the shelters.

“That fire can change direction in a second. I'll keep her running. You go check. We've only got minutes, Mitch, I mean it. Minutes.”

He eased the helicopter toward the ravaged ground.

 

It took an agonizing period of time for the roar to recede, the scorching air to cool slightly, ever so slightly. She forced herself to wait, wait, wait. One breath of hot, toxic gases would suffocate her in less than a minute. She yelled as loud as she could. “Tim, Moe. Can you hear me?”

There was no answer from the other shelter.

Her fear turned to a live thing, crawling through her body until she could not stand it. She fought her way out of the shelter, burning her arm on the still-hot material. On hands and knees, she crawled to the shelter, avoiding the patches of smoking ground.

“Tim. Answer me, please.”

Only two feet left until she would reach him. What would she find? She was too terrified even to offer up a prayer.

“Tim. Please.”

 

Mitch dove from the chopper. He ran, trying not to breathe in the noxious fumes. There was movement ahead from one of the shelters. The other was still, deathly still.

 

Ivy reached out a trembling hand.

The shelter opened and Tim's pale face emerged, Moe peeking around his shoulder.

She threw herself at him, holding on to him for all he was worth. She pressed her lips to his, the acrid taste of fire on both their mouths. “Oh, Tim, I thought I'd lost you. I couldn't bear it.”

He smoothed her sweaty hair from her face. “I couldn't either. But we made it.”

Ivy made sure Moe was all right. Though he was trembling and his hand was badly burned, he had escaped relatively unscathed. She half cried, half laughed as she looked at them both, sooty and smelling of smoke. “Thank you, God,” she breathed. “I've never been so scared in my whole life.”

Tim gave her a haughty look. “I told you I could follow directions.”

With a heart overflowing with joy, she wrapped her arms around him again.

 

Ivy was startled when Mitch ran up to them. In the terror and excitement she hadn't caught site of Charlie's helicopter. Mitch grabbed her in a fierce hug.

“Oh, thank God for saving you, thank God.” He squeezed her so hard her burned back made her gasp in pain.

He pulled her to arm's length. “You're hurt?”

“Not badly, my wrist and Moe's hand is burned. How did you find us?”

“Never mind that now. Let's get out of here.”

Ivy heard the distant wail of sirens. She knew they would be bringing in mutual aid from the neighboring counties to combat the ferocious fire. Though she felt a small twinge at missing the action, it was a very small one. Most of all she felt an overwhelming gratitude that God had spared their lives and an unrestrained joy that she'd finally admitted the truth to herself and to Tim.

The four of them made their way to Charlie's chopper. It was a tight fit, but they crammed inside and Charlie lifted off.

“Well, now,” he yelled over the engine. “You folks had us a mite worried there. I've only known a few folks who deployed their shelters.”

And lived,
Ivy thought grimly. “Thanks for picking us up.”

“Thank Mitch. He practically commandeered my bird.”

Ivy tried to ask Mitch again how he'd found them, but he waved her off, focusing instead on tending to Moe's hand with his first-aid kit. Charlie flew them back to the airstrip and drove them to the hospital. On the way, Ivy phoned Madge while Moe and Charlie counted the various buttons and knobs on the car's dashboard.

 

She had to hold the cell away from her ear to manage Madge's piercing shrieks of joy. She promised, amid much crying, to meet them at the hospital. Ivy disconnected. “She's overwhelmed.”

“So I heard,” Tim said, putting a hand on her good wrist and lowering his voice so only she could hear. “And so am I. Did you mean it? What you said back there?”

His face was so vulnerable, so childlike. “I did. I realized what it would be like to lose you for good.”

Tim sighed. “I felt the same way.”

Charlie called over his shoulder. “So Mitch isn't telling me anything. Who set the fire up there?”

“Oh, gosh,” Ivy said. “I didn't tell him.” She looked guiltily at the books sitting next to her on the seat.

“You'll have a chance to real soon. He's following right behind us, but the suspense is killing me. What is going on?”