Raging flames engulfed the forest. And yet, the flames didn’t burn. Instead, they cast an eerie glow, pulsing in perfect rhythm with the blaring sirens.
“What the hell…?” he muttered under his breath.
The glow appeared to originate from the north, growing lighter with distance. It was fairly bright under the Blaze, less so under the Rexto 419R3.
Sweat dripped down Caplan’s forehead. It oozed past his lashes, stinging his eyeballs. It slipped into his mouth and he tasted salt on his tongue.
“Are you seeing…?” His voice trailed off as he looked at Corbotch. The man twisted in awkward fashion, moving in time with the fluctuations of the strange blaring noise. His hands covered his ears. His eyes were clenched shut. His teeth ground against each other.
But Caplan barely noticed those things. What really captivated his attention was the man’s body.
It was glowing.
He blinked, just in case his eyes were playing tricks on him. But when he took another look, he still saw the pulsing orangish light surrounding Corbotch’s body. The guy looked like a phantom. A burning phantom. And he wasn’t unique in that respect. Quick glimpses at Pearson, Perkins, and himself confirmed that all of them had been transformed into glowing flame-like creatures.
The air morphed around Caplan, growing freakishly solid. The odors of chemicals and metals filtered into his nostrils. Streaking bolts of electric icicles jabbed at him, jolting him over and over again.
Caplan released his ears. The blaring noise continued to assault him. How much time had passed since he’d first heard it? Ten seconds? Ten minutes?
The sirens continued without fail, pounding at his eardrums, his skull. His gaze shot back to the window. The strange non-burning flames continued to pulse through the forest. Glowing lights shot across the sky, stabbing the darkness, retracting, and then stabbing it again. The ample light provided Caplan with a view that seemed to stretch for miles. But his eyes remained glued to a specific spot in the sky.
“What the hell are you doing?” he whispered through clenched teeth. “Get higher, damn it.”
But the Blaze, surrounded by intense light, continued to descend at an alarming rate.
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw his watch. Took note of the time. Seventeen seconds past 1:27 p.m.
Abruptly, darkness swirled around him, clutching him in its cold embrace. He had no time to think, to consider what was about to happen. One moment, he was wide-awake.
The next, he was out cold.
Chapter 15
His eyelids fluttered open. His drooped head stared directly at his lap. He saw his watch. Read the face. Nine seconds past 1:29 p.m. He’d been unconscious for a full one minute and fifty-two seconds. Just a blip of time in the big scheme of things.
But to Caplan, it was everything.
Blinking, he looked across the aisle. Saw Corbotch. The man’s head was drooped as well. His eyes were open, however, and he seemed to be in the process of waking up.
Caplan’s brow furrowed. Evidently, he hadn’t been the only one to pass out. But that thought was forgotten as he realized something else. The blaring noise had vanished. Almost as if it had never happened.
The air felt cool against his skin. It was no longer solid. He smelled the now-familiar odors of oil and Corbotch’s expensive cologne. The shooting electric icicles were gone, too.
Looking around, he saw no traces of the phantom glow that had engulfed Corbotch, Pearson, Perkins, and himself. The non-burning flames, both in the sky and in the forest, were gone as well.
His eyes shot to the window as he recalled the downward trajectory of the second chopper. But the sky, growing darker and stormier by the second, kept him from seeing much.
He shifted his gaze. His eyes bulged as he caught a glimpse of distant forest, far from where he’d last seen the Blaze. Just a short while ago, non-burning flames had plagued it.
Now, real ones had taken their place.
Chapter 16
The helicopter jolted severely to the right. Caplan realized the odd events had disoriented Perkins. Conditions were ripe for a second crash.
Ripe for death.
He reached for his seatbelt. Fumbled with it for a moment. Finally, he managed to release the buckle. Inhaling a long breath, he rose to his feet. The chopper jolted again, this time to the left. Caplan’s balance failed him and he fell back into his seat. His back hit the cushion hard and the impact emptied his lungs. He gasped at the air, taking a few quick breaths. Then he lunged forward.
His momentum carried him all the way to the opposite row. He nearly crashed into Corbotch, but swerved at the last second. Reaching into the cockpit, he grabbed Perkins’ shoulder.
Perkins turned around. His mouth hung agape. His eyes were dull, unfocused. His short black hair stood on end. His mocha-colored face looked strangely ashen. “I was out,” he muttered. “For almost two minutes.”
Caplan’s eyes widened. But he managed to keep his brain on the task at hand. “Find a clearing,” he said. “And take us down.”
“Almost two minutes…”
Caplan looked into Perkins’ eyes. Saw the cloudiness in the man’s once-fierce pupils. “What’s your name?”
“My name…” Perkins blinked. The cloudiness faded away. “Derek. Derek Perkins.”
“I need you to take us down, Derek. Can you do that?”
Perkins swallowed. “Did you see the Blaze? I think it crashed.”
“We’ll worry about that later. Just get us on the ground.”
A bit of color returned to the man’s visage. He grabbed the controls and the helicopter began a slow descent toward the forest.
Caplan propelled himself backward. Flopped into his seat. Grabbed his seatbelt and got it buckled.
He wiped his face, clearing away a mask of sweat. A feeling of pleasant nothingness floated through him. He felt no panic, no need to ask questions. Shock had seemingly stilled his brain.
But on a much deeper level, he felt something else. A small dark spot on the very edge of his soul. Something had happened to them. Something he couldn’t explain. But he knew he’d carry the memories of the last few minutes for the rest of his life.
Maybe even into the afterlife.
Abruptly, a flood of conflicting emotions wiped away his pleasant nothingness. Amazement and horror. Hope and despair. Elation at being alive. Fear at what had happened to the Blaze.
He looked out the window and gazed upon the forest. It looked different than he remembered. He couldn’t put his finger on it. It just looked… different.
He shifted his gaze to the distant flames. They were so far away. The Blaze must’ve swerved farther northward while he’d been unconscious. There was a slight possibility the occupants had survived the crash.
But could they survive the flames?
One by one, his positive emotions vacated him. Five months ago, a man had died because of him. He’d be damned if he let that happen again.
He was tempted to call to Perkins, to demand a closer landing point to the fire. But the pilot already had his hands full trying to locate a clearing in the dense forest. And what if the blaring noise struck again while they were airborne? What if Perkins lost consciousness for a second time? No, the smart move was to land as quickly as possible. Then he could figure out his next move.