Despite the early evening chill, she wiped sweat from her brow.
Nikko studied her, trusting her to get them to safety.
But where?
She flipped on her high beams and studied the switchback ahead. She noted a faint pair of tire tracks aiming away from the gravel road and out into the open terrain of sagebrush and scrubby pinyon pines. She didn’t know where that thin track led. Certainly tourists and local teenagers often made their own illegal paths, camping in neighboring box canyons or building bonfires beside creeks. Heaven knows, she had chased plenty of them off herself in her role as park ranger.
With no other choice, she gunned the engine and sped to the switchback. She bumped the truck over the shoulder and onto the thin off-road trail. She raced along the rutted track, rattling every nut and bolt in the Ford. Nikko panted beside her, his ears tall, his eyes everywhere.
“Hang on there, buddy.”
The terrain grew more rugged, requiring her to reduce her speed. Despite the urgency, she couldn’t risk breaking an axle or ripping a tire on one of the razor-edged boulders. Her gaze twitched constantly to the rearview mirror. Behind her, the pall of smoke swallowed the moon.
She found herself holding her breath, fearing what was coming.
The path began to climb, cresting toward the top of another hill. Her progress slowed to a treacherous crawl. She cursed her luck and considered abandoning the trail, but by now the surroundings had turned even rockier. No direction looked better than the one she was following.
Committed now, she pushed harder on the accelerator, testing the extremes of the truck’s four-wheel drive system. Finally the slope evened out again. Taking advantage, she sped recklessly around a bend in the trail, clearing a shoulder of the hill — only to have the beams of her headlights splash across an old rockslide that cut directly across the trail.
She braked hard, but the pickup skidded on loose sand and rock. Her front bumper smashed into the closest boulder. The airbag deployed, slamming her in the face like a swinging bag of cement. It knocked the breath from her. Her head rang, but not loud enough for her to miss hearing the engine cough and die.
As her eyes filled with pained tears, she tasted blood from a split lip. “Nikko…”
The husky had kept his seat, looking no worse for the impact.
“C’mon.”
She shoved her door open and half fell out of her seat to the ground. She stood on shaky legs. The air smelled burnt and oily.
Are we already too late?
She turned toward the smoke and pictured the jackrabbit bounding out of that pall and writhing to death. She took a few steps — unsteady for sure, but not from poison. Simply dazed. Or at least she prayed that was the reason.
“Just keep moving,” she ordered herself.
Nikko joined her, dancing on his paws, his thick tail a waving flag of determination.
Behind them, the solid wall of smoke had grown ragged and wispy-edged. Still, it continued to fall toward her like an engulfing wave. She knew she’d never outrun it on foot.
She stared toward the top of the hill.
Her only hope.
She retrieved a flashlight from her truck and quickly headed upward. She picked a path through the rockslide, whistling for Nikko to stay close. Once through, she discovered a rolling meadow of bitterbrush and prickly phlox. The open terrain allowed her to move faster. She sprinted toward the crest of the hill, following the bouncing beam of her flashlight, climbing ever higher.
But was the hill high enough?
Gasping, she forced her legs to pump harder. Nikko raced silently alongside her, ignoring the occasional burst of a nesting sage sparrow or the bound of a black-tailed jackrabbit.
At last they reached the summit. Only then did she risk a glance over her shoulder. She watched that towering wave of smoke break against the shoal of the tall hill and spread outward, filling the lower valleys all around, turning the hilltop into an island within a poisonous sea.
But how long would this refuge remain safe?
She fled farther away from that deadly shore, toward the highest crown of the hill. Near the top, sharp-edged silhouettes cut against the stars, marking the dilapidated remains of an old ghost town. She counted maybe a dozen barns and buildings. Gold-rush-era outposts like this dotted the local hills, most forgotten and unmapped — with the exception of the nearby town of Bodie, a larger ghost town that stood as the centerpiece of Bodie State Historic Park.
Still, she hurried gladly toward that meager shelter, taking strength from the stubbornly standing walls and roofs. As she neared the closest structure, she pulled out her cell phone, hoping she was high enough to get a signal. With her truck’s radio drowned in that toxic sea, her cell phone was the only means of communication.
With great relief, she noted a single glowing bar of signal strength.
Not great, but I’m not complaining.
She dialed the dispatch office. The line was quickly picked up by a breathless Bill Howard.
Though the connection was dodgy, she heard the relief in her friend’s voice. “Jen, are you o… ay?”
“I’m banged up little, but I’m okay.”
“What’s… banged up?”
She bit back her frustration at the reception. She tried speaking louder. “Listen, Bill. You’ve got trouble rolling your way.”
She tried to explain about the explosion, but the spotty signal made communication difficult.
“You need to evacuate Lee Vining,” she said, almost shouting. “Also any of the area’s campsites.”
“I didn’t… et that. What’s that about an evacuation?”
She closed her eyes, exasperated. She took a couple of breaths.
Maybe if I get on the roof of one of these barns, I could get a better signal.
Before she could consider the best course, a low thumping sounded. At first she thought it was her own heart pounding in her ears. Then Nikko whined, hearing it too. As the noise grew louder, she searched the skies and spotted a blip of navigation lights.
A helicopter.
She knew it was too soon for Bill to have sent up a search-and-rescue team. With her nerves jangling a warning, she flicked off her flashlight and rushed toward the shelter of the ghost town. Reaching the outskirts, she ducked alongside an old barn as a helicopter crested into view.
She recognized the sleek black shape of the aircraft. It was the same bird she had seen lifting off from the military base just prior to the explosion.
Had they caught sight of my truck racing away from the blast zone and doubled back? But why?
Not knowing for sure, she kept out of sight. Reaching the gaping barn door, she hurried inside with Nikko. She rushed across the dark confines, halting only long enough to check her phone.
Her call to Bill had dropped, and the screen now showed no bars.
She was cut off, on her own.
Reaching the far side of the barn, she peered carefully out through the broken glass of a window. The helicopter lowered toward a meadow on that side. Once the skids were close enough to the ground, men in black uniforms bailed out on both sides. The rotor wash of the helicopter pounded the scrub brush around them.
Her heart thundered in her throat as she noted the shouldered rifles.
This was no rescue party.
She touched her only weapon, holstered at her hip. A taser. By law, California Park Rangers could carry firearms, but it was mostly discouraged when assisting with tours like today.