“Connor,” Hannah said. “Connor, it’s all right.”
“They’re here! They’re shooting!”
“It’s the stumps,” Hannah said. Her voice was gentle but confident. “Hon? It’s just the stumps.”
“What do you mean?”
“Listen,” she said.
A few seconds passed and there was a muffled pop and a plume of smoke rose from one of the charred tree stumps that lined the slope below them.
“They trap the heat,” she said. “The fire hides in them, long after most of the rest of the flames have moved on. Then it pops through. That’s all you’re hearing.”
He didn’t think she was right. What he’d heard sounded like a gunshot. But then another stump went off with a dull crack and he got slowly to his feet.
“You’re sure?”
“It sounded like a gun to me too,” she said. “But if somebody was shooting, why didn’t he keep at it?”
He didn’t have an answer for that. He turned and looked back the way they’d come, saw nothing but shadows and smoke in the pale dawn light. Republic Peak was silhouetted above them, but none of the shadows moved. If there was anyone else with them on the mountain, there was no sign.
“Let’s hurry,” he said. He had a bad feeling all of a sudden. He tried to remind himself that it had been only an unexpected noise, no different than the backfiring of an engine, and that he needed to keep his mind calm, but all the same, his heart was hammering. “Let’s keep moving.”
“We’re going to. We’re almost there.” Hannah had paused for a sip of water and her face was turned away from him as she looked down at the gulch where the fire was burning freely. Jace didn’t like the way she was looking at the fire.
“How close are we?” he said.
“You can see it as well as I can.”
“I mean how close to the firefighters?”
She took the loose end of her shirt and lifted it to her face and wiped the sweat away. Her stomach was visible for a moment, and he was surprised by how thin she was. Her pants were cinched by a belt, as if she hadn’t always been that size.
“A half mile brings us to the outer edge,” she said. “Then we skirt the burnout side and keep working down toward the creek. That’s where they’ll have camped. They’ll be using the creek as a natural boundary and that’s where they’ll fight it. How far they go depends on what the wind does before we get there. I’d say we’ve got forty-five minutes to go. An hour, tops. We’re almost out, buddy.”
“Okay.”
They began walking again, and Jace was aware of a strange smell. It reminded him of the summer some kids had dumped trash in the quarry and tried to burn it out but it had just smoldered, and eventually Jace’s dad went down to deal with it. There’d been a stack of tires at the base that put out thick black smoke, and the flames hadn’t wanted to quit. The smell trailed him now as he walked, and eventually he looked down and stopped again.
“Look at my shoes,” he said.
Hannah turned. “What about them?”
“Get closer.”
She knelt near his feet and this time she saw it-there were wisps of smoke rising from his shoes. The rubber soles were melting. She reached out with one palm and he said, “Careful!,” afraid that it was going to sear her hand. She touched his feet one at a time with her palm and then stood and said, “They’re melting, but not fast.” She sounded far too casual about his feet being on fire.
“What do I do!”
“You can’t feel it yet, can you?” she said.
“No. I just saw it. But…they’re melting.” Her boots, however, were fine. He wanted to trade for them, and the thought was so childish that it embarrassed him.
“I didn’t do anything wrong,” he said.
“Of course not. It’s just what happens, but they aren’t going to catch fire, they’re-”
“No,” he said. “That’s not what I mean. I didn’t do anything wrong.”
She stared at him. Not getting it. He tried to swallow and coughed and then tasted more smoke. He was thirsty and he was tired and his shoes were literally melting off his feet and this woman didn’t understand.
“I was just…playing,” he said. He wiped his eyes and coughed again, spit into the ashes. “I got home from school and went out to play. That’s all it was. That’s all I did. And now…” He looked away from the ashes and into her eyes and said, “They want to kill me.”
Hannah reached out and took him by his shoulders. Her hands were stronger than he would have expected for someone so thin.
“Connor, we’re almost out. No, damn it, don’t look away. Look at me.”
He looked back. Her eyes were wet and shining.
“Where do you want to be?” she said. “Go ahead and say it. Tell me.”
“Home,” he said, and he was about to cry and he didn’t want that. He was supposed to be as strong as her. Then he remembered that she’d cried earlier, he’d seen her, even if she’d lied about it. “I want to see my dad,” he said. “I want to see my mom. I want to be home.”
He hadn’t said it out loud before, not once.
“Okay,” Hannah said. She gave him a squeeze, and it was the closest thing to a hug he’d had since his parents brought him to Montana, and he found himself hugging her back even though he didn’t want to. He didn’t want her to think he was weak.
“You’ve come so far,” she said. Her voice was soft, her lips not far from his ear, her head resting on his. “You’re almost there, I promise you, you are almost there. We’re going to walk to that creek and we’re going to get across it, and then…then you’re going home.”
“I’m sorry,” he said. “I’m just so tired, and I don’t know-”
“Connor? Stop apologizing.”
“Jace,” he said.
“What?”
“My name is Jace. I’m Jace Wilson. Connor Reynolds was my fake name.”
“Jace.” She said it slow, then smiled at him and shook her head. “Sorry, kid, but I think it’s too late now. You’re Connor to me. Let’s get you back to where people know you as Jace.”
He nodded. “Forty-five minutes?” he said.
“At most.”
“Let’s not stop again. I won’t make us stop.”
“Then we won’t stop,” she said. “It’s been a long walk, but what’s left is short. I promise. And don’t worry about your shoes. It’s good news.”
“How is it good news?”
She turned back to the smoke and gestured at the fire below.
“Hotter it gets, the closer we are,” she said.
38
Jack Blackwell found his brother halfway down the western side of Republic Peak. He was pinned against a boulder, and Ethan Serbin was no longer with him, but a clear track of loose dirt and scraped stone and streaks of blood indicated his path on down the mountain, rolling farther, rolling faster. Jack strained his eyes to find him but could not. The slope was very steep. It had been difficult to reach his brother, and it would be more difficult to pursue Serbin.
“Patrick. You hear me? Patrick.”
Patrick Blackwell’s eyes opened. Their gaze dull but alive.
“Bad,” he said, and he tried to spit but succeeded only in bringing forth a bubble of blood. “Pretty bad, isn’t it?”
Jack rocked back on his heels and studied him. Took his time. Patrick’s face spoke for itself: broken jaw, shattered teeth, not much of a cheekbone remaining on the right side. The flesh was already distorted by swelling. There was clean white bone showing in his left hand too; at some point, trying to stop the fall, he’d bent his hand double, and the bones broke before his momentum did.
“Pretty is the wrong word,” Jack said. “But maybe not so bad. Maybe not so bad.”