Marc turned up the first driveway—nothing more than a rutted single-lane dirt road. Signs warning trespassers were nailed to trees and tied to barbed wire. One threatened the use of lethal force. The cabin itself was built into the side of a hill—a sod house with a cabin front. A yellow “Don’t Tread on Me” flag flew from a log flag pole not far from the front door.
“I take it these people won’t be happy to see us.”
“I think you’re right.”
Julian stayed to the side, firearm ready, while Marc walked up to the door and knocked.
“Sheriff’s deputy!” It felt strange to say that. “A big fire is headed this way. We’re here to help you evacuate.”
An older woman’s voice came from the other side of the door. “You ain’t no sheriff’s deputy. You’re marshals. I seen it on your vehicle. I got no time for you federal buzzards.”
What could Marc say? “That wasn’t my vehicle, ma’am. I’m Marc Hunter from DPD SWAT. I was deputized by Sheriff Pella to help bring people to safety.”
“Where’s your badge?”
“I don’t have a badge because he didn’t have time to give me one.”
“You listen here, mister! I can’t leave. This cabin is all I got in the world since my man passed on.” The door opened just a crack, one brown eye peeking through. “Oh!”
Then the door opened all the way to reveal a heavyset woman wearing jeans and a flannel shirt, large breasts sagging almost to her waist, her short gray hair in curlers. In her hands was a Mossberg 12-gauge shotgun.
The woman stepped outside, spotted Darcangelo, and smiled. “Aren’t you two handsome? Can you help me get out to my pickup? My knees ain’t what they used to be. I got to get my social security card, a bra, and my pet rat first.”
Yeah. This was going to be an interesting afternoon.
Chapter 8
Eric willedhimself not to raise his voice, did his best to spell it out for Robertson. “Even if we create a backburn and stop the blaze there, upcanyon winds are going to funnel the flames around the mountain, up the river valleys, and into town.”
Robertson wasn’t being decisive at a time when minutes counted, and he couldn’t seem to grasp the big picture.
Robertson glared at him. “Let’s hear your big plan, then.”
“Move the line farther from Scarlet.” Eric pointed to an access road on the map. “Start the backburn here on Piñon Road far away from Scarlet. Burn out the west side of the road. The distance between the two rivers that come into town is shortest here. The forest was thinned and cleared of slash last year, and the valleys are at their narrowest. We turn as much of that as we can into good black, stand ready to put out spot fires across the road—and then we pray.”
Even if they burned out a hundred yards, it might not be enough, not when the wind was carrying embers distances of a quarter mile. The fire could spot beyond the black and ignite fuels across the road. It could finger off in other directions, pushed by those damned upcanyon winds. Or they could lose control of the backburn and start a second fire.
“You’ll be putting our crews uphill from this beast.”
“We’ll be making good black as we move, and we’ll have the road as our escape route. Without air assets, what other choice do we have?”
“You mean besides stepping back and letting the town burn?” Sheriff Pella asked.
“None that I can see.” Jacob Malheur, superintendent of the US Forest Service crew, hadn’t said much before now. “Hawke’s plan also protects homes we would otherwise sacrifice, and if it fails, you’ve still got time to fall back, regroup, and try again.”
Robertson looked at the map, sweat beading on his forehead. “All right, damn it. Move! We don’t have much time. Hawke, this is your idea, so I’m making you Incident Commander.”
Relief washed through Eric.
It’s about fucking time.
He shouted out his orders. “From this moment, I’ll be going as Scarlet Command. We’ll leave some volunteers and the Forest Service crew here with the pumper tanker to protect the ski lodge, the lifts, and the outbuildings. Everyone else goes with me. On the double, people! Robertson, call the county public information officer. We’ve got media here, and none of us has time right now to answer questions.”
He turned to Sheriff Pella. “You’re sure that the reverse 911 evacuation order reached everyone—residents, businesses, Camp Mato Sapa?”
Sheriff Pella nodded. “We sent it out twice. I can ask one of my officers to check the campgrounds if you like.”
“Thanks. I’d appreciate that.” But there was one other thing.