Hawke’s stomach sank.
God help them.
He reached for his mic, gritted his teeth in helpless rage. “Dispatch, Scarlet Command.”
“Scarlet Command, go ahead.”
“Close Boulder Canyon to westbound traffic, and order the immediate evacuation of Scarlet Springs.”
Chapter 10
Austin parkedon the access road beneath Pinnacles a hundred yards west of Azure Lake. Smoke filled the sky to the west, flames making its underbelly glow orange. He shouldered his pack and ran toward the isolated cabin as fast as he safely could in the terrain. He’d finally gotten Sutherland’s permission to leave the barricade to another ranger and head to Haley Preserve to evacuate Bear.
There wasn’t much time.
Austin had been able to see the fire from the access road, and it looked ugly. He’d lost radio contact the moment he’d stepped away from his truck, as his handheld radio didn’t get signal up here. He had no idea whether Hawke and his crew had been successful with the backburn. If they hadn’t, the fire would be heading his way.
“Bear!” He called out as he neared the cabin, not wanting to startle the big man. “Hey, Bear! It’s Austin Taylor. You home?”
He stopped, glanced around the clearing, saw seven small wooden crosses standing side by side on the edge of the forest. A little cemetery.
Still no sign of Bear.
Shit.
“Bear, are you here?” Austin made his way around the outhouse and cabin.
The cabin looked old, logs that had long ago been stripped of their bark polished by wind and weather, the chinking a mixture of mud and grass that was as hard as brick. Some of the chinking looked new, proof that Bear maintained the place.
Austin found a neat stack of firewood next to the front steps. In front of the cabin stood an old-fashioned well pump with a tin bucket below. That must be where Bear got his drinking water—a better option than Azure Lake.
“Bear? It’s Taylor.” Austin walked up creaking stairs to a door of split planks.
Its string was out.
He knocked.
No answer.
Austin hesitated, not wanting to violate Bear’s privacy, but concern got the better of him. What if Bear were hurt or sick—or dead?
Austin pulled the string and stepped through the door—and back in time.
A rough-hewn table stood in the middle of the main room, eight hand-made chairs around it, a worn, hand-braided rug beneath it, a kerosene lantern sitting in its center. Wooden shelves held antique enameled dishes and cast-iron cookware, big milk jugs sitting beneath an iron sink that emptied into a large tin bucket. A wooden washtub sat there, too, complete with an old washboard.
It was like something out of a history book.
Austin crossed to the soot-blackened hearth, held his outstretched palm above gray ash. It was cold. Then again, it was the middle of the summer.
A small chest of drawers stood against the wall, crocheted doilies sitting beneath an old book and a faded photo of a man, a woman, and six children—four boys and two girls.
Eight family members.
Seven crosses outside.
Was one of those little boys Bear? Did the graves outside belong to his family?
Austin picked up the photograph, tried to recognize the man he knew. Yeah, there was no chance of that. He’d never seen Bear without his bushy beard.