Zach and Marc stood there with the moose calf on a makeshift halter, grim expressions on their faces.
“What happened to Rossiter?” Marc asked, an edge to his voice.
Kenzie hadn’t realized all these people knew each other. She listened, still holding Winona’s hand as Harrison repeated what he’d told the others.
Marc bent almost double at the waist as if someone had kicked him in the stomach, while Zach turned away from them, his head down.
“Winona’s brother, Chaska Belcourt, and her grandfather stayed behind, too.”
“What a damned awful thing,” Jack said again.
The moose calf let out another cry.
Winona’s head came up. With a single breath, she seemed to swallow both fear and grief. “He’s scared. Let’s get him inside.”
She stood and, with tears still on her cheek, led the little moose into the trailer, speaking softly to it in Lakota and working with Jack to secure the little guy in one of the horse stalls. “Let’s get the fawns. Then I need to tranq Shota.”
Eric listenedwhile Dispatch gave him the sitrep on rescue operations, struggling to hear over the engine of the SEAT as it flew overhead with a belly full of flame retardant.
“The rescue pilot says they’re grounded. Engine trouble. He cannot get airborne.”
Damn it!
If there were survivors at Mato Sapa, they needed urgent medical help. So would Taylor.
If he’s still alive.
There wasn’t time for engine repairs—or for another helicopter to fly in from Denver or Colorado Springs.
Eric clicked his mic. “Have Helicopter Ninety-Eight Echo meet me on the hospital’s helipad. I’ll head to Camp Mato Sapa and Haley Preserve myself. I’m transferring Incident Command to Superintendent Tall Bull.”
The helicopter wasn’t big enough to carry lots of wounded, but he could at least start first aid and evacuate some survivors.
Tall Bull loaded his guys up for the drive to the top of Dead Man’s Hill, which he and Eric had decided was the critical holding point. It was the last ridge overlooking Scarlet. Their combined crews would start another backburn and work with the Skycrane and the two SEATs to stop the main head of the fire there. Tall Bull had called NIFC and the Rocky Mountain Control Center and asked for another Type 1 crew and the Supertanker—a 747 jet that could drop almost 20,000 gallons of flame retardant at a time.
Whether they would get it in time was anyone’s guess.
If the blaze got around them this time, there would be nowhere for them to fall back to without surrendering the town.
Eric called for his best paramedic. “Silver!”
Silver stood not far away, refilling his water bottles. “Yeah, chief?”
“Load a couple advanced first-aid kits and a few burn kits into my truck, and let’s roll. I’ve got a helicopter on its way to meet us on the hospital helipad.”
Silver set off at a jog.
Eric walked over to Tall Bull, who’d overheard his exchange with Dispatch. “I’ll be back on the line as soon as I can.”
Tall Bull nodded. “Good luck.”
Eric met Silver at the brush truck. “Did you find what we need?”
“Yeah.”
Eric motioned to the photographer. “You coming?”
“Hell, yeah.” Ramirez followed him and Silver to the truck, camera bag on his shoulder.