A shiver ran through him.
It was like crawling into his own grave.
“Silver, are you good?” Hawke called to him.
“Yeah, chief!”
Hawke shouted encouragement to them. “Stay with me, all of you! We’ll get through this! Burns heal! Fried lungs don’t! Don’t come out, no matter what!”
Something bumped against Brandon’s shelter, and a cottontail rabbit dug its way inside, hiding beneath his chin. The little thing was shaking like a leaf.
“Hey, buddy.”
They would ride this out together.
Beyond his shelter, trees cracked, shrieked, moaned, the roar of the fire like the approach of a thousand freight trains. Wind from the blaze threatened to rip the shelter off his body. Radiant heat drove up the temperature inside the shelter, making it hotter and hotter until he was sure he couldn’t take more. He lowered his face to the dirt where the air was a bit cooler and squeezed his eyes shut to protect them.
Libby.
He wrapped his mind around her, clung to the thought of her.
Libby bringing him her latest brew to taste. Libby making dinner at his house wearing nothing but tube socks. Libby curling up against him while they watched TV, her golden hair spilling across his chest, her skin like silk.
God, he loved her, loved everything about her. If she wasn’t ready to commit, he could live with that—as long as he didn’t have to pretend not to love her.
Fuck!
He cried out, something searing the back of his calves, the pain excruciating. The superheated shelter fabric—it had settled against him. He gritted his teeth and used an elbow to push it upward again—only to get burned on his elbow, too.
Someone cried out in pain.
Was it him? No.
Hawke? Ramirez? The pilot?
Goddamn!
For all he knew, the others were dying. All it took was a gust of wind, a break in the fabric, a little exposure to direct flame…
It was hot, too hot, too damned hot. The air singed his nostrils and every bit of exposed skin, pain from his burns and adrenaline making him dizzy. Or maybe that was lack of oxygen.
He fought back a growing sense of panic.
“Stay with me!”
Had he imagined Hawke’s voice?
Maybe. Maybe not.
BLAM!
The helo. Its fuel tank must have exploded.
He drew another breath, choked, smoke making his throat constrict until he started to drift away. He fought the darkness, fought to breathe, reaching for Libby with his mind.
At least you told her you loved her.
Marc stoodwith Darcangelo and McBride, watching as Jack eased his trailer onto the highway and headed down the canyon, Kenzie and Harrison Conrad following in two separate vehicles, one of which carried Winona and her wolf. Marc’s relief at knowing that both people and animals would be safe didn’t take away the ache in his chest.