High Desert Barbecue (9 page)

R
ollo unscrewed a nut at the base of the rifle’s pistol grip, which was a molded extrusion of the black, plastic stock, and then he separated the receiver from the stock. “The barrel comes off, too, and everything stashes inside the stock. It’s one of my favorite toys.”

“
I like it. But why didn’t you grab my pistol instead of putting together your little MacGyver gadget?”

“
Hell, Scott. I’ve never shot your pistol. I figured it’d be faster to put this thing together than to figure out that IQ test you call a gun.”

L
ani pressed the heels of her hands to her forehead and let out a sigh.

“
Guys, I’m so happy you’re having a bonding moment, but what do we do next?”

T
here was a long moment of silence.

“
I mean, bizarre as it is, Rollo was apparently right about rangers setting the forest on fire. And now they’re after—” Her voice broke.

A
fter a moment, she spoke, her voice once again clear and strong.

“
Basically, we’re fucked.”

S
cott reached around the slim blonde, and then dramatically twirled her into his arms and planted a kiss on her lips.

“
But baby, this is your opportunity to see me in action. You can witness my grace under fire—”

“
Witness you run your ass off under fire, more like,” Rollo offered.

S
cott ignored him.

“
This is a chance for genuine heroics, honey.”

“
Oh shit. I hope you’re not serious.”

S
cott gently returned Lani to her feet.

“
Not completely. But I thought it might cheer you up. Anyway, if I’m not gonna look dashing now, I’ll never have a chance.”

H
e shot his girlfriend what he hoped was a reassuring smile. Then he looked ahead along the rutted track through the forest.

“
Hey, where do you think this road goes?”

Chapter 20

W
ith smoke wreathed around his head, Jason barely suppressed a dry cough. He shot a glance down the road toward the spot where they’d seen the stranger—and been shot at by
somebody
. Fire was spreading at that site, the smoke was getting thicker and he and his friends were very obviously not the only people roaming the woods with guns.

H
e wanted to go home.

B
ut Van Kamp had other ideas.

“
Get that son of a bitch,” the diminutive uber-ranger had ordered him via two-way radio. It was an impressive device—larger than usual and, importantly, supposedly secure from eavesdropping. Jason could visualize the little man standing on his chair and leaning over his desk with spittle flying from between his gnashing teeth. He shuddered.

“
Get that SOB, and get whoever his friends are. We can’t have them peddling photographs of you setting a fire.”

“
But they
shot
at us!”

“
That’s right! And we can’t let that kind of disdain for Forest Service personnel—well, people who
look
like Forest Service personnel—go unpunished.”

S
o here he hunched over the hood of his truck, with a fire creeping close enough to (he shot another look over his shoulder) slow-roast his backside. He smoothed the map with his hands, and traced the outline of a road.

“
This is where we are, along FR 538. The people we saw ran off in this direction, which leads further back into the forest, toward the rim.”

T
im stabbed at a spot on the map with a finger grubby from gasoline and soot. He and Ray had lingered too long near the flames, torn between desire to race off after the strangers, and fear of being trapped between firearms and fire. The result was a pinkish glow, like that of pork on its way to barbecued perfection.

“
It looks like 538 links up with 231—whaddya call it … Woody Mountain Road—up ahead.”

“
Yes,” Jason answered. “There’s a connecting road several miles down that brings you back to 231.”

“
So if we grab those people fast enough, we can get around the fire before it cuts us off?”

“
If we drive fast enough—and if the fire doesn’t move too fast.”

“
How are we going to fit everybody in the trucks?” Rena asked. “I mean, we can get one or two in easy, but can we really jam several prisoners in with us and still control them?”

T
erry looked on with a faint smile on his face, and Jason could guess his colleague’s thoughts. Squat and muscular—the opposite of Terry in almost every way—her bare torso covered in a layer of dirt and soot like an Amazon warrior painted for battle, Rena looked like she could put any two prisoners in a headlock without much difficulty.

B
ut Jason didn’t say a word in response; he just returned his eyes to the map. Even Rena’s friend Bob kept his eyes on his shoes. The Floral Supremacy people were full partners in (Jason whispered the name to himself) the Carthage Option; they should know what was expected.

R
ena looked from face to face, awaiting an answer to her question.

F
inally, Tim turned and snarled, “We ain’t bringin’ ‘em back.”

R
ena mouthed a silent “Oh.”

“
So what’s down that way, anyway?” Ray asked. “Where are these people headed?”

T
erry, who knew the area best, spoke up. “Way down the road, 538 eventually ends at the Casner Mountain trailhead. That splits off into two trails. One of them heads into Sycamore Canyon; the other leaves off in the middle of nowhere—down dirt road, miles from Highway 89A.

“
If they’re smart, though, they’ll duck down 538E.”

“
Why’s that,” Ray asked.

“
That road leads to Dorsey Spring trail and Kelsey Spring trail, and both of those take you down to Geronimo Spring in Sycamore Canyon.”

“
Does Sycamore Canyon get them anywhere?”

“
If they follow it all the way down, it takes them to a pretty busy trailhead. From there they could catch a ride to Clarkdale.”

“
Fuck. Is there water along there?”

“
Some. Especially with the rains at this time of year.”

“
Fuck.”

J
ason sighed. “All right, folks. Let’s get in the trucks and see if we can’t catch these people before they get into the canyon.”

F
ive minutes later, with dust and smoke mingling in the air behind the vehicles, they approached the intersection of forest Roads 538 and 538E.

T
hen the engine in Jason’s truck sputtered and stopped.

T
im pulled his truck along side Jason’s. From the driver’s side he called across his cab, “What in Hell is wrong now?”

T
hen the second engine sputtered and stopped.

J
ason tapped gently on his now-useless steering wheel. He watched the dust settle around the truck. Then he turned to Samantha, sitting in the shotgun seat with a look of concern on her face.

“
Out of curiosity, just how much gasoline did you siphon from the truck tanks?”

Chapter 21

V
an Kamp wound up as if to pitch his two-way radio across the small motel room, then thought better of it. It was official-issue, after all, even if his possession and use of it was a bit
un
official, and a fastball pitch through the room’s television set would likely take a fair chunk out of his paycheck. Instead, he carefully dropped the gadget onto the bed. That paycheck was likely to grow in the near future, to compensate for a host of eagerly anticipated new responsibilities. How could the administrator of a vast wilderness too flammable for human habitation be expected to survive on the pittance he took home?

B
ut, for now, that pittance was all he had, so onto the bed the radio must go.

H
is aborted wind-up didn’t go unnoticed.

“
Bad news?” the Park Service man asked. He sat by the room’s open window, catching the summer breeze that carried the noises and odors of busy Route 66. With storm clouds moving in, the temperature had dropped enough that nobody in the room felt obligated to demand air conditioning. Still, the room was close and stale-smelling, and fresh air was welcome.

V
an Kamp didn’t answer immediately. The pint-sized ranger paced the small room, coming face to shirt button with first Greenfield, then the BLM official. The reminder of small stature put him in an even fouler mood.

“
Goddamn yes. That idiot managed to run out of gas. His trucks are stranded in the middle of the forest, which means they’re toast if that fire they set does what it’s supposed to do. That’s
three
trucks he’s lost. Three!”

G
reenfield glared at him from across the room. He wore the same shirt and sports jacket he’d had on earlier. In fact, it was the only clothing Van Kamp had ever seen him in. Which fact went a long way toward explaining the stale air in the room.

“
That fire
better
do what it’s supposed to do. Those trees must die for a cause.” His voice rumbled like thunder. His beard trembled ever so slightly. “I won’t let their deaths be in vain.” He drew out the word “vain,” adding at least one extra syllable.

“
Jesus, you’re good at that,” the Park Service man said. “We have to get you on TV again.”

G
reenfield blinked, then smiled.

“
Anyway,” the BLM official broke in, shooting a skeptical glance at Greenfield. “At least the fire got started. That’s what we wanted. “Once the hotshots are committed to suppressing the fire, I can have my people get started on Fredonia and Kanab. We’ll get the firefighting resources spread a little thin.”

V
an Kamp sighed.

“
Yes, but that id—” He stopped himself. “Jason is out there chasing witnesses now—witnesses who shot at him. With the hotshots in place, we really can’t send anybody in to help him. We’ll have to count on the team we have in place to get the job done.”

T
he Park Service man pursed his lips, then looked at Greenfield.

“
Are your people up to that? I mean, are they up to a gun fight in the desert?”

G
reenfield folded his hands in front of his chest.

“
Oh yes. All three of them are tough as nails. And Bob once shot up a landscaper’s office.”

“
What?”

“
Well, it’s just cruel, you know. Landscapers mutilate our friends. Bob takes great exception to that.”

Chapter 22

“
Kelsey Spring it is, then,” Scott said, looking at the rustic trail marker at the end of the rocky, rutted road. “Does anybody know where this trail takes us?”

L
ani dropped her pack to the ground, unzipped the lid pocket and fished a dog-eared trail guide from inside. She sat cross-legged on the ground, into which her dust-coated legs seemed to blend.

“
Does this take us down into the canyon?” Rollo asked. He hunched down to look at the trail entry. His bulk loomed over that of the small blonde, and she leaned slightly to her left to open the distance between them.

“
Which canyon?” Scott asked. He scratched absent-mindedly behind Champ’s ears, while the dog leaned against his knees.

“
My
canyon,” Rollo answered. “Sycamore. I’ve been stomping through there for years. I even have some stuff cached up on Packard Mesa above the canyon.”