He was an hour down the road when the call from Chase came.

Hank almost didn't answer it at first. He watched his cell phone ring on the dash, vibrating its way around the tray. He glanced out the window at the scenery retreating behind him. The further away from Cedar Springs he got, the more the blackened trees, stripped of their life and leaves, reared up to greet him.

The fire had already passed through this area. His was one of the only trucks out on the road, and that was how he preferred it. Let this dead, winding road lead him home—or whatever it was he was running back to.

Because that's what it was. Running. He wasn't chasing anything. And it was the thought of the chase that was continuing to elude him that drew him back to the Chase who just wouldn't leave him the hell alone.

"Hank here." He pressed the phone to his ear, letting it be known by his tone that he wasn't in the mood for Chase's horseshit. If the other man thought he could convince him to return to Cedar Springs now, he had another think coming.

"Hank!" Chase's tone, in contrast to what he had been expecting, was urgent. Hank pressed the phone closer to his ear to catch the agitated stream of words. "It's the fire, Hank! It blew into town!"

"Where?" This was the last damn news he had wanted to receive, especially now that he was already headed out of town. That fucking county commissioner should have listened to him . . . no, Hank should have insisted that he listen. Now the fire had done exactly what they’d all feared, and there was no one to blame but himself. He had let his intuition be drowned out. He had been so preoccupied with Lana . . .

Lana.

"Where, Chase? Where has the fire spread to?"

"South, near the highway."

"Shit!" Hank swerved on his stretch of road. The wheels of the truck squealed beneath him, and the whole creaking body of the vehicle careened wildly as he stomped the brakes and wrenched the wheel around into a screeching U-turn on the two-lane county highway. The smell of burned rubber filled the air and singed his nostrils as if the fire was beneath him, right at his heels.

"Hank! What the hell, man?" Now Chase sounded like he was in a blind panic. "Hank? You there, Chief? Shit! Please tell me he didn't just get into a fucking accident . . ."

"I can hear you," he growled. "I didn't get into an accident. I'm on my way back to you."

"Glad to hear it. See you when you get here."

Chase dropped the call. Hank's thumb flew across the keypad frantically as he dialed. The subsequent ringing in his ear was cold, and shrill, and continuing, continuing . . . continuing right into voicemail.

"Come on, Lana!" Hank hissed through his teeth. He tried dialing again. Nothing. Just Lana Sweet's unassuming voice inviting him to leave a message. Maybe it was a good thing that he couldn't reach her. Maybe it meant she had evacuated already.

Or maybe it meant she was screening his calls.

Hank hung up. He was about to toss his phone onto the seat beside him, maybe bang his hands on the steering wheel and string profanities together until his throat was sore, but another idea occurred to him. He shouted his sister's name into the phone, and Siri dialed.

"Hank!" He could only barely distinguish Sookie's voice over the din of what he recognized to be helicopter blades.

"Sookie, I need you to get to Lana's house and make sure she got out okay. The fire is headed right for her."

"I know it is, Hank." Sookie sounded more distressed then he could ever remember hearing her. "But I'm gearing up to fly. I have my orders. Believe me, I wish I could run to her house and make sure she's safe." The channel garbled as Sookie responded to something another member of the National Guard was shouting at her. "I'm sure she's fine, Hank. She has to have evacuated by now. Everyone knows where the fire is."

"I wish I could be so sure," Hank whispered. He doubted Sookie heard him over the roar of the chopper. He raised his voice to shout into the phone. "Be safe, little sister. I look forward to seeing you when you get back down, Sook."

"Same to you, big brother. I love you, Hank."

The words jarred him, but Sookie hung up before he could return the sentiment. He’d thought he would never hear those three words on his sister's lips again.

Hank threw his phone down and floored the accelerator, gunning the truck down the highway. As he sped, he tried to relax, starting with his shoulders since his thoughts wouldn't immediately cooperate. Of course, what Sookie said had to be true. Lana always had the local news on in her living room these days, just like anyone else. And there was no way she couldn't see the fire coming, looking out those huge bay windows of hers.

Nevertheless, he made the hour drive back in under forty minutes.

They had already set up the one-way blockades. Hank parked, but left the engine running as he stepped down out of the truck's cab.

A police officer hustled over to him, already shaking his head, a denial of entry on his lips.

Hank opened his wallet and thrust his ID at the man. "I'm a firefighter," he stated. "I'm here with the volunteer contingency from Alaska. Let me through."

The cop's headshake quickly transformed into a nod. "Winds’re pushing the fire up into the south part of town," the officer said as he moved the barricade. "Not sure where your squad is going to be. Caught us completely by surprise. We're still in the process of evacuating everyone."

"Thanks." Hank pulled himself back up into the cab, not bothering with his seatbelt as he shot on through.

He headed south, toward the flickering orange glow feeding on the darkening horizon. He couldn't tell if the black miasma in the evening sky overhead was smoke or storm clouds. It almost didn't seem to matter anymore.

The apocalypse had come to Cedar Springs.

He was forced to slow down as he began passing rapidly unfolding scenes of chaos. Too many volunteers had been sent home prematurely, and the people of Cedar Springs had been lulled into complacency thanks to the commissioner's positive reports. No one seemed prepared for the fire. Vehicles careened down both lanes of the road, and frequently screeched to a halt as the drivers stopped to pick up their fleeing neighbors. A man was outside on his lawn, spraying down the burning roof of his home with a garden hose; Hank watched the scene conclude in his rearview mirror, when a fireman was forced to tackle to the distraught homeowner and drag him away so the professionals could do their work but to Hank’s practiced eye, it wouldn’t be long before the house collapsed completely. Booming above the uncontrolled panic was an authoritative voice on a loudspeaker telling everyone to get out now! No request for calm, no time for orderliness. This was it.

Black smoke poured from Lana's street.

Hank wrenched the steering wheel in a skidding turn onto her street. He could see houses going up like torches further—not far enough—past her house. Shock made him yank the wheel too late, and he overshot her driveway (her car was still there!) and flew into the yard. His wheels churned her lawn as he hit the brakes and skidded the car around, ending sideways to the house. He threw the door open before the truck came to a complete stop and leapt onto her porch.

"Lana!" he shouted. He raised his fist to bang on the door—before realizing how far past pleasantries they were at this point. The fire was already consuming a neighbor's house just down the street, and wind-borne sparks filled the air around him like flaming fireflies.

He reared back and kicked the door in.