Reaper's Fire

“Do you think the town will burn?” Rebecca asked, her voice unsteady.

“It’s only level two,” I reminded her, trying not to show any of my own nerves. “But we need to be ready.”

“I don’t want to lose all my stuff,” Anna moaned.

“Let’s worry about staying safe, all right?” I reminded her. “First thing, I doubt you’ll lose anything, but if you did, it’s beyond our control. There’s nothing you own that’s worth dying for.”

Her mouth snapped shut, and for a minute I felt guilty, because that was a little harsh. Then the guilt passed, because I had more important things to worry about, like making sure none of us burned up. Mrs. Webbly handled the girls from there, and I have to say, she was brilliant. She talked brightly the entire time, telling them about the other evacuations she’d experienced through the decades.

“The forests have to burn,” she reminded us. “If they don’t, the new trees can’t grow.”

It only took the twins ten minutes to throw together their backpacks. We left the elders in the car at Carrie and Darren’s house, and while the girls packed, I moved through the house with a lightweight grocery bag, collecting their laptop, the jewelry Carrie’d gotten from her grandmother, and as many family pictures as I could find. Then we headed back to our place, passing the police going door to door as we drove. The girls chattered nervously as Mary Webbly and I shared a look.

I didn’t care how many times she’d been evacuated—this was officially scary as hell.

 

 

GAGE



The dump station was only ten miles from the clubhouse, but it took us nearly half an hour to reach it because visibility sucked so bad. We pulled off at one point to talk about turning around, but it really was just smoke—all the fires were to the south. If anything, we were riding away from the danger. Still didn’t like being so far from Tinker, though.

Should’ve hung up when Talia called.

Once we pulled into the station—which was less of a “station” and more of a line of Dumpsters in a dirt parking lot—Taz and Hunter scouted for a place to hide the bikes. They found an old forest service access road back in the trees that was perfect. They’d be hidden in the trees, but still easy to access. We’d just gotten everything set up when an emergency alert hit my phone.

Level-two evacuation notice for Hallies Falls.

Fucking hell.

“Talia’s just gonna have to wait,” I told Pic, holding out the phone. He pulled out his own, looking thoughtful.

“No alert on mine,” he said.

“Me neither,” Taz added, but Hunter shook his head.

“Came through on mine.”

“Coverage is spotty as hell in areas like this at the best of times,” Pic concluded. “You have a tower go offline and anything’s possible.”

“Let me call Tinker, make sure she’s all right,” I said. “Then we can go.”

Dialing her number, I waited for the phone to ring. Instead, I got an error message saying the call couldn’t be completed.

“Fuck,” I muttered. “Call won’t go through. I’ll try sending her a text, but I need to get back there. Her and her dad and . . . shit. All she’s got to evacuate in is the Mustang. BB’s there, but he’s on a bike so that’s no good. If a level three hits, I can load them in the bunk of the semi, and if that can’t make it through the fire, nothing will.”

“Yeah, you’re right,” Pic said. “The rest of this shit can wait. Don’t panic, though. Level two isn’t good, but it’s not a full evacuation order, either.”

“It’ll come down to the wind,” Hunter added, frowning. “Think it’s picking up.”

As if listening to his words, the massive old-growth pines above us started to sway. I hit Tinker’s number and tried to call her again, I got the same error message.

Goddammit.

Maybe a text would get through. Typing out a quick message, I started jogging for my bike.

 

 

TINKER



By the time we reached the apartment building, Carrie had called saying the highway was closed, so she’d have to drive around the long way. That meant two hours minimum before she got back to town, assuming those roads managed to stay open. We made plans for the twins to stay with me at my place, agreeing that if the evacuation order came, I’d take them with me.

Mrs. Webbly ushered Dad and the girls inside to eat lunch while I started making rounds of the building. Several of the tenants had decided to leave already. Sadie and her family had just finished packing up, and the rest already had their plans. This was a huge relief, because no matter how tight we squeezed in, no way I’d be getting more people in my car.

We didn’t need to leave yet, but we might soon. I’d started back across the courtyard when the phone rang.

Margarita.

“Hey,” I said.

“You guys okay?” she asked anxiously.

“For now,” I said. “I’m waiting for Carrie to get back—her girls are with me. Smoke is real bad, and some people are already pulling out. We’re watching for now. I’ve packed as much as the car can hold.”

“That’s good,” she said slowly. “Um, I’m going to text you a link. It’s to one of the news channels, their live stream. Don’t freak, okay? They just announced an interview that’s coming, one you’ll probably want to see.”

“Okay . . .” I answered. “What’s going on?”

“Let’s just watch and see what happens,” she replied, her voice strained. “Then call me back if you need to talk.”

Sheesh. Nothing ominous about that. She hung up, and seconds later a text came through with a link to a Seattle news station. I touched it, bracing myself as the little loading thingie circled around. Then the video started and I saw a shot of Brandon in front of our house.

He looked very serious as a blonde reporter raised her microphone.

“This is Melissa Swartz, live, with Brandon Graham, who is director of the King County Prosecutor’s criminal division. Mr. Graham, can you tell us about your wife and what you know of her situation?”

She turned to him, concern written all over her face. He nodded his head, the portrait of a worried husband.