Playing with Fire

CHAPTER 1

BLANKET OF FIRE

6:22 P.M.

WHEN JASON AND BRIAN had scouted this stretch of road in the middle of the week, it had been empty. But now, early on a Saturday evening, Jason counted a half-dozen parked cars. The lot for the nearby trail to Basin Falls must be full.

Only Brian’s plan had called for parking here, and he had made it clear that Jason shouldn’t deviate from the plan. And so far, Brian’s plan was going like clockwork.

So Jason found a spot. Before he got out, he cranked down the windows. Then he opened up the back of the little 1984 Chevette he had bought off Craigslist. Four hundred cash. Three hundred for the car, and another hundred for not asking questions. Later, Jason had destroyed the burner phone he’d used to arrange the deal.

The trunk of the hatchback was empty except for a single road flare.

After he retrieved it, Jason looked up and down the road but didn’t see anyone. He walked around the car until it was between him and the road. He pulled the lid off the white cap to expose the coarse red striking surface. Then he twisted off the cap. He took a slow breath, trying to steady his nerves. Then in a single fast movement, he struck the black button on the end of the flare across the coarse red surface on the plastic cap, like striking a giant match. It lit with a hiss and a shower of sparks, reminding him of fireworks.

He tossed it into the back seat, the way Brian had said.

And now he was supposed to walk away. Walk back down the road to where it joined up with the bigger road. Brian would pick him up. And meanwhile, their getaway car would turn into a fireball, destroying any prints and DNA they had left.

But what if the flare guttered and went out?

A flame started on the stained fabric of the seat, then began to inch up the back. It felt like magic. He had just created it out of nothing. Now it danced and moved like a living thing. The flames were yellow in the center, then orange and finally red at the edges.

Smoke was beginning to billow out of the car. A breeze blew through the driver’s side window and pushed the flames toward the middle of the seat.

The smoke was turning from gray to black. It tasted acrid. Jason stepped back, coughing, still reluctant to walk away. What if someone showed up with a fire extinguisher and put it out?

The flames reached out of the car, up past the roof. Inside, the headliner caught. It fell, a blanket of fire.

Boom! The back glass of the hatchback shattered, and a piece of metal shot toward him. It landed in the dry weeds, and suddenly they were on fire as well. Suddenly, everything was on fire.

Jason turned and ran, trying to get ahead of the flames.

CHAPTER 2

RIBBON OF SCAR

6:24 P.M.

A FLAT POP SPLIT the hot summer air. It sounded far away but also out of place.

Natalia heard it even over the rush of the waterfall. She lifted her head from the beach towel they had spread on a wide flat boulder. What was that?

Next to her, Wyatt, who had been half-asleep, pushed himself up on his elbows. His eyebrows pulled together. It almost sounded like a rifle shot.

But it’s not hunting season, right? Natalia was pretty sure hunting season was in the fall. Not in the middle of a scorching August.

No. It’s not. Wyatt was still listening, head tilted, hazel eyes narrowed. But the sound wasn’t repeated.

Had anyone else heard it? A couple of hikers still at Basin Falls were also staring toward the trail that led back to the parking lot, less than two miles away. But most seemed to have noticed nothing. A pitted-out plump guy in his late twenties was drinking a Gatorade on the sun-warmed rocks. A college-age girl was taking a selfie with the falls in the background, while her boyfriend threw a stick for his medium-sized brown dog. Thirty feet from them, a mom and dad were putting their toddler into a backpack-like contraption.

Wyatt finally relaxed. Sounds can carry weird out here. He shrugged. What time is it, anyway?

Natalia checked her phone. Six twenty-five. Even though the corner of the display had shown the same thing since they left the parking lot to start the hike here, it was still disconcerting to see zero bars and the words No Service.

Oops. I must have drifted off. Wyatt picked up his socks. We should get going. Even though it’s an easy trail, we don’t want to be on it after dark.

Natalia didn’t think it had been all that easy, what with the roots and rocks and being uphill. Sunset was still nearly two hours away, but it had taken them almost an hour to hike here.

Wyatt reached for his hiking boots, scuffed with use. She did the same, wishing she didn’t have to put hers back on. They were so hot and heavy, and because they were brand-new, they had already left a red spot on one toe.

And had she really needed them? Some people had made it here in Tevas. The girl taking a selfie was actually wearing flip-flops. Natalia had considered this a trip to the wilderness and prepared accordingly. Maybe it had been overkill to buy the hiking boots and the emergency supplies. It had certainly been expensive, way more than she’d expected.

After Natalia finished tying her boots, Wyatt pulled her to her feet. Although they had spent hours next to each other this summer, it was the first time they had deliberately touched. She was aware of his slightly calloused palm, his strong fingers, but he released her hand as soon as she was up.

Natalia couldn’t quite figure Wyatt out. She thought he liked her, but today he’d treated her just like a friend. Which was what they had become at the Dairy Barn this summer. Coworkers and friends. Handing out samples on tiny blue plastic spoons. Joking as they packed ice cream into cones. Bumping hips in the small space behind the counter.

And then last week Wyatt had found out that Natalia had never been hiking.

What? Never? This is Portland! He widened his eyes dramatically. The place where babies are born wearing Gore-Tex and hiking boots. People come from all over the world to hike the Columbia Gorge. You live less than an hour away, and you’ve managed to go seventeen years without even taking a day hike?

Sorry. With a half smile, she hung her head, savoring his attention.

What about Outdoor School? In Portland, most fifth graders attended Outdoor School, where they stayed in cabins, tramped around in the woods, and learned about nature.

I was sick that week. That was one way of putting it. Natalia had been in a hospital, sedated. And my parents aren’t really the outdoor-adventure type.

We’re going to have to fix that, Wyatt had said.

Which was why they were now scrambling up the hill and back to the trail. Natalia took one last look at the falls. She had to admit they were beautiful. White water poured over the lip of the basin to splash thirty feet into what nature and time had turned into a natural swimming hole. The rush of water was nearly hypnotic.

They reached the trail. It had been carved into the side of a valley that sloped down to a creek. Above them, evergreens stretched to the sky. The slanted hillside was carpeted with ferns and other small green plants. The space felt immense, big and open, capped only by the bright blue sky.

The way back was mostly downhill. Natalia had been looking forward to it, thinking it would be easier, but momentum actually seemed to be working against her. She felt off-balance. With each step, her ankles wobbled and her knees protested.

And then she stepped on a loose rock. Her right foot started to slip. As her arms pinwheeled, her stomach crammed into the back of her throat.

Natalia lurched to the right. Toward the creek. For a split second, she saw how it would all end, with her body tumbling down the steep slope to rest broken and bloody by the water far below.

Then Wyatt caught her wrist and pulled her back. Whoa there!

I thought going downhill would be easier! She was gasping.

It seems like it should be, doesn’t it? He gave her a sympathetic grin. The trick is to keep your knees bent and take short steps. Try to keep your weight centered—don’t lean forward or back.

They started off again. Natalia’s steps were now so short they were more of a shuffle. Whenever Wyatt realized she had fallen behind, he stopped and waited patiently. His gray T-shirt didn’t even look wet under the arms.

All of Natalia’s skin was slick. Sweat was actually dripping off the ends of her hair. She couldn’t wait to get home and jump into the shower. Maybe her parents were right. They thought being trapped in the middle of the woods without electricity, running water, or a car was reserved for survivors of the apocalypse or at least a plane crash. Certainly not something anyone with sense would choose.

Coming up the trail toward them was a dark-haired white guy in his thirties. He wore a black ball cap, dark cargo pants, and a black T-shirt that showed off his muscles and a long fresh scratch on one arm. He glanced back over his shoulder a couple of times, but the path behind him was empty.

Earlier, Wyatt had told Natalia that trail etiquette dictated whoever was going uphill had the right of way, so she stepped aside.

The other guy was moving fast, nearly jogging. Even though he was getting a late start, at his pace he would still have time to make it to the falls, admire them, and then turn around and beat Wyatt and Natalia back. As he passed, he gave them a nod, his eyes hidden by sunglasses. In one hand was what looked like the top to a bottle, but his other hand was empty.

When Natalia caught up with Wyatt for what seemed like the thousandth time, a scent tickled her nose. She stopped in her tracks. Smoke, but not from a cigarette. It smelled like a campfire. Do you smell that?

Wyatt sniffed the air. The Cougar Creek fire’s still burning.

At the word fire, a sour taste spread across Natalia’s tongue. Memories crowded into her thoughts, but she pushed them away. There’s a fire?

It’s been burning for a couple of weeks. It’s about seventy percent contained. Didn’t you see the helicopters carrying those gigantic buckets of flame retardant when we were driving here?

I saw them but I guess I didn’t think about what they were for.

We’re in the middle of a drought. Wyatt’s mouth twisted. That’s why I was worried that sound might have been a rifle shot. A lot of people go shooting in the Gorge, and some of them aren’t that careful. But these woods are tinder-dry. If they use exploding targets or a bullet sparked against a rock, it could cause a fire.

Despite the heat, Natalia shivered. Her hand went to the back of one pant leg. Through the cloth, her fingers traced the ribbon of scar on her left thigh. Trying to reassure herself, she said. But it’s so green. She waved a hand to indicate the dark evergreens, the brighter green ferns and plants.

All this green can turn into fuel if the conditions are right. He saw her expression. Don’t worry. We’re almost back to the car. And that fire is several miles away.

They kept walking down the trail, their boots thudding softly. Her stomach growled, despite the sandwiches they had eaten only an hour ago. Maybe they could stop at a drive-through on their way back to Portland.

Focused on her feet, she almost ran into Wyatt’s back. He had stopped short. His head was up, and when she stepped to the side to look at his face, his eyes were wide.

What’s the matter? Everything looked just the way it had before. Then Natalia realized it wasn’t what Wyatt was seeing. It was what he was hearing.

A rumbling.

"What is that?"

Instead of answering, he broke into a jog, disappearing around a turn in the path. More slowly, Natalia followed. The air was starting to look cloudy. Misty.

When she rounded the corner, she felt the heat on her skin. Now smoke was everywhere.

Natalia blinked, as if it were a mirage, but what she saw didn’t go away.

Several hundred yards ahead, the woods were on fire. The woods they needed to go through.

CHAPTER 3

TRUE BUT NOT THE TRUTH

6:59 P.M.

NATALIA PUT HER HAND over her mouth. The fire moved like a living thing, like a dancer, like water, like a torn and fluttering flag. It crackled and snapped as it crisped and then consumed ferns and wildflowers and plants she didn’t know the names of.

It wasn’t a solid wall of flame. Some spots were still green, while in others the fire was thick, flaring up as it found new fuel, filling the air with pale smoke. The flickering orange and yellow was a sharp contrast to the bright green ground cover. The flames were nibbling on the trunks of some of the small trees that bordered the trail but hadn’t leapt into the canopies. Yet.

Natalia’s throat was tight, her breathing shallow. For the past six years, she had avoided even the smallest of fires. Matches. Lighters. Birthday candles. Smoldering incense. And of course bigger things like firepits and fireplaces.

Now her nightmares had come to life.

Slowly, she became aware Wyatt was repeating her name. Natalia. Natalia, are you okay?

She was not okay. She was back to being eleven years old, gasping in the smoke.

I’m afraid of fire.

In her mind, she was again crawling across the flat tan carpet, coughing and gagging.

Wyatt put his hand under her chin, turning her head so she was facing him and not the flames. At first she resisted, the muscles in her neck rigid, before yielding to the gentle pressure of his fingers. Their eyes locked. This time when he grabbed her hand, he squeezed and didn’t let go.

Listen to me. We’re going to be okay. But we can’t stay here. We’re going to go back to the falls. It’s got that rocky beach with no trees nearby. And all that water. We’ll be safe there.

But what about the fire?

He surveyed the flames with narrowed eyes. "It’s not that far from the parking lot. Someone’s probably already called 9-1-1. If the Forest Service could divert a single helicopter with one of those giant buckets of fire retardant, they could nip this thing in the