Primal Threat - Earl Emerson [111]
“The fire’s too close,” Zak said. “We gotta stop screwing around and get out of here.”
“Tell him to put down his gun,” Fred said.
“You put yours down!”
As they waited for the drama to play out, they heard a loud, whooshing noise like a freight train barreling through a desert town in the middle of the night. Everyone knew instinctively that the fire was getting close. Too close. Zak didn’t know a lot about wildland fires, but he knew they created their own geothermal systems, and frequently the winds surrounding them were fiercer than any native winds, capable of causing the fire to behave in unpredictable ways. Spinning around as if in a cyclone, a large, dark object flew over their heads. Moments later the wind died, and the object fell to the earth with a clank. It was part of an old, rusted car body. It would have killed anyone it hit.
“Jesus,” said Jennifer.
Zak helped her to her feet; her arms felt warm and moist. He thought she held him for a second too long, as if she needed something from him or was trying to impart a message.
“We need to get the hell out of here,” said Giancarlo, who hadn’t moved the rifle from his shoulder. “Call a truce and get out before we’re dead.”
“Fine with me,” said Fred. “A truce.”
“Then put the gun down.”
“No fuckin’ way, man. You killed my brother.”
“I didn’t have anything to do with your brother. I was in camp when that happened.”
“Okay, they killed my brother. You’re part of it.”
“We didn’t do anything,” Zak said. “Scooter knocked him off that bluff by accident. If they both hadn’t been half drunk, it wouldn’t have happened.”
“He wasn’t drunk,” Jennifer said, stepping away from Zak. Any coalition they might have formed was gone now. Fred began to swing his rifle in Zak’s direction.
“You put that gun on my friend and I’m going to pull this trigger,” said Giancarlo.
Fred stopped moving. “You guys killed my dog.”
“Yeah, well, your dog took a piece of meat out of Giancarlo’s leg the size of a sandwich.”
“Truce! Truce?” Kasey stepped forward. “Okay? Okay, you guys? Before we all look like broiled knockwurst? I don’t know shit about forest fires, but I think we’re in trouble here.”
“He’s right,” said Giancarlo. “Put the gun down.”
“I put it down, you’ll shoot me.”
“Give me a break, knucklehead. If I was going to shoot you, I would have done it by now. I need you to put your gun down before I put mine down so we can be sure you don’t shoot us.”
“Fred,” said Jennifer. “Put it down.”
Scooter was on his feet now, eyes full of tears. “Don’t let them buffalo you, Fred. Put a bullet in him. He doesn’t have the nerve to shoot back.”
Before Fred could make a decision, the wind picked up again, and they all heard a horrendous crashing to the south. On the other side of a knoll that blocked their view of the valley and the fast-encroaching fire, they heard sounds that resembled a beast with feet as large as trucks, snapping branches and cracking rocks.
Jennifer tried to climb into the cab of the truck, trembling so badly she couldn’t coordinate her movements. “I’m getting out of here.”
When the crashing noises in the forest began to sound out to the north, too, and they saw flames fingering into the trees a mere fifty yards away, Fred flung his rifle into the road. “Don’t shoot, you bastard. Just don’t shoot me.”
Giancarlo picked up the rifle, ejected the cartridges, flung the gun into the woods with one hand, then did the same thing with the rifle he’d been holding. He collected his own pistol and tucked it into his jersey pocket.
“Just for the record,” Muldaur said, “we didn’t push Chuck. And