Primal Threat - Earl Emerson [119]
“I’m not trying to get in your way,” Stephens said, picking up his bicycle. “I’m really not.”
“Well, you were in our way!” Fred towered over Stephens but backed off when the other three cyclists converged on them. Jennifer got out and stood beside the passenger’s door. Kasey winged open the driver’s door and stood with one foot on the packed earth and the other inside the vehicle. It occurred to Zak that perhaps because they were now weaponless, these people were afraid of them, two men and a woman, sans guns, facing four cyclists who had every right to be madder than hell at the way they’d been treated all day. Large as he was, even Fred showed signs of being intimidated. What they didn’t know was that a couple of fourth graders could have pushed all four of the cyclists over with a broom.
Before anybody else could say anything, the walkie-talkie in the Porsche and the one in Zak’s rear jersey pocket rattled in unison. “Commando Two to Commando One. We’re in trouble. Commando Two to…don’t—”
It was Scooter’s voice, but the message ended in a trail of static. Kasey grabbed the walkie-talkie from out of the Porsche and tried to raise his friend. Fred gave the four cyclists a look that indicated the stolen walkie-talkie was clear evidence that every accusation they’d leveled against them was valid.
“They were headed down,” Stephens said.
“Which way is down?”
“You boys turned around?” Muldaur asked.
“Which way is down?” Kasey repeated.
“Tell us what you found up the mountain, and we’ll tell you which way is down.”
“Fire,” Jennifer said. “We found a ton of fire creeping down the side of the mountain toward the lake. The road to the south is impassable.”
“Down is back there,” said Zak. “We warned them not to go.”
The three of them climbed into the Porsche and slammed the doors. Jennifer locked hers.
Muldaur said, “Fuck you,” and pedaled past them. Zak and Giancarlo followed. As they rode, the radio in Zak’s back pocket sizzled when Jennifer tried to raise Scooter and Bloomquist. It was the only noise any of them heard. Even the whirring from knobby mountain bike tires on the road seemed softened by the smoke.
When they reached the intersection, it became apparent that Stephens wasn’t with them. “Hey, where is he?” Giancarlo said. “I know he’s not in front this time.” They rode in circles in the road for half a minute, calling him and giving him a chance to catch up.
“We can’t wait,” said Muldaur.
“He’s your friend,” said Zak.
“No, he’s all of ours. But we can’t wait.”
56
Prior to this morning, Kasey had only seen one dead body in his life, his grandmother at her funeral, so he wasn’t happy about any of this. The fact that they’d started two of the fires that were now chasing them up and down the mountain had become a nagging kernel of guilt he was doing his best to bury. The fires were fingering their way up the mountain, one from the site of the wreck and a second from the camp. Kasey knew the fire at the camp had swelled to become the torrent of yellow that was charging at them now.
The squabble came after they’d reversed up the mountain and turned around at the viewpoint near the top. Scooter and Bloomquist climbed into the bed of the tall Ford for a better look at the fires below them. Scooter swore the road was passable and all they had to do was drive down the way they’d come up, but Kasey knew he couldn’t possibly see enough of the road to know if that was true. Jennifer said she was not going down. Bloomquist sided with Scooter in wanting to descend. “The quickest way home is the way we came,” he said. Fred wanted to go down, too, but only to find the rifles the cyclists had thrown into the trees, so he could reload them from the boxes of ammo he still had in the glove box.
In the end they decided Scooter and Bloomquist would drive the pickup north, while Kasey, with Fred and Jennifer as passengers, would head south. Whoever found a way out would radio the other team.