Primal Threat - Earl Emerson [93]
“Ryan wanted to try skydiving,” said Bloomquist. “But he was too scared to sign up. He must have been terrified at the end.”
“He was terrified his whole life,” said Fred, not unkindly. “How did you guys end up crashing?”
“They must have put something in the road. Whatever it was, it blew a tire. There were two of them riding their bikes, and then all of a sudden after a bend there was only one, and he was going slower. It was like he was trying to slow us down. One of them must have gone ahead to set a trap. Next thing I know I’m climbing out of the wreck.”
“They’re murderers,” said Jennifer. “If we weren’t sure before, we’re sure now. Chuck. Dozer. And now Ryan. They’re out-and-out murderers.”
With only the wind and the sound of Chuck’s idling truck as background noise, everyone grew quiet. It was weird the way tension catapulted them into these quiet moments, Kasey thought; this was the third or fourth period of total stillness since they’d reached the crash site.
Kasey said, “When I wrecked my first Carrera in high school, there was a two-by-four in the road. Remember?”
“You were drinking,” said Bloomquist.
“Which doesn’t mean there wasn’t a two-by-four in the road.”
“I don’t want to lose any more of my friends because we were too timid,” said Jennifer. “We’ve got to stop them before they stop us. Is everybody in agreement?” Standing nose-to-nose, as she was wont to do, she addressed the question to Bloomquist, who didn’t flinch but gave the appearance that he was about to.
“I’m with you guys,” Bloomquist said. “Perry never hurt anyone.”
“Oh, shit,” said Fred, running for his truck, which he’d left idling. A small clump of dry grass had caught fire on the side of the road, apparently ignited by something on the vehicle’s underside.
Fred jumped in and moved the truck down the road, then ran back and stomped the burning grass with his sandaled feet. He worked at putting out the small fire until Scooter pulled on his arm and said, “Fred, let it go. They’re up there somewhere. At least two of them are. Let it burn their asses.”
Fred and Scooter looked at each other for a few moments and then gazed down as the flames emitted a soft crackling noise and began to spread.
“We can’t do this,” said Kasey.
“Why not? It was an accident. Nobody can control accidents.” Kasey noticed that Scooter’s gray eyes were almost as bright as the time they tried coke.
“Besides, the whole valley’s on fire. Nobody’s going to notice.”
“It’s worth it to flush them out,” said Fred. “At least they won’t be behind us. There’s only a couple of ways off this mountain, and we’re sealing one of them off.”
While Roger Bloomquist stood staring at the wreckage of his Land Rover, the others watched the fire creep through the long brown grass above the road. Within moments, a hot wind began pushing it up into the dry brush and twigs on the other side of the ditch and assisting it as it fingered its way up the side of the mountain. Soon it looked like a series of huge orange zippers flying up the mountain.
“Jesus, that wind is dry,” said Fred.
“That’s the same Chinook we had yesterday,” said Bloomquist.
“The fire sure is hot,” said Jennifer. “Even from here I can feel the heat.”
When the flames reached the first of the trees, they began racing up the side of the mountain with a ferocity Kasey found hard to fathom. It was as if a plane had napalmed the slope. “We shouldn’t have done this.”
Scooter snorted.
“Too late to stop it now,” said Jennifer, who was plainly having her own doubts.
Like a series of match heads igniting, a stand of scraggly trees on the hill caught fire and one by one began crackling and popping with little explosions caused by pockets of pitch. Burning debris began to rain down onto the road.
Kasey knew they had to leave or they would be caught up in it, and he knew the others were looking to him for a sign,