Summer of Fire - Linda Jacobs [139]
“I had help.”
Steve probably thought she meant Deering helping him outrun the flames. Sure enough, he shot a glance at the man in the right front seat putting on headphones.
How many times had she bargained for a sign from Frank? She’d wished to believe the dead sent signs to the living, but had never thought it possible.
She still didn’t. That voice, so like Frank’s, had not come from beyond, but from inside her. She’d trained with him, drill after drill, back when she was green. He’d kept her moving, taught her not to let the dragon’s voice distract her from the goal. He’d bandaged the burns she’d earned and then let her tend to him. Everybody in the station had sensed their unbreakable bond.
No, he hadn’t come back from whatever new adventure he was surely on. She had simply known what he would have said as certainly as she knew her own name.
She stared out into the sky, into an image of Frank’s smiling eyes. “Thank you,” she whispered.
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
September 8
Deering looked at the Huey’s controls and thought he would be sick.
Not again.
Not after ditching his Georgia in Yellowstone Lake. Not after the panic at Old Faithful and landing in disgrace. Not after crashing with Clare’s child on this remote peak.
Last night, he’d lain beside the wreckage of the Huey Karrabotsos had trusted him with. Hearing Devon’s labored breathing, he had hoped she’d be all right. He’d given her the only blanket and lay down back to back with her to preserve body heat. With a rock hard beneath his spine, his temples had pounded where his pulse had turned timpani. He’d pulled back his sleeve to reveal the lighted dial of his Timex.
He wasn’t blind, then.
Lying on the remote mountain with a sour taste in his mouth, he’d realized that while he slept he’d been on another black excursion to Vietnam. One of those trips across space and time that spirited him away when he closed his eyes. No matter the passage of years, he still rested fitfully, as though staying awake would keep the demon at bay.
All the way up the mountain, Deering had counted on Karrabotsos to fly them out of here.
The vis was terrible with the smoke rising off the Clover-Mist, but if he took off to the northeast, he’d probably be able to get them free. With Karrabotsos and Devon both needing medical assistance, he’d have to risk flying on instruments to West Yellowstone.
A good plan, but he clutched the cyclic stick as though he had tunnel vision. Fresh sweat that wasn’t from the climb broke out on his forehead and felt cold in his armpits.
On that afternoon back in July, over Yellowstone Lake with wind whipping in the door, Deering had fought the dizzying sway of the sling load beneath his helicopter, acting as yin to the aircraft’s yang. He’d wanted to believe that Steve Haywood was to blame when the heavy bucket had engaged his Bell in a tug of war, a pair of pendulums in dynamic opposition.
“Let’s go,” Steve said from behind him. Deering sensed the impatience in him and in the other passengers who hadn’t spoken.
Still, he sat. Last night he’d made a promise, sent a message through the night to Georgia, swearing to God that if he just got off this mountain alive, he’d never take the controls of another helicopter.
Steve bent his head between the seats and stared hard at him. “Come on, guy. You can cry in your beer about crashing when you get home. Now, it’s time to fly.”
A man who hated him, who was terrified of flying . . . and yet Steve’s voice was strong and upbeat.
“When did you figure that shit out?” he muttered. Sonnavabitch, if Doctor Haywood didn’t sound like he was ready to go for another ride with him driving.
“All kinds of strange things have happened this summer.” Steve clapped a hand on his shoulder. “Go with the flow.”
What the hell.
Deering took a deep breath and started his preflight.
Clare felt the skids touch down at West Yellowstone. The ride had been white-knuckle all the way. Karrabotsos seemed to be in a lot of pain but doing as well as could be expected.
That was more than she could say for Devon. Although her