I lift. The tree doesn’t flinch. It’s too long, too heavy. I need my saw.
I run back to where I dropped my equipment and spot the familiar handle. Everything feels like it’s moving in slow motion, including me, as I pump my legs to get back to him. Faster and faster I run, until I’m at his side and the knife-like grooves of the saw eat at rough bark. I grind it a foot below his thigh. In seconds, my makeshift bandana is soaked and dripping on his pant leg.
The sound of his tortured wail claws at my heart.
“You’re okay,” I tell him as his terrified eyes sear into me.
Back and forth, back and forth, his screams propel me on. The groove I’ve made is at least a couple inches deep now, but it’s not enough. It’ll take me an hour to get through this by hand. I need an electric saw.
But it means I need to leave him.
His face is twisted in agony. I can’t tell if it’s sweat pouring from his forehead or if he’s crying now, but his cheeks are drenched too. He’s still pushing and scratching and wrestling with the log, but all he’s doing is wearing himself out.
I give one last glance to the crush injury and notice a red pool gathered in the dirt. Down on my hands and knees, I try to figure out where it’s coming from, but there’s nothing visible.
He whimpers, and I tear another section off the bottom of my shirt, wrapping it across his forehead to protect his blinking eyes. I hate the thought of leaving him here all alone. Every minute that passes, his struggle lessens, and I have no choice.
“I have to go back for a chainsaw,” I tell him.
He’s fighting to keep his eyes from closing. If I leave him, will they close completely? What if he never wakes up again?
“DEAN, look at me!” I scream.
He drags his head from where it lolls against the dirt.
“Iwillget you out, okay?I promise. I’ll be right back.”
I shove my palms against the ground and jump up, ready to break away, when an explosion sounds several feet in front of me. I duck and cover once more and have to shield my eyes from the light. I gape in horror as a patch of sagebrush lights on fire.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
HAILEY
“They should have been back by now,” I mumble to the dark. It’s a good thing the crew is spiking out in this open field. I’d have tripped a dozen times anywhere else with my pacing.
“Everything okay?”
My whole body jolts, and I clutch at my chest. When I whirl around, a warm strobe of light shines in my eyes. I shield them with the back of my arm.
“You scared me.”
“Sorry,” my dad’s glowing outline says.
“No, it’s okay, I just… how are they still working in this?” I wave a hand in front of my face just to be sure my surgically enhanced eyesight hasn’t degraded. The chances of that are slim, but the alternative might be worse.
“It’s the storm. It can make things darker out here. I got a comm from Dean thirty minutes ago though. They’re on their way back.”
With a step to the side, I can see beyond his bright light, and a hint of concern sinks his eyebrows. Like a jack in the box, fear pops to the surface and gets my feet moving.
“I’m going to go find them,” I tell him, racing for my medic kit.
“I’m coming with you.” He unclips the radio from the collar of his shirt, tossing it in the air. Murphy catches it. “You’re in charge,” he shouts. “Make sure it stays on.”
“Sure thing, Supt. But what about you?”
“McCafferty has the extra radio. We’ll call if we need anything.”
Without the light of day to guide our movements, it’s a stumbly climb up the side of the hill. Even with our headlamps turned on, I find myself feeling around for branches and gripping on for leverage. Brush rakes over the palms of my open gloves.
