“Means they’re scared.”
Or confident.
I don’t say that part.
The countdown timer flashes on the screen.
5:18:33
We’re losing time.
The truck crests the last ridge.
The trees suddenly open.
A wide clearing spreads across the mountainside.
Old asphalt runway.
Cracked and faded.
Fire staging markers still painted on the ground from years ago.
Russ’s truck pulls up beside us.
Everyone jumps out.
The storm is brutal here.
Wind ripping across the open clearing.
Snow blasting sideways.
Adam looks up into the clouds.
“Where is he?”
As if answering the question—
A distant sound cuts through the storm.
Low.
Deep.
Rhythmic.
Rotor blades.
Russ grins.
“Well that’s a beautiful sound.”
The helicopter appears through the clouds seconds later.
Black.
Fast.
