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Above her, the fire made a low rushing sound, like a stormy wind. The door muffled it, but not enough.

Jodie lifted her head.

Something crackled overhead. A moment later came a heavier thump that sent dust she could taste drifting down from the ceiling.

Her stomach clenched so hard it hurt.

I’m underground.

That was good. Stone around her. Dirt overhead. That was why she had come here.

This is safer.

Her body apparently had not received the memo. Jodie pressed both palms against her thighs and waited for the shaking to ease. It didn’t.

“I want Mac.”

The words arrived without warning and punched straight through her. She didn’t want Watchdog, or Kyle, or any of her other coworkers and friends. She didn’t want her sister or her parents, or anybody who happened to be looking for her.

Just Mac.

She wanted his arms around her. Wanted to press her cheek against his chest and feel his voice rumble through it, telling her that what was happening outside wouldn’t hurt her. She wanted to feel him carrying her out of this.

She wanted to let somebody else decide what to do next for once.

“I just want someone to rescue me.” Her throat closed on the last word and she coughed. She had already said it out loud up there. It sounded even worse down here. Jodie wiped at her face and found it wet again.

“Okay.” Her voice shook in the dark. She swallowed. “Okay.” A little stronger and steadier.

She had made it this far. Mac knew where she had been going. Her name was on the board. Somebody would notice. Maybe they already had.

The smell of smoke seeped through the minuscule cracks in the doors.

Jodie moved across the cellar away from the door to where she hoped the air was fresher. She leaned back against the cold stone wall, pulled her knees up to her chest, and closed her eyes, although it made no difference at all.

You stay alive until Mac gets here. Because he will. He will.

That was the job now. Stay alive.

For once, it was the only job she had.

TWENTY-EIGHT

Ben drove while Mac took in the devastation of the burned country around them.

Blackened grass covered the flats on both sides of the two-track, broken by patches of smoking sage and fence posts charred almost to points. Every now and then the wind lifted a curl of ash and carried it across the road in front of them.

“It had to be a second fire,” he said, remembering what the report said about the wind scattering embers ahead of the front.

“Jodie wouldn’t have gone through here if it was already burning,” Ben said. “She must have passed by and it came up after.”

“So she might be somewhere farther down the track, waiting to get the all-clear to come back through,” Mac said.

He couldn’t afford to think otherwise.

Mac took another drink from the bottle Kyle had shoved at him before they left staging. The water had gone warm, but he swallowed anyway. His shirt stuck to his back and his pulse was still running harder than he liked, but he could manage that. The stoic near-silence in the truck was harder.

Virgil sat behind him, leaning forward enough to see between the seats. Hank followed somewhere behind them in another truck, moving slower over the rutted road. Nobody had said much since they left staging. There wasn’t much to say that Mac wanted to hear.