Smoke Season

CHAPTER 25

True’s pulse pounded in her ears as she and Mel reached the barbed-wire fence bordering the grow site. Something didn’t feel right about this, and it had nothing to do with her conscience.

“Wait. What do we tell Lewis?” she asked. Mel was a public servant. Would she really risk tampering with evidence?

“We tell him nothing,” Mel panted. “We saw nothing. We found nothing.”

True bit back a frustrated sound. She should have known there was nothing Mel would not do for Annie, but grabbing this money was a mother’s desperate move, and what they needed right now was a calculated one.

“But think, Mel! Where does that leave us with Fallows?” If they gave him the wads currently burning a hole in Mel’s bag, he’d eventually realize they’d robbed Peter to pay Paul. Keep it for themselves and Annie, and they’d face his wrath immediately.

“We ... we tell Fallows we know about the stash,” Mel reasoned. “We bring him the stacks we grabbed as proof, and we tell him we’ll go to the Feds with the information if he doesn’t drop the Temple Bar thing.”

True shook her head. “It’s no good,” she shot back. “He still has our involvement in his business to leverage, not to mention sabotaging my place, ruining life for Sam again, threatening the kids ...” She swallowed the hard lump that arose instantly, thinking of what had already happened to Astor. “He has far too much on us, and always will.”

If there was one thing True always prided herself on, it was living her life on her own terms, and the thought of Fallows trapping them like this infuriated her.

Suddenly, she was filled with a fury akin to the one she’d experienced in the office with Astor, fury right up to the brim of her being. Fury at the fire, fury at Fallows, fury at the universe for Annie’s damaged, punctured heart. Fury at the fact that she and Mel were caught here, in this impossible vise that only tightened and tightened, no matter which way they pivoted or how they squirmed.

Goddamn Fallows. Goddamn small towns with long memories. She braced her hands on her knees, shallow breaths drawing in more smoke than oxygen, trying to think of a way out—any way out. Maybe this place would burn to the ground in the Flatiron Fire. That wasn’t out of the realm of possibility, though True wasn’t accustomed to getting that lucky.

What if she told Lewis that she and Fallows were in on this together? He’d believe it, given how close she lived to the skunk smell of all this weed. And Fallows wouldn’t be able to deny it without admitting his role in their cozy little arrangement with the Bishops. His hands would be tied—tied to True’s, yes—but tied all the same. And Mel’s name—Sam’s, too—would be clear if True took the fall. There had never been a time when True wouldn’t do anything for the Bishops, and that included all four. Right?

But the instant she opened her mouth to suggest this, crazy as it sounded, her mind swung back to her beloved Outsider . Clear as day, she could see her front gate, welcoming guests down a path of river rocks, the design flowing like a wave of water tumbling over a river boulder, edged by moss and lichen.

But for the first time it wasn’t Mel she envisioned walking down them in some alternate, impossible future. Startlingly, it was Vivian. Vivian, who might never want to speak to True again. It was so clear in her mind: Vivian in her little yurt. Vivian on the water with her, the Outlaw River at sunset putting on a dazzling show. And despite the fact that this reality felt nearly as improbable as a future with Mel, True suddenly felt that feeling she got in her chest, like air and wind and light all combined, whenever she put her back to the sun and began to row. And she found herself doing something truly crazy: prioritizing her own well-being as high as any Bishop’s.

She gripped Mel’s arm more urgently. “I have a better idea.”

“What?”

Instead of answering, she spun back to retrieve the duffel, then threw one tanned leg over a coil of barbed wire and hopped the fence, lithe as a cat. “Lewis!” she called. “We got something!”

“Are you crazy?” Mel gasped, right behind her. “True! Talk to me!”

True was already on the other side of the fence, holding it open for Mel. “I’m sick of being caught flat-footed,” she told her over the peals of thunder. “Sick of waiting for his next move. We’re going to nail this asshole.”

“But how—”

True caught Mel by both shoulders and forced her to stop. To look at her. “Do you trust me?”

The question seemed to jar Mel out of her panic. “That’s a stupid question,” she said, and True nodded, equal parts grateful and validated.

She retrieved Lewis without another word, and a moment later the three of them were recrossing the open space with the greenhouses, Lewis peppering them with questions.

In the shed, his eyes widened at the sight of the cash and the guns. “Holy shit,” he practically whistled. He looked at the radio on Mel’s hip. “You call this in yet?”

“I wanted you to see it first,” she said carefully. True knew what she was thinking: Could the solution to their problems really be this simple?

It was beginning to look like it. On this second assessment, they discovered a high tower of ammo boxes stacked under the floor as well as a stash of sawed-off shotguns. Lewis gave a low whistle, muttering something about evidence that would allow Carbon to be finally rid of this blight on their county, and True shot Mel a look of cautious victory. Fallows couldn’t come after them for the missing cash or prey upon their devotion to Annie or Astor if he was busy dodging firearms charges that had absolutely nothing to do with them. Or better yet, incarcerated.

It was risky, yes, but on the river and in the field, risk was something Mel and True were both intimately familiar with. They could finally make something stick, True knew they could. These guns would tip the scales.

“We’ll call it into ATF and DEA right now,” Lewis decided, “even if they won’t be able to dispatch any resources to act on it immediately.” He glanced back outside the shed door toward the billowing smoke. “In the meantime, we’ll document everything as best we can.”

They took dozens of photos with their phones, and then Lewis sent Mel back to the rig for several of the large evidence bags always stored in their glove box. He deposited the duffel in one and several guns in another and was busy securing the shed with yellow hazard tape when Mel discreetly dropped the stacks of bills she’d taken into an open evidence bag. It made a very anticlimactic, soft thunk as it landed amid the rest.

“Are you sure?” True whispered. “What if we need that for Annie?”

“Annie will get her surgery,” Mel whispered as Lewis finished securing the scene, “somehow.” Her brows knitted in worry, but she seemed resolute. “What you said before? About getting caught flat-footed? I’m sick of it, too. I’m tired of breaking rules. It’s not me. I can’t keep risking innocent people.”

True frowned, because yeah, they had been breaking the law all summer, but Fallows sure as hell wasn’t innocent. Mel’s tone led her to believe she referred to something new, something fresh, and she wanted to know more, but there was no time.

Nothing new there.

Back near their vehicle, the wind whipped harder and hotter than ever.

“It’s getting worse,” Lewis said, squinting in the direction of Carbon. Even more alarming: the radio in the fire vehicle buzzed nonstop. Chatter from half a dozen agencies filled the cab, and the sat phone was lit up like a Christmas tree. A fresh swell of fear rose in True’s throat, stinging with the acidity of bile.

Lewis leaned into the open window of the truck to jump on the radio and give their status and coordinates. “Returning to town with one additional evacuee,” he told dispatch.

The voice on the radio was terse. “Coordinates and ETA?”

Lewis looked over at True, who said, “Two hundred block of Forest Service Road 440.”

Lewis relayed the address, adding, “We can be back to the station ASAP.”

“Negative, Lewis,” the voice on the dispatch returned. “Report directly to Carbon High to stage there for further orders. And avoid the highway at all costs.”

Lewis frowned. “Avoid southbound?” he confirmed.

“Southbound and northbound,” dispatch returned. “We’re at a standstill both directions after an all-out Level 3 evac.”

Lewis released a soft expletive. “Level 3?” he confirmed. “Where? Last we heard, the fire was still west of town.”

“Negative,” dispatch repeated. “All points east of the river have upgraded to Level 3, from Flatiron to Carbon urban, which is at 2.”

“All points?” Mel gasped.

They all swiveled their heads toward Carbon with one accord; in the hour or so they’d taken to clear the Forest Service roads and discover the Fallowses’ grow, all hell had broken loose to the east. The demarcation line of the Flatiron Fire glowed orange through the smoke on the ridgeline like a smudged sunset. But it was no longer the only show in town. While it continued to lap at the forest below the peak, a new, dense black cloud of smoke now plumed directly over Carbon, where additional flames now blazed out of control on the slope above the highway.

“Holy shit,” True said. “Is that ...”

“Yes,” Mel confirmed, eyes squinting in the haze. “A second fire.” Splotches of pink rose on her cheeks, always a sign of high stress. Astor got them, too.

“Almost certainly ignited from one of the lightning strikes in this fucking firestorm,” Lewis agreed. He fumbled with the handheld, his fingers suddenly shaking as he attempted to nest it back on its holder on the dash of the truck.

True stood frozen in place, limbs locked, unable to take her eyes off this new blaze. It looked like the plume originated at elevation, on a ridge just east of the original ignition site. The bottom went out from her stomach as she realized how close it looked to Sam’s place.

This occurred to Mel at the same time. “Do you think that could hit Highline?” she cried. Her face had gone from red to white.

“No,” True answered swiftly. But her grip on Mel’s knee gave away her fear. Because just like the base of Flatiron, Highline could jump from Level 1 to Level 3 just like that . “We need to stay calm,” she said, then immediately ignored her own advice. “Lewis! Let’s get moving!” She pulled herself into the Carbon Rural vehicle and tugged Mel up into the cab beside her.

Lewis complied, and Mel had just shouted, “Go!” when the truck backfired. Illegal firearms on her mind, True automatically ducked. It only took a moment for reason to prevail, but when she lifted her head, she saw that the three of them in the truck hadn’t been the only ones startled by the sudden blast. A handful of people burst out of the adjacent trailer like a flock of jays flushed from the brush.

Surprised, Lewis laid on the horn, trying to get the people’s attention, but most of them sprinted across the pot grow in the opposite direction.

“Growers?” Mel asked.

“More likely ill-fated bodyguards for whatever they’ve got running out here,” Lewis cursed, siren and lights now going. “But are they really too stupid to seek safety when their lives are on the line?”

Or too afraid, True thought, thinking of Fallows. After all, their grow had just been breached. Only one straggler headed toward the sirens and horn instead of away, staggering up to the truck, breathless.

“Get in, kid,” Lewis said without hesitation, and the boy—because he couldn’t have been older than a teen—reluctantly but gratefully obeyed.