Blair picked up his own backpack and checked his pocket for his wallet and keys. He turned to look at the loft. "Are we coming back?"

"If staying away means we stay free: no." Jim pulled Blair out into the hallway and closed the door. "Let's get going. We've got some serious burrowing to do."

Lulled in the countless chambers of the brain, our thoughts are linked by many a hidden chain; awake but one, and in, what myriads rise! Alexander Pope

Awakened (Sins #6)
By LKY

"You say you've got the pink slip on this beauty, Jim?" the used-car dealer asked. His hair stuck straight up forming a fuzzy crown around a patch of scalp. Dressed in a V-neck sweater and wrinkled slacks, he eyed Jim's Ford Expedition like a kid viewing the evidence of Santa Claus on Christmas morning.

"That's right, Gordon," Jim answered. "Sorry to drag you out of bed this time of night. But I need a good ride, something real flashy. But a fair trade, okay? I know you're looking to make a profit."

"You kidding?" Gordon chortled, greedily rubbing his hands together. Jim's Ford sparkled, caught in the glow of the small car lot flood lights. "I've got just the ticket. Straight trade, too."

Jim lowered his voice. "I need this Ford to get lost in the red tape, understand?"

A flash of alarm appeared on the used car dealer's face. "I don't do that stuff anymore, Jim. I swear."

"Look, I'm not here as a cop. I'm asking as a friend. You owe me," Jim said, crossing his arms over his chest. "I wouldn't ask this if it weren't important."

Thirty minutes later, Jim and Blair glided down the empty streets of Cascade in a candy apple red Trans-am convertible. Blair studied Jim's profile. "I thought the idea here was to hide, not draw attention."

"Trust me." Jim accelerated gently. "Hmm, engine needs some work."

Blair closed his eyes with a sigh. This was all a weird dream. One minute they're in the loft, victorious after catching a killer. Next second they get a phone call and they're running from mysterious government agents. This wasn't just a dream, it was a nightmare.

Cool spring night air seeped in through the convertible's fabric top. Jim drove southbound on Interstate Five at a respectable five mile per hour over the speed limit. Traffic was light. No surprise there since it was the middle of the morning. Blair was incredibly tired. The thought of his warm and comfortable futon back at the loft brought a dull ache deep to his chest.

"Get some sleep, Chief," Jim ordered.

"You need me awake to keep you awake," Blair argued, fighting a yawn.

Blair managed to stay awake the entire trip through Seattle, where they became caught up in the morning commute. Cascade was a big city, but compared to Seattle, she was a kid sister. From the looks of the gridlock, Blair guessed half the state drove to Seattle's downtown each day.

Several hours later, they bisected Seattle and reached the town of Fife, a small community between Tacoma and Seattle. Jim left the freeway and pulled into a parking lot of `The Poodle Dog' restaurant. They gave their breakfast order to a middle aged woman wearing orthopedic shoes and a pink apron complete with a black poodle decal in the corner. Truck drivers and business men in polyester suits ate their meals while reading the sports page of the Seattle Times.

Blair yawned, his jaw popping hard enough to cause tears.

"That's what you get for being stubborn," Jim stated just before taking a swallow of hot coffee.

The waitress arrived with Jim's Denver omelet and Blair's scrambled eggs and ham. A small plate of wheat toast dripped with butter, obviously meant to be shared. Jim scooped the top slice.

"I'm fine," Blair answered, beginning to eat. The first forkful of eggs warmed his mouth, but lacked flavor. Blair chewed dutifully. "So what's the plan?"

Jim talked between bites. "We'll trade the convertible in Tacoma. Should get a decent ride near Fort Lewis. Young soldiers are a sucker for a flashy ride. Then we'll grab a few state maps. Hit an Army-surplus store. Then pick our camping spot for tonight."

"We're camping?" A few heads turned in their direction. Blair lifted his shoulders in apology to Jim's frown.

Jim continued to speak; returning his attention to his food. "Camping's our best plan till we hear from your folks. It's cheap and keeps us out of circulation. Plus, you enjoy camping."

"I do?"

"Yeah."

Blair frowned at the plastic pink flower caught in a narrow white vase on their table. Even though they now knew the reason for his memory lapses, he still had to deal with the results.

Blair turned the plan over in his mind. "So... the Trans-am was a... decoy?"

"Every little bit helps."

After breakfast they continued southbound, finding an auto dealer who happily traded the convertible for a black four-wheel drive hard-top Jeep Wrangler. Next stop was a store that sold surplus military gear and they bought a decent four-season tent and all the fixings for a comfortable camp. Blair started to wonder how much money Jim had stored away in that hidey-hole at the loft.

When they finished loading the back seat of the Jeep and headed for the freeway again, Blair was surprised to see Jim take the onramp pointing toward Cascade.

"Jim?"

"Relax, Chief," Jim answered, settling in to the driver's seat as if trying to break in the cushions to fit his long frame. "If they follow our trail this far, maybe they'll think we continued south."

In bemused admiration, Blair shook his head. Jim was truly a diabolical person when he set his mind to it. Without warning, another yawn appeared. Fatigue pulled at Blair's mind and knowing the same scenery lay ahead of them caused him to close his eyes. Maybe he would take that nap now.

"Jim, you'll be okay if I ...?"

"Yeah, Sandburg. I'll be fine. Get some rest."

"Just going to rest my eyes for an hour." Blair leaned against the door, closed his eyes and let the gentle engine vibration lull him to sleep.

"How about this one?" Blair asked, pointing forward. "Looks decent, kinda remote."

Jim nodded. "Let's set up camp." He killed the engine and removed the key.

Blair immediately started to unpack the black duffle bags from the back seat, carrying them over to a clearing beside a pathetic excuse for a picnic table. Jim grabbed the tent. Working wordlessly they unloaded and made camp.

"You've got to be exhausted, Jim," Blair reasoned. "Rest; I'll set everything up."

"I'm fine." Jim eyed the ground, looking for the best location to set up the tent. "Faster if we both work. You fill the air mattress."

But Blair was right. Jim's back ached and he felt disconnected. Except for gas and food stops, they'd been driving all day. They'd taken the quick route to Eastern Washington, over Snoqualmie Pass using Interstate Ninety. Upon reaching the Columbia River, Jim changed his original plan and turned north. His first thought had been to put as many miles between them and Cascade as possible, but another issue rose. Jim didn't want to risk catching the local law enforcement eye by having out of state license plates. For now it was better if they stayed in Washington.

Blair had woken half past noon, cranky and complaining of a headache. After downing a liter of water and some aspirins, he perked up and made enough small talk to keep Jim from driving the Jeep off the road. The chatter was not of the caliber Jim was used to , just general observations of scenery and such. Jim wondered when he'd see the `old Blair' again.

Their camp was nearly ready. Blair worked the foot pump and watched the queen-size air mattress fill. "I've never been to the Okanogan area before... I don't think..." His voice trailed off with doubt.

"I did some camping up here when I left the Army." Jim slipped the shock corded pole through the nylon sleeve of the green camouflaged patterned tent, noting the uncertainty in Blair's voice. He knew better than to dwell on the issue, it would only make Jim angry at Tristan all over again. "Not too populated. Nice place to get away."

Jim remembered those days in his life too clearly, as if it were last week. Fed up with the Army, emotionally and physically a wreck, he had come within an inch of turning his back on Cascade and becoming a beach bum in some third world country.

The way things were going, it might still be an option for them.

Blair capped the mattress valve. "Done."

"Stake out the front, would you?" Jim pulled a light rubber hammer from his belt and started pounding the metal stakes into the ground.

Their new tent was a tall dome shaped dwelling, complete with a short vestibule attached to the rain fly. Blair would be able to walk around inside okay, but Jim would have to duck. They had room for two sleeping bags on the large air mattress and would still be able to tuck their belongings along the edges, leaving the rest of their stuff locked within the jeep if necessary.

"The trees smell different here," Blair commented as he hammered in a stake with a large rock.

"More sap, dryer climate." Jim finished and stood, not even sure he possessed the strength to carry his sleeping bag inside. His body was shutting down, his brain wishing the world a good night. It was good they were deep within the mountain range of Northeastern Washington, one of half a dozen other campers in this small rustic campground. Jim's inner sixth sense told him they were safe for now. "I'm going to hit the pit toilet."

Blair followed and they each took a turn, washing up in a collapsible bucket back at camp.

"That's that. You hungry or anything?" Jim asked, locking the Jeep.

Caught in the process of categorizing their new surroundings, like a librarian trying to place a cosmic Dewey Decimal number on everything he saw, Blair shook his head. "I'm fine."

Jim took a hard look at his friend. Was he fine? They'd stopped for a late lunch in Omak and Blair had shoved his food around without much enthusiasm. Jim had opened a large bag of beef jerky about an hour ago and offered. Blair had waved that off as well.

"Come on then," Jim snagged the nearest duffle bag and one of the new sleeping bags.

He slipped into the tent and waited for Blair to follow before zipping it closed. They spent a few minutes getting their belongings arranged and the beds rolled out. Another hour of sunlight lingered, but Jim didn't want it. He wanted sleep. In seconds Jim was down to his boxers and inside the bag, his clothes folded neatly, gun tucked out of sight but within easy reach. Blair still sat, fully dressed, on his rolled up bag, staring quietly at his hands, then his gaze roamed the inside of their new home "We have all this in storage back home. Why'd we buy new stuff?"

Jim sighed softly. "Because, Sandburg, they'd know it was missing and start combing the campgrounds."

A haunted, sickly look flickered over Blair's face. He went back to scrutinize the folded hands in his lap. "Oh... Guess I didn't think about that."

Jim rolled on his side, and folded him arm beneath his ear for a pillow. The air mattress felt a little over inflated to his liking, but he was too tired to get up and make the necessary changes. "Chief, lay down. Go to sleep. Things are going to look a lot better in the morning."

That produced a wan smile. "You gonna to break into song?"

Jim knew part of the problem. Things were moving too fast, and for that, Jim was sorry. But there were few to no options available to them. They were being hunted.

Patting the air mattress next to him, Jim got tough. "Bed. Sleep. Now."

Distant rumbles woke Blair. He knew that sound; thunder. But where was he? He wasn't on his futon. This wasn't his room. Confused, he turned his head toward the soft snoring sounds next to him.

Jim.

With a rush, the memories of the last two days sideswiped him. Guilt returned. The magnitude of what Jim had left behind made him sick. Studying Jim's face, he wondered if any of those frown lines were new. God, Jim looked so tired. The fact that the noise hadn't woken the ex-ranger showed the level of exhaustion reached. Blair just added it to the stockpile of guilt threatening to implode his chest.

If anyone had told Blair years ago that a cop would go to such lengths to keep one Blair Sandburg safe, Blair would have laughed in their face. Yet Blair was looking at him. Was it because Jim was a sentinel? Of was this just Jim?

From jumping on helicopter skids to fighting murdering psychopaths, Jim had yanked Blair's butt from the fire more times than he liked to think about. Jim had traveled across the continent to rescue him from kidnappers, then gotten shot and nearly drowned, even survived an execution, and gone all the way to Mexico with his Mom to bring him home.

And how is the guy rewarded?

He loses his home, his job, has to say goodbye to all his friends. Where's the justice?

"Go back to sleep, Chief."

Blair jumped in surprise. "You're supposed to be sleeping!"

Jim opened his eyes. Their faces were so close, Blair could count Jim's eyelashes. "So are you. You're thinking so loud you woke me up." He yawned, then lifted his head. "Storm?"

"Yeah, but far away."

Sometime during the night, Jim had converted a folded shirt into a pillow. He lay his head back down and closed his eyes. "Still early, go back to sleep."

Blair closed his eyes and let Jim's breathing lull him back to sleep.

The promise of rain never came. Both men woke around mid morning. They ate instant oatmeal and drank rich coffee brewed over a camp stove. Several days passed, each day hotter than the last. The fishing was adequate. Apparently spring had been unseasonably dry, with very little rainfall. Jim spent more time down at the lake than Blair; even though they had bought two travel fishing poles. Blair preferred taking walks, meditation and sleep. They cooked meals on the stove, obeying the posted signs that prohibited any open camp fires. They took turns playing chef, going through the groceries and dehydrated meals until they were down to a can of stew and half a box of crackers.

"Time to break camp, Chief," Jim announced early the fifth morning of their trip. "We'll drive to Spokane and treat ourselves to a room and a hot meal."

"And check the internet? Call that number?" Blair asked.

"That too." Jim started stuffing his sleeping bag into its carrier. "Need to stock up on groceries."

With the prospect of hearing news from his mother, Blair couldn't pack the Jeep fast enough. Less than an hour later, they were driving out of the campground and winding down the mountain road. White clouds filled the sky, steadily trekking east toward the Continental Divide. When they reached the town of Colville, they stopped for breakfast.

"Maybe we can find an Internet Caf here," Blair said while they ate. A wide window gave them both a perfect view of the sleepy-looking small town.

Jim scratched the fuzz growing on his chin. He'd skipped shaving and Blair was still getting used to the new look. "Doubt it." He scooped up a forkful of golden hash-browns. "But we can ask."

They did check and Jim was right. Colville didn't appear interested in internet communications for the public masses. The pawn-slash-gun store owner gave Blair an amused look when asked. Next they spotted a phone booth in front of a bank. Jim called Naomi's number, reporting a computer generated voicemail. He hung up, not leaving a message.

It looked like they'd have to find a computer.

Blair spent the drive time to Spokane lost in thought, the internet address safely tucked inside his wallet. What would they find? He prayed the message would tell them all was well and it was safe to go back to the loft. He missed Rainier, the bull pen and the view from their balcony. He longed to hear Simon bark out his name.

Blair smiled, rubbing his palms down his thighs. He was turning into such a sap. Nothing like the boy his mother had raised. They'd moved around so much when he had been growing up, Blair used to get a new suitcase for his birthday each year. But those days stopped when he hit Rainier. He didn't miss them.

"Almost there." Jim stretched a kink out of his neck and leaned on the door, one hand draped over the steering wheel as he drove through the light morning traffic. "You want to get a room first or find a computer?"

"Computer."

"Okay, then." Jim glanced over. "You okay?"

Blair managed a smile. "I'm good. Just thinking."

"Listen, Sandburg," Jim said in a serious tone. "It's only been a few days. Probably a good idea not to expect too much."

"It's been days, Jim," Blair argued weakly. He wanted to believe his own words so badly. "They could have everything squared away."

"Some things take longer."

The rest of the trip to Spokane was made in silence. Blair realized Jim was just being Jim. But what was wrong with hoping for the best? Didn't they do that all the time in sports? Picture the ball slipping through the basket, nothing but net? Okay, then, Blair was picturing a computer with the message that read, `Come on home. Everything's fine.'

Traffic turned heavy as they neared Spokane, the largest city in Eastern Washington. As they passed a sign with universal signals for gas stations and eateries, Jim took the exit. They ended up in a commercial district with a Wal-Mart, Fred Meyer and several long rows of businesses. Jim turned into a gas station and parked at the pump, killing the engine.

Blair tugged on the door handle. "Need the head."

Jim nodded as he pulled out his wallet. He handed Blair a twenty. "This is pre-pay; take this to the cashier for me?"

"Sure."

Waiting for a kid who was unsuccessfully trying to explain to the woman behind the counter that he'd forgotten his ID and he really was old enough to purchase the cigarettes she guarded behind the counter, Blair read nearby newspaper headlines. Idaho and Montana were fighting several wild land fires sparked by dry thunderstorms. Remembering that first night in the mountains, he wasn't surprised.

Finally the kid, not a day over sixteen, gave up with a scowl and a curse and Blair was next.

"Twenty on pump three." Blair reached into his pocket for his own wallet. "And I'll take a Seattle Times." He pulled out a five dollar bill; in afterthought he added a small bag of mixed nuts to the paper, then wondered if he had enough. He was still trying to remember his numbers. For some reason fives and twos got him confused. They looked similar. He watched the bill get tucked into the cash drawer. The woman didn't give him an expectant look, so Blair decide he must be okay.

She smiled, handing his change back.

"Do I need a key for the restroom?" Blair asked.

She shook her head, pointing to the sign in the corner. Another man was already in line behind him. "They're unlocked."

After using the restroom, running a wet comb through his hair and retying it into a neat ponytail, Blair joined Jim back at the Jeep. The pump readout reached the twenty mark and Jim returned the nozzle.

"I spotted a computer store across the street, Chief." Jim jerked his head in the direction of the store, his hands busy returning the gas cap. "Want to try it?"

"Yeah." Blair tossed the paper into the back seat.

While Jim took his turn in the restroom, Blair pulled the Jeep forward to wait, snacking on the nuts. Jim returned, climbing into the passenger seat, holding out his hand. Blair passed over the remaining nuts and started the engine. The gears shifted differently than he was used to, but he found reverse and carefully backed them out of the parking stall. A few moments later they were parked in front of the store.

"I'll try talking to the clerk," Blair suggested. "Maybe he'll think we're buying or something."

"Sandburg, we both look and smell like we've been living off the land for the last month," Jim teased. "Just tell him we're thinking of wiring the survivalist camp with satellite communication to talk with the rest of our white-supremacy brotherhood. He'll believe us."

"Hello, Jim..." Blair pointed to his face. "Sandburg - as in I'm supposed to be Jewish?"

"Technically, you're half Cahill." Jim tossed the last of the nuts into his mouth and balled up the plastic bag to stuff into his jeans, and spoke with his mouth full. "Besides, we both have aliases now, remember?"

Blair rolled his eyes. Yeah, he remembered. His fake ID gave him the name Blake Sanderson. No one was going to believe he was a Blake. "No offense, JR Ewing. But let me do the talking, okay?"

Jim snorted. "It's JR Easton."

"Whatever."

It turned out easier than expected. The clerk, an older man who claimed he lived to hunt and fish, treated them like long lost cousins. In no time he was explaining the latest Pentium processor speed and the multiple USB connections. He ignored any ripe smell coming off either of his potential customers and happily allowed them to connect to the Internet.

A young couple entered the story, the man carrying a tiny baby. The clerk waved a hand toward the monitor. "You two check out the speed of this beauty. I'll be available if you have any questions."

"Thanks," Jim said. When the clerk was gone, he shifted to stand so as to block the monitor from view. "Okay, Chief."

Blair had the URL memorized, his fingers flying over the keyboard. The speed was impressive and under different circumstances he might even be tempted to ask about financing. "It's some sort of free access journal thingy, Jim," Blair muttered, reading the screen as it popped up. "Live Diary. We've connected with a user called...," Blair swallowed the sudden lump forming in his throat, "... ah, `Sweetie'."

"That sounds like Naomi," Jim said quietly, gently squeezing Blair's elbow. "How many entries?"

"Just two." Blair read the first one quickly. "She's supposed to be a college kid, except I recognize a few things that tells me it's mom. Nothing important for us in the first entry. The other one's dated... yesterday, I think. Say's she's still working on her project and not having much luck." Blair chewed on his lower lip, his brow creasing in frustration. "What's that supposed to mean?"

Jim leaned over Blair's shoulder, reading at the same time. "Look at the last part. She makes a comment about folks not being safe in their own homes anymore."

Blair didn't like the double meaning. "That's not good, huh, Jim?"

"No, it's not."

Pointing to the screen, Blair read the final line. "More to come, fair readers, next entry in a week. Don't give up hope."

Jim stood straight again, looking anxious to be gone. "Did I see a newspaper in that bag?"

"Yeah," Blair answered, his eyes still glued to the monitor.

"Okay, make sure there's no way the clerk can tell what we've looked at. Time to find a hotel. We'll see if there's any news from home before we head back into the hills."

The motel room smelled of lemon cleaner and cigarette smoke, even though it was billed as a non-smoking. Jim dropped his duffle on the nearest bed and eyed the open door leading to the small bathroom.

Blair seemed to read his mind. "Go, man. I'll grab a shower later."

"Thanks, Chief."

The shower head was too low, what was it with plumbers, anyway? Jim wasn't unusually tall, yet all his adult life he's had to duck to wash his hair. Irritated, he washed the grime from his body, taking twice as long as normal, moving to let his shoulder muscles enjoy the hot water massage. Reluctantly, Jim turned off the flow and stepped out of the tub. Running a coarse towel over his body, he slipped into his extra boxers, still slightly damp from being hand washed at the campground yesterday. He opened the door to find Blair on the far bed, surrounded by strewn newspaper. As with everything Blair touched, chaos reigned.

"Anything?"

Blair lifted his head. "There's a story about a break in at the Mercer Island Clinic."

"What's it say?"

Blair rolled onto one elbow, his hand propping up his head. "Says it was random vandalism, no one was caught. Think it was mom?"

"Probably, we'll ask when we see her. Go grab a shower, Sandburg. We'll talk when you get out."

After Blair was gone, Jim gathered up the paper, taking it to his bed. Another story toward the back caught his eye: a missing police detective and his roommate. Blair apparently hadn't seen it. The story was old news. The Cascade police were looking into possible foul play and reopening some of Major Crime's older cases, hoping for a lead. The reporter had even managed to get a quote from Simon. Jim frowned, knowing what must be going through his boss's mind. As much as he wanted to call and tell him they were okay, he knew better. Simon's phone would be tapped by now.

Jim stretched out wearily, both hands behind his head while he studied the popcorn textured ceiling. He pondered what the next few weeks would bring. How far would they end up from Cascade? It would appear Naomi needed more time. Hopefully the spy had her resources ready and lined up to help her. Jim didn't doubt her ability one bit. The woman was nothing short of resourceful. She'd proved that more than once. He'd leave her to handle her job. She had Tristan to aid her.

Jim's responsibility, his oath, was to keep Blair and himself from being caught. But Blair's safety came first.

The town of Libby, Montana grew from the banks of the Kootenai River. Blair gloomily studied the old houses on each side of Highway Two fly by. The hotel room last night only served to remind him how much he missed the loft. After checking out that morning, they'd bought jeans and a couple of sweatshirts from a backstreet thrift store and then found a laundromat. Jim read a hotrod magazine while the machines labored over their pathetically sparse wardrobe.

Blair just sat and missed his laptop.

Now it was late, past dinnertime. Jim waved a hand at the approaching Libby business district. "Any preference, Sandburg?"

Must be dinnertime.

"Not really."

Jim pulled into a parallel parking slot. A brightly painted square building looked in need of a new roof. A large handmade sign welcomed them to the Libby Caf. Jim turned off the engine, making no move to get out. Blair counted the ticking sounds of the cooling motor. When he got to fourteen, Jim spoke. "You okay?"

"I'm fine," Blair muttered, reaching for the door.

Jim stopped him with a hand over his forearm. "Okay. Just do me a favor?"

"What."

"Eat more than four bites." Jim's forehead furrowed. He pinned Blair with a pair of laser blue eyes. "I'm not kidding here. You're so hungry, I can feel it."

"Okay," Blair agreed. Was it his fault food tasted like wet cardboard lately?

Atmosphere thick with home cooked food smells and happy chatter surrounded them as the two men entered. Men dressed in work jeans and T-shirts advertising chainsaw dined on thick steaks. Women wearing little or no makeup laughed while their young kids sipped thick milkshakes served in tall metal glasses. A refrigerator with a glass front dominated the center of the room, displaying homemade berry pies.

Jim led them to the single available table tucked in the corner. The menus were under the glass top. Jim tapped the prime rib special. When a very pregnant blonde with a warm smile - in spite of the way she pressed a palm to her lower back - arrived, Jim gave his order and added a strawberry milkshake.

Blair didn't have a clue what he wanted. "Grilled cheese?"

Jim leaned forward, like a spaniel on point. "And?"

"A pickle?"

The waitress grinned, showing an attractive gap between her front two teeth. "How about a large order of our beer-battered onion rings?"

"He'll take it," Jim ordained.

After she left to deliver the order, Blair raised an eyebrow against Jim's defiant look. "Jim-."

"JR."

"Okay, JR, let me ask you something." The original plan to rant now side-railed in the face of Jim's obvious concern. Blair continued in a whisper. "Um, seriously, man, how much money do we have? How long can we keep this up?"

"We're okay." Jim said. "We'll keep driving, find a motel in Kalispell."

Ugh. Blair didn't want another hotel room.

The waitress picket that moment to appear two water glasses and shook her head. "Just had a family in here a bit ago, said Kalispell was booked solid. Huge cattleman conference."

Jim lifted his chin, giving the woman a smile. "Thanks for the info."

"You bet."

When she returned Jim's green salad, Blair spoke up, "Is there a free campground anywhere?"

She nodded. "Sure. Head north, lots of spots. You'll have to bring your own water. If you drive further, pass the dam, the lake has a nice campground, not too expensive. Check with `Mack's', he's got a list of places for fishermen and hunters."

"Mack's?" Jim asked.

"Small store that caters to the folks who fish the river. They provide a shuttle service. Move their cars from the put in to the take out," she explained.

"Thanks again." Jim gifted her with a smile.

Their meals arrived and Blair choked down the tasteless sandwich. His stomach behaved itself but a dull pain started to throb behind his eyes. The onion rings disappeared, mostly with Jim's help. By the time they were finished, three quarters of the diners were gone and a wiry man wearing an apron pushed a wide broom along the floor. While Jim took care of the bill, Blair spied a community bulletin board. Folks were trying to sell snowmobiles and old refrigerators. Other Libby residents wanted old fishing tackle and license plates. He felt Jim's presence near his shoulder.

"Ready?"

Blair followed his friend back into the Montana evening air, head still hurting.

Jim still wanted another night under a real roof so they found a motel. The prices were fifteen dollars less than the motel room in Spokane, making Blair feel a little better. Jim unlocked the door and let Blair go in first.

"What's wrong?" Jim asked.

Blair massaged his closed eyelids with his fingertips. "My head's killing me." He winced as Jim flipped the switch and set of matching lamps at opposite corners flooded the room.

"Try taking a bath," Jim suggested. "I'll shower in the morning."

Sitting in a tub filled with hot water was too tempting to pass up and Blair agreed without a murmur. Once there, he forced his body to relax and closed his eyes, a folded towel behind his neck. His thoughts drifted and the pain started to loosen.

"Jim!" Blair sat up with a start. Water sloshed out of the tub, sending a mini-wave across the tiny bathroom floor.

Jim burst into the room, looking ready to rend, spindle and mutilate. "What!"

Clutching the side of the tub, Blair grinned up at his friend. "I remember! I snuck into the hospital, pretending to be a doctor." Blair felt like cheering. "You came to my office. Slammed me against the wall. I remember everything!"

Uncurling his fists and flexing his fingers, Jim glared down at the man, his soldier persona slipping away as one corner of his mouth started to twitch. "Do that again, Chief and I'll find another wall to slam you against."

Jim found Mack's store just where the waitress had said it would be. He parked the Jeep and eyed the store with its metal sides and the gas pumps out front. It looked okay. Drift boats on trailers waited obediently behind trucks while fishermen inside the store stocked up on snacks, beer and fishing bait.

"Don't forget we need ice, man," Blair said before opening his door and getting out.

Jim followed his friend inside. Blair still had a little bounce in his step. Jim smiled; glad to see a small bit of that Sandburg spark returning.

Inside the store, to Jim's left, a counter boxed in two store clerks with their cash registers, the right opened up to a very comprehensive looking tackle shop. Straight back were aisles of groceries and hardware. Jim turned toward the tackle while Blair headed for the counter.

Standing at the case of hand tied flies, Jim's gaze swept over the other shoppers inside the store. A few looked like fishermen. Five guys and one woman in the back seemed out of place. Dressed oddly in yellow shirts and dark green pants, they wore dirty red bandanas around their necks. Jim sniffed the air, picking up a lingering hint of wood smoke. Blair had the older clerk engaged in a conversation, both heads bent over a topographical map spread out over the countertop. Jim dropped a half dozen assorted flies into a small plastic cup and joined them.

"Hey, Ji- er, JR," Blair said, cringing at his mistake. "Mack was just showing me a few free campgrounds."

"Sounds good," Jim answered. "Any with fishing?"

The owner smiled with a knowing nod. "Ah, well now, if you're willing to drive a bit, I might tell you about a spot I know. Just be careful. We've got a few wildfires in the mountains that might make your trip a little more exciting than you want."

"Wildfires?" Jim nodded toward the back. "They part of the crews fighting the fire?"

"Yep," Mack answered. "We get them in here all the time. A fellow can make darn good money with the state fighting fires. It's not even the worst part of the season either and we've already had four big ones. Okay, let me show you two some nice camping." He bent over the map again. Jim liked the looks of the place: a secluded upper valley reached by a long dirt road. Marking the spot with a pencil, Jim added the map with the cost of the flies and a bag of ice.

After paying and thanking the owner for his help, they were told to help themselves to the large icebox in front of the store. Two firefighters were busy filling an ice chest. Jim waited for them to finish before moving in to grab a bag. A faint itchy feeling caused him to rub his arms, like a ghostly brush of someone's hands caressed his skin.

"Ungghh." Blair bumped into Jim's side, unexpectedly doubling over. The small brown bag fell to the asphalt.

Jim managed to catch Blair by the arm. "Hey, what's wrong?" he asked. "Talk to me, Chief."

"O-oh, man..." Blair whispered. He held his head in both hands. "Hurts."

"Another headache?" Jim guided Blair over to a wooden bench. "Here, sit down." Kneeing down in front of his partner, he took Blair's chin in one hand and lifted. "Look at me a second."

Blair's face scrunched, like the sun hurt his eyes. Jim carefully thumbed up each eyelid, finding both pupils equal. He knew Blair had eaten a decent breakfast, so he doubted the problem with his sugar level.

"We're EMTs, can we help?" one firefighter asked. He was older, about Jim's own age. The two men stayed back, ready to help if asked.

Jim pivoted on one foot, still hunkered down in a modified squat. "He's been having some headaches the last few days. I think he's okay. Thanks anyway, guys."

They left to load the ice chest into the back of a white van. Blair seemed to relax. Blinking slowly, he rubbed his forehead and shuddered. "Weird."

"What?"

"It was sort of like last night..." Blair swallowed, pinching the bridge of his nose.

"The pain, you mean? The headache?"

"No, the way those forgotten memories return." Blair used a hand to shade his eyes as he sat straight and gazed out at the parking lot. "Only, I don't know... It doesn't make any sense."

"Which memory, Sandburg?" Jim moved to sit at Blair's side. His knees didn't like the strain of squatting.

"I saw fire, it was everywhere. I was holding it in my hands." Blair grimaced again. "So real, but I don't remember anything else. What's going on, Jim?"

Fire.

The only thing Jim could think of was that Golden crap. Blair had been blathering about `Golden Fire People.' Jim knew all too well what that drug did to a person's vision, how it added a golden glow to everything. Maybe Blair's brain had forgotten the incident and now it was coming back, only Blair hadn't realized he'd forgotten it.

"How's the head now?" Jim asked.

"A little better," Blair answered slowly. He yawned. "Still hurts some."

"Let's get you some more aspirin and water. We'll find that campground and you can rest." He stood up, pulling Blair up with him by hooking a limp arm. Scooping up their bag, Jim thrust it back into Blair's hand, then picked up the ice. "Come on."

Back in the Jeep, Jim pulled out a water bottle and gave Blair some aspirin. He studied the map again while Blair leaned listlessly against the door. They pulled out of the lot, heading north. Jim found the dirt road. Heavily forested mountains rose high on either side as the narrow road led them up a valley. Jim could hear tumbling water nearby. The road forked. The map had the upper fork marked and they climbed along the side of one mountain until it leveled out and turned into an elevated bowl-shaped valley. Pines and evergreens thinned out. They could see a smaller creek winding and spilling from deep pools that formed terraces as the valley continued to gain altitude. Finally they found the creek's source, a sub-alpine lake, water sparkling in the sunlight.

"Nice," Blair muttered, squinting painfully around them.

"Yeah, looks like we might be the only two up here to enjoy it." Jim slowed to creep over a particularly bad spot in the road. "Good thing we have a high wheel base; this road's seen better days."

Finding a nice looking camping site, Jim parked and turned off the engine. When Blair made movements to get out, the older man stopped him with a hand on his arm. He knew Blair was still hurting. "Wait here. I'll set up camp."

But Blair shook his head. "I'm fine, Jim. I'll help."

A few minutes later the tent was up, the air mattress was filled and Blair looked ready to collapse. Jim started to get worried. If this was more than exhaustion...

Should he risk a trip to a hospital?

"Okay, you're lying down. You've got to shake that headache." Jim took Blair by the arm and led him toward the tent. There were other odd jobs to do around the camp, but Jim would do them alone.

Blair didn't resist. He started to peel off his shirts, shivering even though it was warm out. Jim quickly pulled out Blair's mummy bag and tossed it on the air mattress. He unzipped it and held it open. Blair climbed in wearing his boxers, goose bumps on his arms and legs.

Zipping the bag closed, Jim knelt down and slipped a hand into the bag to squeeze a shoulder, relieved he didn't feel a fever. "I'll wake you for dinner, okay?"

"Okay," Blair answered dully. "Sorry."

"Don't be," Jim ordered gruffly. "You didn't cause it. This is probably some side effect from the algae junk leaving your system. It'll pass."

Blair yawned. He curled on to his side and drew his knees up. "Hope you're right," he whispered, his voice trailing off. A few seconds later he was asleep.

Wow, that had to be a record. Jim zipped the bag shut; making sure Blair had enough space around his face to breathe. He stood, staring down at his friend in concern. He wished they'd had more time to talk to Tapas before leaving Cascade. They were flying blind with Blair's medical situation. How would his body react to the algae's absence? Blair had been drinking that stuff for as long as Jim had known him.

Dragging a palm down his face and feeling the rough tickle of his growing beard, Jim left the tent. He had a latrine to dig and some fish to catch for supper.

Blair approached consciousness enough to realize it was dark. He'd slept all day. His head felt tender, like something had bruised his brain, like the morning after a frat house party; which wasn't fair. It was like being punished for a sin he didn't commit.

Another issue surfaced, demanding his attention. His bladder was sending urgent messages to his brain, but his sleeping bag was so warm. Blair didn't want to get up. The raspy sound of a zipper sliding over metal teeth filled the tent, bringing a blast of cool air.

"How ya feeling?" Jim asked quietly.

"Better," Blair whispered in a gravely voice. "Head still hurts though."

"I've got some fried trout with your name on it. Think you can manage to eat?"

Even in the complete darkness, Blair wasn't at all surprised when a large hand briefly covered his forehead. Jim slipped into his medic role without even realizing it. Blair had become used to this side of his friend.

Reluctantly, he realized he would have to leave his warm nest and answer nature's call, besides fresh trout sounded good. When had he last eaten? Maybe food would chase off his headache. "What time is it?" Blair asked as he reached out and started patting the tent floor beside the air mattress.

Jim handed him his clothes. "After ten."

"I'm up. Need to use a tree first, then I'm ready to eat."

"I'll light a lantern."

While Blair hurriedly dressed, he listened to Jim pump the kerosene lantern. Soon it hissed with life and a bright glow flooded the camp, leaching into the tent. Blair found his hiking boots resting neatly by the doorway where Jim had placed them. He left the laces untied and slipped them on over his socks. The thick thrift store quilted jacket was draped over the foot of his sleeping bag. Blair put it on.

Outside, the camp looked nothing like it had when they'd arrived. The night enclosed them into their own small world, with just the fresh pine smell to remind him of the trees and the gentle melody of the neighboring frogs and crickets.

"Let me show you the way to the bathroom." Jim handed over a small roll of toilet paper and carried the lantern. "I left our collapsible shovel there, so I expect you to use it."

Walking carefully over the rough ground, Blair wordlessly followed his roommate toward the tree line.

"No shoveling after ten, right?"

"No loud shoveling after ten," Jim corrected. "Noise is the lesser of the two evils, compared to smell in this case, Darwin."

Jim's trench was complete with a makeshift seat fashioned by two long tree trunks. As a section of the trench was used, a few shovelfuls of dirt covered the `evidence' and the next person just moved down a few inches. The simplicity of the plan smacked military in Blair's mind. Jim even had a bucket filled with lake water and a small hand towel for washing afterwards.

"You're a regular Grizzly Martha Adams, man," Blair teased.

"You're welcome," Jim replied drolly. He set the lantern down on a flat rock. "See you back at camp. Try not to fall in."

Afterwards, Blair returned to the camp to see Jim busy with dinner. They had the luxury of a rustic picnic table to use for their kitchen. He settled in to wait for Jim to serve the meal. The cool night air seemed to sharpen his appetite. The plate Jim set down before him was filled with camp beans and trout.

Blair dug in. For the first time since leaving Cascade, he actually enjoyed the taste. Half the plate was cleaned before he realized Jim was sitting quietly across the table with just a cup in hand. He felt guilty. "Where's yours?"

"I ate hours ago," Jim replied with a fond look. "Go ahead and finish. You can have more if you want."

Blair didn't wait to be told twice. Short minutes later, the plate was empty. The food did seem to help with the residual headache. He pushed the plate away. "I'm full. Thanks, Jim." Blair's nose twitched as he eyed the cup in Jim's hand. "Coffee?"

Jim stood up and filled a second cup. Blair accepted it was a thankful look. While he sipped, Jim made short work of cleaning up. He used a plastic tub filled with warm water heated in a pot over the stove. The good food, hot coffee and familiar sight of Jim washing up brought a touch of calmness to Blair's life. He sighed, letting his shoulders relax.

"Okay," Jim said as he tossed the dirty dishwater away, letting it soak into the earth. "The Jeep's locked up. The food is hanging out of any bear's reach. Time to sleep."

"I just woke up," Blair protested.

Jim snorted, turning the washing basin upside down to drain. He dialed the blue flame under the coffee pot down until it went out. "I have a feeling you'll go right back to sleep, Sandburg."

And Blair did.

Jim woke with a start. Thunder claps resounded through the valley. The air within the tent crackled with energy. He checked Blair and found him sleeping. Rolling carefully off the mattress, he got to his feet. It was still dark, Jim's watch told him he'd been asleep only four hours.

Unzipping the door, Jim stepped outside. Sentinel vision showed heavy clouds in the sky. Wind agitated the surrounding tall pines. The hairs on Jim's arms bristled. As Jim watched, a jagged light erupted from under the clouds, targeting the land beyond the horizon.

Jim adjusted his hearing just as the crack of thunder arrived, echoing off the mountain peaks. For all the clouds and storm activity, the air was dry, devoid of humidity. Jim got a bad feeling.

"That was close."

A wide eyed Blair stood behind him in a T-shirt and sweat pants, hugging himself.

"We're having lightning strikes one ridge over." Jim pointed.

Blair's gaze looked unseeingly into the darkness. "I'm thinking that's not a good thing."

"Nothing much we can do about it. The wind's blowing the other way, we'll be fine." Jim gently pushed his tent-mate back toward their beds. "Let's go back to sleep."

Locating his sleeping bag by feel, Blair settled in and zipped it all the way to the top. "Ever read `Young Men and Fire'? The Man Gulch fire?"

"Don't think so." Jim left his zipper open, folding the top of his mummy bag halfway down his chest. He tucked his hands behind his head and waited for Blair to fall back asleep; knowing whatever was on his mind would need to be exorcised first. Apparently Blair was still thinking of fires.

"It happened back in the late forties, here in Montana," Blair explained. "Naomi and I knew a lady whose uncle died in that fire. He was a smokejumper."

"I remember hearing some about it," Jim said. "Didn't that fishing guy write it?"

"Norman Maclean," Blair answered. He was quiet for a while, then spoke, "Thirteen."

"Thirteen what?"

"It was the thirteenth fire of the season and thirteen people died fighting it." Blair rolled over on his side facing Jim. "Weird, huh."

"Didn't some of the crew live?"

"Yeah, a couple." A yawn escaped and Blair closed his eyes for a moment. "An awful way to die." He shuddered. "That memory I had? I was holding a drip torch."

"You mean what the forestry guys use to start burnouts?" Jim asked in surprise. Jim had seen them used in the Army, but he wasn't about to tell Blair about those dark years. Called torches, but actually resembling old-fashioned oil cans. Used to start burnouts or fires purposely started down wind of a wildland fire if the terrain was sufficient to force the burnout fire to head back to the wildland fire. When the two fires met, all the available fuel was already consumed. As long as the rear of the burnout fire was kept under control it worked.

"Yeah." Blair opened his eyes. "I've never even held one of those before... have I?"

"Not since I've known you, Chief."

"Wake up, Sandburg."

Blair opened his eyes, seeing their tent was still dark. He could hear Jim rustling around close by, bouncing the air mattress with his movements. "Whazup?"

"We're out of here," Jim answered curtly. "Wind's changed, fire's too close."

Oh, shit. Blair bolted into a sitting position. Raw panic threatened to deflate both lungs. "Fire?" he squeaked pathetically.

Jim was standing now, his voice coming from the tent's ceiling. "Hurry. Get our stuff in the jeep. Then break down the tent. I'll get the stove and food."

A flashlight was pressed into his hand. Blair thumbed the switch, piercing the blackness and catching Jim's back as he unzipped the door. A small white square up by his neck looked out of place. The sentinel wore his shirt inside out. For some reason, that scared Blair more than anything else. Left alone, Blair sprung into action. He slammed his bare feet into his boots. Yanking off the fill spout cap to the mattress, he scooped up both sleeping bags with one arm, found his set of Jeep keys in the small pocket sewn into the wall of the tent and ran toward the Jeep. Seconds later he returned for their clothing bags.

For once, Blair was thankful Jim was a neat freak. Sometime after he'd fallen asleep, his tent-mate had tidied up, putting all their stuff away. It was a quick matter of zipping both bags closed and tossing them outside. The rapidly deflating air mattress followed in a heap. Blair ran around the outside of the tent and yanked out tent pegs.

Was that a hint of smoke in the air? Or just his imagination?

The darkness was claustrophobic, no longer a comforting shield. How close was the fire? Using the flashlight to locate the ends of the tent poles, Blair quickly pulling them free and resisted the urge to shine the light toward the mountain ridges above.

The jeep door slammed shut and the sentinel was at his side. In no time they had the tent collapsed and stuffed into the growing mess on the Jeep's back bench. Blair went back for the clothing bags while Jim gathered up the air mattress.

"I'll drive. Get in," Jim commanded.

Blair scrambled in, now certain that was wood smoke in the wind. His eyes had adjusted to the night, picking up the faint glow of hidden fire. "Jim! It's all around us, man!"

"I know."

Blair gripped the door handle, knuckles white. They were flying down the dirt track. Another terrifying realization occurred to him: there was only one road into this valley. What if the fire had already cut them off?

"I'm sorry, Chief," Jim muttered angrily. "I screwed up."

"Not your fault, man." Blair swallowed hard, pushing the new wave of panic down forcibly. He made himself relax. They were going to be okay. Jim would get them out. They'd survived worst dangers than this. "Act of God and all, right?"

Jim didn't answer; his attention focused on the rough road. Blair wondered if the axles could take the abuse. The headlights bounced drunkenly in all directions. The jeep tossed them about in spite of the seatbelts. Using his legs to brace himself, he closed his eyes and took a few deep breaths through his nose. Early stages of nausea prodded his gut. His head still felt sore from the earlier migraine-like headache.

He so didn't want to throw up.

A low haze met them as they dropped in altitude. Jim downshifted, sparing just enough time on the clutch to slam the gears before returning his right hand to fight the steering wheel. Blair didn't say a word, knowing any talk would just distract his friend. At this speed, the road did its best to throw them, like a green colt experiencing a saddle for the first time. For all the jokes around the bullpen about Jim's driving skill, or lack thereof, Blair trusted Jim's ability to keep them on track.

The narrow dirt road disappeared around a bend. The Jeep had been steadily dropping from the higher valley to the wider valley below. The high beams were in use. Blair could make out distant treetops beyond, then the headlights hit thick smoke and the view stopped. Jim rounded the corner, hugging the inside curve so closely that, had Blair's window been down, he could have reached out and plucked a baby Sword fern out of the earthen bank.

"Shit!" Jim's curse exploded from his thinly drawn lips.

"Oh, God..." Blair didn't have the strength to say more. The sight before him nearly brought him to his knees in prayer.

The lower valley was orange with fire. Sixty foot trees exploded with hungry flames that devoured them and shot red, dancing tendrils of fire high into the sky. The fire seemed to have two fronts, one on each side of the valley. The way their road lined up, a narrow finger of the fire on their side had just crossed the road and cut off their escape.

Jim floored the accelerator.

"Jim!" Blair yelled, bracing both hands flat against the dash.

"One way out, Sandburg," Jim answered in short, clipped words.

They raced toward the fire, quickly enveloped in thick smoke. Blair reached down and threw a switch below the radio, re-circulating the air within the Jeep rather than draw in any of the smoke. Visibility was a joke. How was Jim doing it? How was he driving?

Before Blair could ask, the smoke cleared and they facing the edge of the inferno. Towering flames climbed fir and pine trees. The road penetrated into the fire forming a narrow tunnel among the flames. In a surprising move, Jim reached down and depressed the button, freeing Blair's seatbelt.

"Get down on the floor, Chief."

"But, Ji-."

"DO IT!"

Blair dove for the floorboards, curling into a tight ball. He closed his eyes, telling himself there was no way he could actually feel the heat yet through the metal of the Jeep's body. It had to be his imagination.

Maybe now was a good time to try out that prayer thing.

The crackle of the fire, the popping sounds of exploding pitch told Blair they were inside the fire. How long before the tires exploded? He couldn't keep his eyes shut. He looked up at Jim's hard expression, taking great comfort in the visible determination. Jim's large hands jerked the wheel hard to the right, seconds before something smacked the Jeep.

Blair shifted.

"Stay!" Jim ordered sharply.

Okay, okay. Blair stilled. The temperature was climbing. Blair hugged his knees tightly, his shoulder pressing hard into his seat's edge. The inside of the jeep was mid-day bright now. Everything tinted in red and orange. The smell of hot metal was heavy. The expectation of disaster, of something stopping their escape was like a coiled snake, drawing out the strike. Jim's face was wet with perspiration. The heat oppressive, a smothering wool blanket in the middle of August.

Jim jerked the wheel to the left, just as Blair's window shattered and invading embers swirled into their Jeep, hungrily looking for a place to land. Blair yelped as several touched his arm. Slapping them with his hand, he glanced up to see several places on Jim's shirt smoldering.

"Jim!" Blair surged out of his haven, using both palms to smash out the threat.

"Get down!"

"You're on fire!"

They shouted back and forth, with Blair doing his best to put out each ember as it landed, and still stay out of Jim's line of vision. Dante's Inferno had nothing on them. The inside of the Jeep had become a portable hell. Blair could smell burning hair and knew he was taking the brunt of the heat. That was fine, as long as Jim didn't burn.

Spying his sleeping bag between their seats, Blair reached back and dragged it forward. He wadded it with both hands, planted his butt on his seat and jammed the mass of bedding into the window frame. Instantly the interior became noticeably more bearable.

"Good thinking," Jim praised grimly, keeping his eyes ahead.

"Thanks," Blair answered, hoping he wasn't delaying the inevitable. "How much longer?"

Just as he asked, the Jeep shot pass the last burning tree and they were back in the thick smoke. Blair held his breath, or tried to. Soon he was forced to draw in a lung full of smoke and he coughed. The sleeping bag was too hot to hold and he shoved the ruined bedding away. Thick smoke poured inside as Blair coughed, eyes tearing. He could hear Jim's cough joining in.

And then they were out of the smoke all together. Blair wiped both eyes as he twisted to look at the fire.

They did it. They made it through alive.

"You okay?" Jim asked after one last hacking cough.

Blair leaned toward Jim, inspecting the blacken spots sprinkled over his shirt. "Are you alright?"

"Think so, got touch dialed down. Just a few blisters." Jim spared a glance toward Blair. "You too. We'll find a safe place and get checked out."

Blair nodded, turning one last time to watch the forest fire behind them growing smaller and smaller as Jim sped down the dirt road. "How'd a fire start down in the valley anyway, Jim? Wouldn't lightning strike the top of the ridges?"

With a hard, angry expression, Jim nodded in agreement. "My thoughts exactly, Chief."

Jim slowed and turned off the road at Mack's, not too surprised to see the store open. Even though it was still early, eager fishermen's cars filled the lot. He parked off to the side, hoping they didn't draw too much attention. Killing the motor, he forced his shoulders to relax, his fingers to release the wheel.

They'd made it out alive. Frankly, Jim had been doubtful. He looked over at his friend. Sitting hunched over in the passenger seat, Blair shivered. Minus one window, the hour long drive in the cool morning dawn had been breezy and cold. When Jim had first noticed Blair's goose bumps, he had pulled over and grabbed the coats from the pile of supplies shoved in the back.

"Coffee. Hot," Blair muttered, twisting the door handle and using a shoulder to force it open.

Jim had to do the same. The rubber door gasket had melted. They stood side by side and viewed the damage to their vehicle.

"Oh, man," Blair whispered.

Jim mentally echoed the comment.

All the Jeep's covering over the marker lights and turn signals had melted off, the paint ruined, as well as the sidewalls of all four tires. Jim added up the damage, it was more than he had the funds to fix and still afford to eat.

"Can we drive it like that?" Blair asked.

"No," Jim answered. "We'd catch the attention of every local law enforcement officer from rookie to veteran. We'll be pulled over."

"Sum'a bitch! I'm glad to see you two!" Mack shouted happily, limping toward them with purpose, like a sidekick from an old `Gunsmoke' episode. He wore jeans and a flannel shirt. A few inches shorter than Blair, he reminded Jim of an old wind-twisted, gnarly tree.

"When they told me Elkins Valley was on fire, I thought you'd both be goners." Nearing the singed pair, the store owner clucked with disapproval. "Come inside, come inside. Bet you have a story to tell, eh? You both okay? Need a doctor?"

Jim shook his head, prodding Blair ahead of him with a hand to his back. "We're okay. Appreciate a chance to clean up though."

Jim and Blair were herded through the store, past astonished customers, through a rear door and found themselves in a large, single room-turned-studio apartment, complete with a kitchenette and a bathroom off the side. It was warm and the smell of fresh coffee drew Blair like a magnet pulled iron filings.

"Never did get your names," Mack said.

"I'm JR, this is my friend Blake," Jim answered, accepting the handshake.

"Well, judging by your vehicle, I'd say you two are damn lucky to be standing here. Tell ya what. There's a shower through there." He pointed to the bathroom. "I'll give ya this room for the day. You two clean up and rest. I need to tell the authorities you're both safe and sound." His face wrinkled as he broke into a wide smile. "Damn! When I found out about the new fires, I reported you both camping up there. Figured I killed ya both."

Touched by the man's concern and generosity, Jim smiled. "Aside from the fire, it was a nice valley." He took the mug of hot coffee that Blair handed him. "How many new fires started last night?"

"Three," the man said as he prepared to leave them. "Damnedest thing, this spring, never seen one dryer. Hope I never see another." He pointed to a corner. "You'll find drinks in that little icebox. Need anything else, you come out and tell me. No charge, hear? I'm just glad you're both breathing."

After he was gone, Blair chuckled. "I think I like that guy."

Taking a large swallow, Jim shrugged. "Unless he started that blaze, he's got no reason to feel guilty. But we certainly need the charity right now." Jim eyed Blair critically. "Take the first shower, Chief. I'll go get our clothing."

"You sure? You should see your face, Jim." Blair pursed his lips. "You're pretty red."

Experimenting with his dial, Jim felt the sting. "I'll be fine."

While Blair showered, Jim unloaded their clothing bags from the jeep. Two of the tires were flat, probably split open when the damaged rubber cooled. Jim sighed. Back inside, he searched the aisles and found sunburn ointment, taking a small bottle back with him. He returned to their room, poured a second cup of coffee and took a minute to wash his hands and face in the sink.

When Blair emerged, a towel wrapped around his hips, they switched places. Jim stripped, checking his shoulders and chest in the mirror. He sported a few blisters, nothing serious. It could have been much, much worse.

After the shower, he donned clean clothes and stepped out to find Blair dressed, his wet hair pulled back into a pony tail and dabbing sunburn medicine on his neck and arm. Without reason, the hairs on Jim's arms tingled just as a light knock on the door sounded. Blair was closer and answered.

"Thought you'd both like some breakfast." Mack entered carrying a tray which he set down on a small dinette table. "Eat up now. The state fellas are all happy to know you made it out. Be sending someone out to take a report." He headed for the door, back to his shop. "I told them you'd both be staying a while. No rush."

"Thank you," Jim said. "Please keep a total of what we owe you. I picked up some burn ointment."

The man waved off the statement with a flip of his gnarled hand. "Forget it." He paused, looking at Blair. "You okay, son?"

Blair had dropped to the sofa, his face scrunched in pain as he rubbed his forehead. He looked up and managed a smile. "I'm fine. Just a headache."

"I've got some aspirin here," Mack said. He opened a cabinet over the sink and set a large bottle on the counter. "Help yourself. I've got to get back, business is picking up and a clerk called in sick. You two rest up."

"Same as before, Chief?" Jim asked after Mack was gone. He shook out two white pills and handed them over. "Out in the parking lot the other day?"

"Sort of," Blair admitted, looking up with confusion etched features. A gulp of coffee washed the medicine down. "I had a deja vu, or something. A woman - I swear I've never seen her, man - she was laughing." Blair looked over at the kitchenette. He pointed with the hand that wasn't massaging his own head. "Standing there."

Jim didn't like Blair's pale complexion. "Here, try some food." Jim held out the basket of muffins, then gently slapped Blair's hand when he picked one out.

"What?" Blair protested, dropping it.

"Blueberry, Sandburg," Jim told him. He took a warm apple and cinnamon muffin and handed it over. "Here."

Blair accepted the offering with a dour look. "Not fair, man. I like blueberry."

"Nothing blue for at least two months." Jim took the muffin for himself. "Eat, get some sleep. I don't like these headaches you're getting."

"I don't like these weird visions I'm getting," Blair countered around a mouthful of muffin. He swallowed. "So, we staying around to talk to the cops or what?"

"No choice," Jim answered. The tray held warm breakfast sandwiches with eggs and a round sausage in a biscuit, probably heated up in a microwave. He sat down at the dinette table. "Jeep's out of commission, flat tires. Our ID's should hold up out here. Maybe we can hit a junk yard and cannibalize some parts."

Blair's muffin was half gone. He talked as he chewed. "How big will those fires get? Are they going to reach us here?"

"Shouldn't." Jim noticed the careful way the younger man avoided eye contact. Blair wasn't the only one affected by that escape through the forest fire. Jim still felt pretty shaky. That had been too close. "It's several ridges away. The wind's pushing it northeast, away from us. Besides, we've got natural firebreaks between us and the fire."

Blair looked at Jim, puzzled. "You sound like you know a lot about wildfires."

"Some," Jim answered. His muffin gone, he peeled the plastic off the breakfast sandwich. "During basic, I spend a few weeks fighting fires in the scrub brush by Yakima."

Blair drew his sock covered feet up onto the sofa and scrunched a throw pillow under his head as he lay down. "A soldier and a fire fighter, I didn't know that."

Jim snickered. "In the military, you are what they say you are. After we rest, we'll make some phone calls."

Blair's eyes were closed. "Okay," he murmured then promptly dropped off to sleep.

Jim shook his head. Blair was the master at catnaps.

When the deputy sheriff arrived to interview them, Blair was still sleeping. Jim covered him with a light blanket, frowning when that failed to wake him. The deputy, a young man that looked not a day over eighteen, introduced himself as Jason Seeks. They talked outside by the jeep.

"Whew, you must have been up close and personal with the fire. This looks like a toasted marshmallow," Seeks commented walking around the Jeep, scratching his earlobe.

Jim nodded. All four tires were now flat. "We had a few tense moments."

Although it was still early, just half past nine, the temperature was already climbing. The weeds growing along the edge of the asphalt were dry and brittle looking.

"Any idea how it started?" the kid deputy asked.

Jim reassessed the cop. He was doing a pretty convincing job of acting like a Mayberry resident, but something about the cool green eyes said different. "Well, I'm not buying lightning strike."

"Why?" Seeks crossed arms over a skinny chest, made to look bigger by the hidden bulletproof vest.

"What are the odds of lighting striking in the base of a valley?" Jim said. "You've either got some very stupid campers or an arsonist in your woods."

Tilting his head to one side, the kid cop nodded. "That's what I'm thinking. Only I'm leaning more toward the arsonist angle. So, did either of you see anything suspicious?"

"We're not suspects?"

Seeks grinned. "If you are, you're pretty dense to be on the wrong side of the fire." He looked back at the Jeep. "I'd say you're driving a pretty convincing argument to your innocence."

Jim chuckled. "Wish I could drive it, seems we're stuck here. But to answer your question, by the time we got in sight of the fire, staying alive was all we could manage."

"You should talk to Mack," Seeks said. "He's related to half the folks around here. Got a cousin that runs a garage."

Jim liked the sounds of that. Since the old man seemed to want to shoulder some responsibility for their current plight - even if it was ridiculous - maybe Jim could get a bargain price on a set of tires. "That could come in handy."

Seeks handed back Jim's fake ID, along with Blair's. "I'll get out of your hair. If either of you think of something to add, call my dispatch. Good luck."

"Thanks." Jim pocketed the IDs.

Inside the store, Jim found Mack explaining to a customer why a particular fishing fly worked best on the local trout. Jim waited patiently for them to finish. After the sale was made, Jim moved in.

"Mack, do you know a decent mechanic? And where I might find a reasonable deal on some tires?" Jim asked.

Mack grinned. "Way ahead of you, Jim." He hooked a thumb over his belt proudly. "Called my cousin, Ed, best mechanic in Montana, also owns a junk yard. He's agreed to take a look at your Jeep. Used tires okay?"

"Depends on the price." Jim absentmindedly scratched his newly bearded chin. "Going to need more than tires. Probably got some damaged wires under the hood and I need new lens covers. Money's kind of tight right now."

"The bad news is Ed's fresh out of Jeeps, but he'll give you a good price on the tires," Mack said, then grinned. "Good news is my other cousin, Jeremiah, owns an auto supply store in Kalispell. Told him to wait on ordering what you need until I spoke with you. He'll sell at ten percent above cost. Personal favor to me."

When Jim learned the total cost to make his vehicle legal, he cringed. It was still more than he'd wanted to spend.

"Tell you what." Mack leaned an elbow comfortably on his counter, he picked up the phone, ready to call his Kalispell cousin. "I know for a fact the state is hurting for manpower, what with all these fires in the area. If you don't mind hard work, you can earn a thousand bucks per person in a week's work of digging fire trails. Interested?"

The last thing Jim wanted was to be anywhere near another forest fire. But the lure of that much money, times two, was too great. "Any chance we could get paid right at the end of the week?"

Mack grinned, showing coffee stained teeth. "My other cousin's a strike team task force leader on the big fire up north. We can get ya squared away."

"I'll talk to Blake," Jim said, waving a hand at the phone. They needed a vehicle. "Ask your cousin to order the parts."

Blair woke with a sore shoulder. He really, really missed his futon. Mack's couch sank in all the wrong places and left his body feeling broken. Blinking his eyes in the dimly lit room, he saw he was alone.

At least his headache was gone. He slowly sat up, a blanket falling to his legs. Jim had to be around somewhere. Blair wanted to leave. As nice as Mack had been to him, that last vision had left him spooked. Blair couldn't shake the image of the woman standing by the sink. She had seemed so real.

"Hey, you're awake," Jim asked, appearing silently at Blair's side and making him jump. "You okay?"

Scrubbing his face, Blair nodded. "Yeah. It time to leave yet?"

Jim joined him on the sofa. "We need to talk."

Jim had a certain body language which Blair was becoming a master at reading. Right now the flexing fingers and tiny muscle tic above the sentinel's right ear spelled bad situation.

"What?" Blair asked warily.

"We need cash," Jim said in his usual blunt way. "We can make over two grand if we sign up with the crews fighting these fires."

"Are you nuts!" Blair blurted out before his brain had a chance to kick in. "I don't know anything about fighting fires, Jim!"

Jim's reply was quiet, as if rehearsed. "I'll teach you. It's not that hard." He ran a hand over his head, glancing down at the floor. "Okay, let me rephrase that - it's a skill you'll pick up quickly. We stay together the whole time. Sandburg... we're talking over two thousand dollars."

The string of zeros did deserve thought. Blair pictured the Jeep, the damage needing repair. But still, fighting that hell incarnate? Was Blair's insanity contagious? "Jim, they don't use water, man. I've seen the news coverage. All they carry are hand tools."

Jim's smiled and Blair knew the argument was over, that he'd agreed to the plan. "That's how you cut trail, Chief."

Mack stored extra equipment in a back room. The three men were surrounded by tall metal shelving units. A single bare bulb hung from a wire. The owner unburied military style backpacks, head lanterns and canteens from behind flats of soda and small ninety-nine cent bags of chips.

"They'd come in for snacks and complain about having ruined their pack or shelter. So I started keeping stuff on hand." Mack started sorting though the odd collection on the concrete floor.

Jim helped; satisfied they'd have what they needed for their week. He packed Sandburg's gear first and handed it over. A new sleeping bag replaced the one that had burned. Blair looked skeptical, but didn't say a word. Mack told them he wasn't charging anything for the use of the equipment, but Jim kept a mental tally. When they got paid, Jim would make sure Mack was reimbursed for his generosity. "What time is the transport arriving?"

"Expect them anytime after lunch," Mack said. "They come down for cigarettes and candy. My cousin, Charlie, will be with them this time."

Last on the agenda was clothing. Both Jim's and Blair's boots would be fine for the job, but Jim knew jeans and cotton T-shirts were not sufficient. Mack came to the rescue once again. He got into a box stored on a high, overhead shelf. "Try these."

Dark green, flammable resistant Nomex pants with Velcro cuffs and light yellow Nomex long sleeve shirts. They were used, decorated with stains, but clean. Jim judged their sizes and handed the smaller set off to Blair. Two yellow hart hats with fabric ear and neck flaps finished them off.

"We'll get you some new bandanas and you're both set." Mack replaced the box's lid and let Jim return it to the shelf.

When the sixteen passenger van appeared, they were ready. Like a swarm of sugar-starved junkies the group entered the store, heading directly for their vice of choice. A tall, muscular person in dirty Nomex clothing stripped a filthy bandana from short black greasy hair.

"Hey, Charlie," Mack said before catching the person in a hug.

Jim did a double take when a feminine voice answered. "Good to see you again, Mack. I hear you have two recruits for me."

"Yep, sure do. JR and Blake." Mack waved them over. "Got them all geared up. JR did some firefighting in the military, mostly scrub land."

Charlie's face was tanned with long exposure to the elements and dirt. A pale forehead showed her cleaner complexion underneath the grime, protected by her bandana. She gave Jim a quick, assessing glance before nodding curtly and offering her hand. With Blair, she spent an extra few seconds before judging him equally acceptable.

"I understand you can only give us a week?" she asked.

"Yeah, we're strapped for cash," Jim explained. "Got caught up in one of your fires and took some vehicle damage. As soon as the repairs are made, we're moving on."

"Okay." She nodded. "Tell you what. I'll pay your repair bill directly from your wage when it comes in. Normally that's about a month down the road. I'll front the difference to you at the end of the week, and pay myself back when the state's reimbursement arrives. Work for you?"

"Thanks," Jim said. "That's perfect."

"Good." She looked over the store. "I'm going to pick up a few things. We leave in fifteen."

They used the time to load their packs, which bulged with extra goodies that Mack had forced on them. The rest of their stuff Mack promised to keep safe. He also was arranging the repairs on the Jeep in their absence.

"Mack, you've no idea how much we appreciate all you're doing for us," Blair told him just before they got ready to get into the van. The fire crew wandered out in groups of two and three, drinking sodas and chewing on candy bars.

"I'm just glad I could help," the old man said. "My wife would have loved talking with you, Blake. She had a thing for young men with long hair." The sparkle in his eyes made Jim smile.

"Your wife?" Blair asked.

Mack was already pulling out his wallet. He took a dog-eared photo out and handed it over. Blair took it reverently, his face paling.

"She died about ten years ago this month," Mack explained with a frankness that only old-time widowers could pull off. "We started this store together."

"S-she's lovely," Blair told him.

"Okay, Fire Rats!" Charlie bellowed from the front passenger's open door. "We're on a schedule here. Load up!"

With hurried good-byes and thanks, Jim and Blair climbed in, taking the rear seat of the long van. Blair fumbled with his lap seat with shaky hands.

"What's wrong, Chief?" Jim whispered even though the noise in the van prevented them from being overheard. The smell of unwashed bodies was enough to send his dials spinning to a low setting.

Blair shook his head.

Jim let it go.

For now.

They learned western Montana was currently fighting four major fires. A new fire camp had been set up to headquarter the attack of the Elkin Valley fire. Blair stared in awe at the recently mowed meadow being transformed into a tent and trailer city.

"Forget the `thin blue line'," Blair muttered. "This is a whole new subculture." He watched a group of young women wearing identical green pants and yellow shirts walk by carrying shovels and hoes over their shoulders. Several of the women eyed them openly, but Blair noticed their gaze lingered more on the man standing next to him.

Jim didn't even notice. "Let's get checked in. We've got to find the supply area and get some `shake-n-bakes'."

"What and bakes?" Blair asked as Jim pulled him away from the women who had finally acknowledged his friendly wave.

"Come on, Casanova."

The fire camp sat at the mouth of a wide valley. A small river flowed along one side, providing water for a shower set-up via portable water tank heated by propane. The camp was divided into three parts. The middle section was a village of large off-white canvas tents and small office-style trailers that housed the command post, supply tent, payroll office, kitchen and the mess hall with high tables. The northern section was the large parking lot filled with forestry trucks and private vehicles. Opposite, to the south, a cluster of small tents were being set up to sleep the crewmembers off duty crews.

To the valley's east hung low, dirty haze banks of smoke, fallout from the fire in the upper mountains. It was early afternoon and the whole place had that `getting set up' feel to it, like opening day of a grandiose play or the arrival of a new circus. Folks hurried by, hollering over misplaced equipment and broken parts.

Jim and Blair started at a white trailer where a middle-aged woman with a gray bun unloaded stacks of forms from a blue plastic box. They filled out payroll paperwork. As instructed by Charlie, they arranged their pay to go to her. After being issued new field ID's giving them authority to work for the state of Montana, they continued on to a supply trailer where they were each given a yellow fabric pouch that held a brick shaped object, only much lighter.

"You know how to use these?" a heavyset man asked.

"Could you run us through the basics?" Jim asked. "It's been a while."

"Sure." The man flashed a smile, showing bits of tobacco chew along his front gum line. "Come on."

They walked over to the side, away from the foot traffic. "Pull the shelter out." The man pulled out an encased plastic aluminum square. "Remove the plastic by pulling the rings." The plastic tore off. He flicked his wrist and the aluminum became a long strip. "Find the stirrups, step on them if you're having to clear your ground. Then step into it, feet first, toward the coming fire." The man pushed the shiny fabric with his hands into a long `A' frame tent without a bottom. He twisted so the tent was behind him, like a turtle's shell, and dropped to his knees, then down on his hands. The shelter covered him entirely and the voice continued from within. "No matter how hot it gets around you, stay put until the fire's moved on and it's cooled off."

He stood back up. "You need to practice?"

Jim nodded. "Thanks."

"No problem, just bring this one back to me when your done. I'll use it for training." The man went back to his supply tent.

"Okay, Chief. You first." Jim started to refold the tent.

Blair practiced until Jim was satisfied with his deployment time. Finally he got the okay to stop.

"Sheesh, now I know why you call it a `Shake and Bake'." Blair wiped the sweat from his forehead. It was hot under the metal fabric, just from the radiant heat of the sun. How much hotter would it be in a fire? He didn't want to find out.

Later they attended a group briefing. Personnel had arrived all afternoon and the fire camp was crowded with bodies. From the talk around them, a lot of them were fresh off other fires. Others were from out of state. Everyone agreed they hadn't seen a spring this bad in a long time.

The briefing was given by a scrawny man named Franklin Dunmore. A no-nonsense looking guy in his fifties. His skin was wrinkly and tan, his hair the color of burnt ash. Blair thought he looked more like a cowboy from one of those old TV westerns, than an incident commander at a wildland fire.

"The fire's at five hundred square acres at last count," Dunmore explained to the group around him. He stood on the top step leading to the back of yet another trailer. "Weather pattern is not going to be much help. More dry days, low humidity, wind. We've got some good news, fire's heading for a large reservoir, should be a natural firebreak. If we can flank the north and south sides with a decent trail, we'll have this wrapped up in a few weeks. I've already got some bulldozer crews in place on the north side; the topography will support that operation. The south flank is going to be tougher. Most of you will be cutting that trail by hand. We're looking at an arson job with this one, so keep your eyes sharp for evidence. Remember the eighteen watch outs on this one, people. I want everyone going home when we're done."

After the briefing, the kitchen was opened for business. Blair fell in line behind Jim, his eyes widening upon seeing the generous servings. Jim grinned as a thick steak was placed next to a Texas-sized baked potato dripping with sour cream and butter.

"One of the benefits," Jim noted. "I'd almost forgotten this part."

Blair had to use both hands to support his food tray as they walked to a nearby table to eat their meal standing up. "This is incredible." He cut into the steak. The meat was moist and flavorful. He had to admit, it was good.

"Eat as much as you can. You'll need those calories," Jim said before taking a large bite of his buttered dinner roll.

Thirty minutes into the job, Jim could pinpoint the exact second Blair became bored.

They worked in a twenty person crew, cutting a fire trail along the side of a lightly forested mountain side. The fire currently burned out of sight on the other side of the mountain. Only the smoke was visible. Jim swung a hand tool called a Pulaski, sort of a cross between an ax and a hoe. Blair had ended up with a shovel. Their objective was to dug through the duff and expose the mineral soil below.

"Want to switch, man?" Blair asked.

Jim shook his head. Their crew boss didn't seem like the type of man to accept changes he didn't initiate. They'd been surprised to see their boss was one of the guys that they'd bumped into at Mack's store. One of the two men who'd offered to help Blair during his headache attack.

"The first hour's the worst, Chief. After that, you'll get a rhythm going."

A command drifted down the line of men and women. "Bump!"

Jim stilled his Pulaski and stood straight. His back already felt the strain. He remembered his own words, the first hour was the worst. "Bump, means move forward down the line."

Blair shuffled further down the newly cut trail, following a short, Hispanic man through the trees. The graduate student's hair was tied back. Wearing the hard hat and unfamiliar garb of a wildland firefighter, he looked nothing like a teaching assistant. Trails of sweat trickled down Jim's back. He wasn't looking forward to the higher temperatures the afternoon promised.

They continued to cut trail for another hour. Each man scraped at the ground with their allotted hand tool, working in a hit and miss pattern and moving on. The next person followed, taking another swipe. The job of the last person in line was to make sure nothing had been missed. The idea was to end with a trail of exposed mineral soil at least thirty inches wide, bare of burnable fuel. Once the ground fire reached their trail, the advancing flames were stopped.

Only ground trails didn't stop a crowning fire or fire burning overhead in the treetops. To stop those fires, select trees were dropped by a chainsaw teams. Such a team was currently working a mile or more behind them.

The order for morning break arrived and Jim scouted the immediate area for a shady spot to rest. Blair followed, still carrying his shovel as he'd been taught.

"Oh... mmaaan...," Blair said dropping with a spine-jarring thud. He removed his hard hat and flopped on his back. "And I thought digs were hard work."

Jim worked his leather gloves off, smiling. He freed his canteen and took a long drink of warm water. Breakfast that morning had been as filling and hardy as dinner, but he still dug in his pack for a small package of mixed nuts and tore open a corner, spilling half the contents into his hand. "Drink more water."

"Ah huh," Blair answered, drowsy. He remained on his back.

Jim cupped a knee and shook the water bottle in Blair's face.

"Okay, okay," Blair said, rolling onto a shoulder and pushing off the ground. Needles and dead moss clung to the long hair that had escaped from its leather tie and brushed his face. He jerked his canteen off his belt awkwardly and unscrewed the cap, his attention focused down the trail being constructed. "Uh oh."

Jim looked. Their crew boss, Vern Bjerken, was heading their way.

"He's going to say I'm not working fast enough," Blair muttered under his breath as the boss neared them.

"No, he's not, you're doing fine," Jim answered quietly.

"What do you think, Blake? Going to make a living out of this?" The man was as tall as Jim, but wiry. He wore a radio on his chest, strapped in with a black harness of webbing that kept it from swinging.

"I doubt it," Blair answered. "Company's okay, the office has a nice view, but my blisters are going to have blisters by the end of the week."

Vern looked doubtful as he leaned on his Pulaski. "So, got any of those `watch out's' memorized?"

Jim had expected the question. Last night, they'd been given yellow stickers listing eighteen situations to `watch out' for while fighting a fire, as well as a `Fire Orders' standard for survival. They were taught religiously to all crew members. Blair had glanced over the list before going to bed.

Blair tilted his face, adopting a thoughtful expression. "Think so. Fire not scouted or sized up... In country not seen during day... Don't know the escape routes..."

Blair listed each situation from memory. Vern's eyes narrowed in suspicion as he quoted the final one.

"... and taking a nap near the fire line," Blair recited with ease. "At first I thought that was a joke, but then I figured it had something to do with the carbon dioxide being heavier than air. Since it's odorless and tasteless, your only symptom would be feeling sleepy."

"I thought you said this was your first fire?" Vern asked.

"He's a quick study," Jim explained, rubbing his arms.

"Reading the book is not the same thing as actual experience," Vern chided. "Don't get cocky."

With a stern nod, Vern moved on down the line, stopping to chat, checking on both physical and mental conditions of the other crewmembers. Jim adjusted his hearing, overhearing Vern quiz another and getting less than seven correct answers. "I think you made an impression, Chief."

"What's with the attitude?" Blair whispered, looking indignant. "I happen to do pretty damn good with `book learning."

"Relax," Jim said, rubbing his tingling shoulder. "He's just making a point."

"Well, it sucks." Blair flopped backward onto his back, both arms crossed over his face. "Shit, Jim, it's happening again," he moaned.

Jim leaned over his friend. "Another headache?"

Blair looked miserable, swallowing rapidly as if ready to puke. "I'm going crazy, man," he whispered wretchedly. "Seeing weird shit. I can't make it stop."

"Calm down," Jim ordered gently. He looked around to make sure no one was watching and scooted closer. "Tell me what's happening."

"I see a dark forest. I'm holding that oil can that drips fire." Blair covered his face with gloved hands, smudging dirt. "I'm burning the forest. I'm setting it on fire, Jim."

"Open your eyes. Look at me."

Blair dropped his hands, showing haunted blue eyes that locked with Jim's.

"Deep breaths, in and out, you know how. Concentrate on me, just me. You're fine. It's daylight. You're at my side. We're both okay."

With each word Jim spoke, Blair calmed down. "Feels like when I eat ice cream too fast," he said through clenched teeth, forehead creased in pain.

"Here, let me try something." Jim splayed his fingers out, pressing fingertips into the back of Blair's hair, an inch above where his spine connected with his skull. He pressed his thumbs to press and gently massaged the back and top of Blair's head.

Blair groaned, tense muscles relaxing.

Keeping the pressure firm, he moved his thumbs down to Blair's wide forehead. "I learned this from a woman I dated before I joined the department. She was studying acupressure, called this `Shiatsu'."

"Means... finger pressure," Blair whispered, eyes still closed, laying bonelessly on the ground. "It's working. Please... don't stop."

Jim moved down the forehead to the temple area. "Tell me about these visions, Chief. How many have you had?"

"Ah, three... At the store, the woman I saw? She was Mack's wife." Blair swallowed before going on. "She died ten years ago. I saw her ghost."

Jim had a theory. It sounded too crazy to utter. He continued for several minutes before speaking again. "You're just tired." He could see Vern moving back up the line again. He patted Blair's shoulder. "Break's almost over, you going to be able to continue?"

"I'm okay. The pain's nearly gone," Blair said, letting Jim pull him up into a seated position. "That was amazing, man. Thanks." He took anther long drink of water.

His color did look better, but Jim still saw faint tremors as Blair held his canteen.

"Give me your bandana," Jim ordered. Blair untied it from around his neck. Taking his own canteen, Jim soaked the cloth and handed it back. "Tie it over you head. Wear it under your hardhat."

Blair did, grinning broadly when his yellow hardhat was placed back on his head. "Oh, yeah. I'm liking this."

"Check in your tools, wash up and get over to the dining hall," Vern ordered the crew before striking off across the shorn field toward the command post.

"I'm beat," Blair moaned. "Check in my shovel for me, Jim?"

Blair felt a tug on his sleeve.

"You're eating," Jim said shortly.

"You can eat if you want. All I want is sleep." He closed his eyes as Jim towed him toward the supply tent. Lacking the energy to protest, he went along.

Jim took the shovel while Blair found a sturdy tent pole to lean against. A few seconds later, the tug was back and he moved his feet. Ah, the portable wash station. That got his attention and Blair spent a happy few minutes splashing cool water on his face and soaking his hair.

"Come on, before the mess hall closes," Jim grumbled impatiently.

The effect of the water woke the hunger pains in Blair's gut. His brain felt more awake, too. Smells of cooked meat and roasted corn on the cob added a spring in his step, energized his tired muscles. He took a loaded tray from the apron clad man behind the counter and followed Jim to a table.

Everything tasted better than delicious. Blair suppressed moans of pleasure as he chewed, hot butter trickled down his chin and he wiped a paper napkin across his lower face. "You, know. As much as I'm loving this food-."

"Don't start, Mr. Crocker," Jim interrupted around a mouthful of steak.

"What?"

Jim swallowed, his Adam's apple bouncing. "I know how your mind works. You can't help yourself. You'll start chatting up the cooks and get them to switch to using less grease. Food will start to taste `good for us' and next thing I know, the entire camp will be trying to lynch you. I'm only one man. Not even I can save you from over a hundred cholesterol starved fire fighters."

Where did Jim get this shit? Blair snorted in a dignified manner. "You finished, Mr. Leno?" It didn't escape Blair's attention that an attractive woman with brown braids was softly laughing from across the table. He recognized her from their crew, but didn't know her name.

"Just stay away from the kitchen staff. Okay, Junior?" Jim replied smugly.

After the meal Blair stood outside the tent he shared with Jim. Gas powered lanterns cast a harsh yellow glow that attracted flying beetles the size of small birds. The camp was quiet now and Blair wavered between taking a shower or sleep. Being clean had a certain appeal, but being unconscious was more attractive.

Blair's head was starting to hurt again and he hoped a night of rest would prevent it from getting worse, or maybe another one of Jim's massages. But Jim had already gathered up his kit and headed for the showers, so that was going to have to wait. Or... maybe a shower would help.

"Blake, is it?" The woman with the braids appeared at his side.

"Hi," Blair greeted in surprise. "Yeah, Blake. You're...?"

"Dianne." she stuck out her free hand.

Blair shook it. "Nice to meet you. You're on our crew, right?"

Nodding, she extended her other hand. "I saw you fighting that headache this morning, thought I'd share my secret with you."

Blair accepted her gift, a large Styrofoam cup filled with fragrant liquid. The cup was warm and he knew better than to take a sip without asking. "What is it?"

"Yarrow tea," she told him. "I picked the leaves myself. Plenty growing around us."

"Yarrow?" Blair searched his memory. "Pink flowers? Feathery leaves?"

"Right." She smiled shyly. "You know herbal medicine?"

"Actually, yeah. I do. My mom taught me." Blair chanced a taste. She'd sweetened it with honey. "Wow, this is great."

"I use it for a lot of ailments," Dianne explained with a hint of pride. "Some folks swear it even cures cancer. Don't know that for a fact though." She yawned suddenly. "Sorry, I'm more exhausted than I thought. The first day's always the toughest."

"God, I hear that." Blair nodded, taking another sip. Amazingly, the vise-like feeling across his forehead was starting to ease off.

"If you talk to the kitchen staff, they'll get you all the hot water you want. You can even carry some tea in your canteen. It should help with your headaches."

"I will. And thanks again, this is great." Blair toasted her with the cup. "When we're both not so dead on our feet, we can swap herbal remedies."

She laughed. "That'd be nice. Night, Blake." She moved away into the darkness.

"Sleep well, Dianne."

"What'cha got, Chief?"

Blair jumped at Jim's voice, seeing his clean tent-mate approach. "Hey, man. How was the shower?"

"Good. Lines not too long. You going to go next?"

As much as Jim's nose probably wished it, Blair chose the bed instead. "Gonna have to dial it down. I'll take one in the morning. Check this out, yarrow tea."

Jim pulled back, holding a hand up. He detoured around Blair and slipped into their tent. Blair followed, closing the flaps. Two low cots had been provided, so they wouldn't be sleeping on the ground. Jim tucked his shower kit under his bed, sat down, and pulled off his unlaced boots. "I'll take a pass, smells like cougar piss."

Blair sat on the edge of his cot, chuckling as he finished the tea. His head felt great. Tomorrow he'd stuff his pockets with yarrow leaves.

Jim had his personal first aid kit out, about the size of an old fashioned lunch box. "Let's see the hands, Sandburg. Time to cover the blisters with moleskin."

Blair thought `day two' on the fire line rocked in comparison to `day one'. First of all, no headaches. That alone made it a hundredfold better. He'd done as Dianne suggested and filled his canteen with yarrow tea, ignoring Jim's long suffering sighs.

Secondly, clouds had moved in during the night, keeping the temperatures slightly subdued, in fact a few times Blair had actually appreciated the fact he was wearing long sleeves. Except the weather change had the wind acting up, swirling around them as they cut trail. Vern spent the majority of the morning up and down the line, scanning the ridge above them and talking into his radio. Even Jim looked concerned and Blair knew the fire was being unpredictable, as it reacted to the windy conditions.

At lunch the group ate without the previous day's jokes. Yesterday had reminded Blair of when he'd been a kid during those first days in a new school. He'd sit and listen to the other kids as they hung out together. Blair had felt invisible.

But this time things were different. He wasn't a nobody in a crowd. He had Jim. Even though the other fire fighters had history, had worked together before and knew hilarious stories at each other's expense, Jim was at his side. Blair could turn and catch those dark blue eyes, when reminded of something similar that had happened in the bullpen, and Jim would respond with a silent smirk.

But today lunch was a quiet affair and it was while Blair ate his second sandwich, his inner eye took him back to the fire vision.

Without the pain, Blair saw things much clearer.

It was dark. A small circle of light showed trees and brush, moving whenever he turned his head. He was wearing a headlamp. Distant rumbling sounds overhead warned of a storm nearby. Everything felt so real, yet he knew he was still sitting next to Jim on the mountain side. He could even taste the lunch meat and wheat bread in his mouth.

But he also felt the weight of the burn torch in his hand.

Blair looked down, seeing a gloveless, larger hand - not his own. An ornate watch with a stone encrusted band was on the wrist. As he watched, the fuel dripped out in a thin stream. The small burning flame, like a pilot light on a stove, ignited the fuel and the duff at his feet began to burn.

"No!"

An iron-like grip on his forearm kept him from bolting to his feet. Blair was back with Jim. The vision was gone. Only Dianne was looking their way, a frown on her freckled face.

"Oh... shit," Blair whispered, dropping his shoulders. Bits of chewed sandwich lay on the ground and in his lap. He closed his mouth with a snap. God, how long had be been out of it?

"Chief?" Jim sounded worried. He leaned close, never losing his grip on Blair's arm. "You okay?"

Nodding, Blair tried looking normal, even though he wanted to run. His heart hammered against his ribs.

"Headache?" Jim asked insistently.

This time Blair managed to shake his head side to side. With effort, he straightened his spine and met Jim's worried gaze. "No... but it was nighttime. I was burning a forest."

With an intensity of a master carver looking for a flaw, Jim studied his face, lingering on his eyes. "But no headache?"

"Nah uh."

"That tea must be working."

Blair felt like throttling his friend. "What about the visions, man? Why am I having them? I didn't before, did I?"

"No," Jim answered, patting the air between them in a signal to keep his voice down. "You didn't. We'll talk about this tonight."

God, Blair wanted to scream. He was fed up with this shit. The visions didn't make sense. Why was this happening now? Was it the algae shake? Or maybe because he stopped drinking it? If he started again, would they stop? But then he'd start forgetting stuff again.

Jim was right, he had to calm down. Freaking out was not going to help any. Blair breathed deeply, mentally pushing away the vision and forcing his heart to slow. A minute later he felt better.

Rewrapping his uneaten sandwich, Blair stuffed it back into his lunch bag. Something was still inside. He pulled out a brown wrapped candy bar. "Do I like Snickers?"

Jim's hand appeared instantly. "Nope, you always give them to me."

That night, after another meal worthy of `Black Angus', Jim offered to help Blair find yarrow plants. The valley floor had the look and feel of a real community now, reminding Blair of the way the pioneers spread through out the west during the eighteen hundreds.

"Here, Chief."

Following the voice through the falling dusk, Blair held the paper bag open while Jim denuded several tall stocks of flowers.

"Leave some leaves, man. I don't want to kill them."

Jim left half the leaves from each plant.

Blair set the sack on the ground and joined the harvest. "I wonder what's in this stuff that stops my headache."

"Who cares, as long as it works," Jim replied in his usual matter of fact manner. He glanced back at the bustling activity across the valley. "About lunch today..."

"Yeah?" Blair stilled.

"You do like Snicker bars."

Blair sniggered. "Duh, man."

"You knew?" Jim stopped ripping leaves, his attention on Blair.

"You had your `I'm gonna hate myself in the morning' look happening. I figured you were jerking my chain. But, I really was stuffed. They feed us too much food," Blair commented.

"Sandburg, I explained that." Jim started stripping leaves again. "We're working long days, lots of physical work. They have to provide the carbs to keep us machines fueled."

"I could still recommend a few dietary changes. There are healthier calories. " Blair looked over the clump of yarrow plants. "That's enough for this group. See anymore?"

Jim stood tall, surveying the area. "Come on." He walked toward the distant tree line.

It suddenly struck Blair. This is how original sentinels worked hundreds of years ago. Their tribe was behind them. All its members had put in a long hard day of work. While most slept, the sentinel patrolled, he gathered supplies, he protected.

Cool. Blair was lost in thought.

"About your... episodes," Jim said over his shoulder as he walked.

Huh? Blair hurried to catch up to his friend's long strides. "What about them?"

Jim stopped near a massive downed cedar lying in the tall grass. "Sit down a second." He waited until after they'd settled. "I didn't notice this as first. But each time you had an attack, I got this... weird tingly feeling." Jim rubbed his arms.

"Why didn't you say something?" Blair demanded.

"I'm talking tingles, Sandburg," Jim responded, looking mildly annoyed. "Nothing like the crap you're going through. Anyway, I'm wondering if this has something to do with what Doctor Tappas had said, the nerve cell thing."

Blair frowned. "How do you figure?"

"I'm guessing here." Jim's attention switched to the distant mountains as he talked. "But consider this...maybe you're just as genetically unique to this sentinel pairing as I am. Only we're just now finding out your gift. Maybe that stuff in your algae drink suppressed this all along."

"Nah, I'm not buying it." Blair drew one leg up and turned to face his friend. "You're a sentinel. Your gifts are obvious. What's the benefit with my condition? I'm hallucinating about dead people and fires. How's that add to the partnership?"

"Hallucinations?" Jim pursed his mouth, his eyes unfocused for a second. Then he turned to Blair, his face relaxing. "Or are you picking up other people's memories?"

"WHAT?" Blair couldn't believe his ears. "You're... you... that's nuts!"

"Think about it, Sandburg," Jim insisted softly. "Your nerve cells have those extra orb-things for picking up and transmitting data, right? What if you're detecting stuff from outside your own body?"

"Nah ah." Blair shook his head. "No, it's too... science fiction."

"Chief, I can see stuff no one can see. I smell odors; hear noises hundreds of feet away. I can taste the exact spot a fly lands on my sandwich bread."

"Gross, Jim."

"I only did that once, now I just pinch that spot off," Jim waved a hand. "Don't change the subject. I'm saying these - I don't know what to call them, memory transfers, I guess - are just as plausible as my enhanced senses."

"Burton never said anything about the sentinel's partner," Blair pointed out.

"Sandburg, get real." Jim snorted. "You know a shit-load more than that guy ever wrote. You are the leading authority on sentinels now, not some old explorer that died a hundred years ago."

Blair couldn't accept this. It changed everything. It scared the hell out of him. How was he going to protect Jim if his own mind was ready to trip into La La land at the drop of a hat? "No, you're totally off base. This can't be right."

Jim's expression became guarded. "Ah, I get it. It's okay to tell me I'm not a freak. Call my ability a gift. But it's another story when it's you. What's up with that, Professor?"

"No, no, no!" Blair pushed off the log, pacing back and forth, stomping down the tall weeds. "Don't put words in my mouth, man."

"Then, what's the problem?"

Blair opened his arms wide. "Hello? What's the problem? I'm supposed to be watching your back. How am I gonna do that when I'm seeing dead people?"

To Blair's complete irritation, Jim laughed. "Trust me, there's no chance of me zoning when that tingling starts." He paused, looking thoughtful. "Maybe that's why. Maybe it's some sort of early warning device between us."

"Okay, okay." Blair pointed a finger at Jim. "That's another issue. What's the purpose? If the sentinel's backup is supposed to have this `gift' - " He dropped imaginary quotation marks in the air with his fingers. "- then where's the advantage? Tell me that!"

"You're kidding, right?" Jim pointed back at him. "You can't see the advantage of getting into the head of a potential enemy? Learn something about him? It's another tool for the good guys, Einstein."

"Maybe! If I could control it!" Blair threw back, exasperated.

Jim looked smug as he crossed his arms. "You're already doing that. You've stopped the pain. You'll figure out the rest."

In the next cot, Jim snored softly, wearing only his T-shirt and boxers. Blair lay on his side and watched his friend breathe, illuminated by a distant yard lights that filtered through the canvas wall of their tent.

It was late, but Blair's mind refused to shut down. He couldn't stop thinking about what Jim had said. Could his theory be true? Were those visions truly other people's memories? What did that make him? Not telepathic. Blair rolled over on his back and smiled, thinking of all those old science fiction stories he'd read as a kid.

No, Blair wasn't reading minds.

It wasn't like being an empath either, like the `drop dead' gorgeous character, Deana Troy, from that Star Trek spin-off . No, Blair didn't really pick up anyone's emotions, even though that last one had left him feeling dirty.

The scientist within Blair demanded more information. What he wouldn't give to have access to a comprehensive medical library. Blair lived to research; needed to gather data; run tests; perform controlled experiments and analyze data.

He thought about all the people sleeping within close proximity and looked over at Jim, making sure the man was still sleeping.

What if he were to meditate? To try to focus.

Maybe...

Somewhere an animal cried in pain.

Or was it a child?

Jim's consciousness fought with his exhaustion, finally rising to the point of waking. He opened his eyes to darkness. His body hummed, and his skin tingled as if he were caught up in an electrical field. An internal clock told him he'd only managed two hours sleep, tops.

Another whimper shot him into a seated position, ignoring the pain from tired muscles and joints.

"Sandburg," Jim whispered.

Blair was curled into a tight ball on his cot, his knees hanging over the edge. Both arms wrapped around his head as if in pain. He shuddered at Jim's soft outburst of surprise.

"Oh, shit." Jim rolled off the cot and dropped down to his knees next to Blair's. "Chief? Talk to me."

"Nuugghhh." If anything, Blair managed to curl even tighter.

"Another headache?" Jim whispered. "Do you want some tea?"

Slight negative jerks of his head seemed to distress the man even further. Blair made a gagging noise what spelled a very messy and untenable situation for them both. Jim smelled the acid and pulled Blair up.

"Not in the tent, Chief. Come on."

Even with Jim doing eighty percent of the work, they only made it fifty feet before Blair's dinner reappeared, splashing over rocks and coating the tall grass. Blair dropped to his hands and knees. Jim nearly joined in as the sound, smell and sight of his friend being violently sick overwhelmed him.

When it was over, Jim had to physically lift Bliar back to his feet and guide him away from the foul smelling mess. Blair staggered, hands holding his head in place as if it was in danger of rolling away.

"Oh, God... it hurts," Blair murmured.

"What the hell happened?" Jim demanded. "You were fine when we went to bed."

"Please," Blair whined as Jim lowered him down into the grass in front of their tent. "Don't yell, man."

"Stay here." Jim ducked into the tent and found Blair's tea canteen. They'd have to make more in the morning. He rooted through his kit for the small packages of aspirin the forest service handed out to the crews. He returned to Blair's side. "Here, take these."

When Blair had finished half the canteen and swallowed the pills, he seemed to relax a little. "That was not fun," he muttered slowly.

"What happened?"

A familiar expression appeared. Jim had seen it before, like when Blair had admitted to hiding the loft's key above the door or the time he'd forged Jim's signature on a police requisition form.

"Saaanndburg?"

"It was supposed to be a simple meditation," Blair said, a determined glint in his pain-filled eyes.

"Meditation," Jim repeated, confused with the concept. Was Blair having problems sleeping? "What for?"

Blair rubbed his forehead with one hand, still holding his tea canteen with the other. "I sorta opened up my mind. I pictured a big, vacuum filled room. And then I... opened up a window." Blair grimaced.

Jim forgot how to breathe. "What happened?"

"Oh, God," Blair replied weakly, setting his canteen down in the grass. "Did that room fill up. Like being trampled by a Grateful Dead audience during general seating."

Throat dry, Jim managed to shut his mouth and swallow. Disbelief changed to anger. "You did this... on purpose?"

"Don't, man." Blair curled his spine, dropping his forehead to his raised knees and lacing his fingers over the back of his head. "I'm really hurting here."

"How bad?" Jim asked through his gritted teeth. "Scale of one to ten?"

"Twenty," Blair groaned. "Worse than all the other headaches... combined."

Jim forced his anger down. He'd tear his friend a new one later. Right now he wondered if he should get Blair to a hospital. Something told Jim there was nothing western medical science could do for him. If Jim was right, this was beyond their understanding.

"Come on." Jim stood, lifting Blair to unsteady feet. "We'll try that massage and you can finish your damn tea."

Hangovers were a walk in the park compared to this. Blair continued to push the runny eggs around on his plate, ignoring the not-so-subtle huffs of disapproval coming a few inches past his left elbow. Not that he begrudged his friend's attitude toward him. Blair had stolen much needed sleep from the man. After Jim had practically carried him back to his cot last night, he'd stayed up massaging his head and neck until the pain receded enough for Blair to fall asleep.

Blair was pretty sure that was less than two hours ago.

"You look awful, Blake," Dianne said as she walked by, returning her empty breakfast plate to the kitchen.

"I'm okay, just had a rough night," Blair answered, going for a light tone but fairly sure it came out sounding like a death row prisoner enjoying his final morning.

"I have another herb that might help." She glanced shyly toward Jim. "I know folks like regular medicine, but I find nature's remedies do a better job."

Blair snuck a peek at Jim.

"We appreciate your help, Dianne," Jim told her, a sincere looking smile on his face, the one that always seemed to melt women into puddles of goo. "Anything in your magical bag is welcome."

She laughed, her tan face failing to hide her blush. "I'll just run back and get it."

"Thanks," Blair called out as she left. "Hey, man. I think she's sweet on -." Blair turned back to Jim, cutting off his own comment when he saw Jim's easy smile replaced with that look again.

Blair sighed. "Dude, you've got to let it go, okay? I'm paying enough already."

Jim pinned Blair with a scowl. "You ever do a repeat of last night again, Merlin, and I'm going to kick your sorry ass all the way to Oz and back."

Whoa. Jim was pissed. Blair opened his mouth to answer.

Jim cut him off. "Save it. I'm not angry about your need to test the waters. But you're always harping about us being a team, what's up with the solo act?"

"Okay, okay," Blair pinched the bridge of his nose, gathering his thoughts as he rested his eyes. What he wouldn't do for a few more hours of sleep. "I get it. No Lone Ranger acts. I'm sorry, okay? I'm just not used to ... you wanting to help. Normally you're all mister-denial-man whenever we get into weird stuff."

Jim pushed his empty plate away. "I almost called an ambulance, Chief. And another thing -" He leaned an elbow on the high table as he warmed up to his verbal lashing. "- we don't need to draw any more attention. Can't these experiments wait? And are you going to eat something today or what?"

Blair sighed, unable to tune out the dull hammering in his head. At least no one was standing closed enough to hear. "That's two things, Jim."

"J.R." Jim whispered back.

Blair sighed again. It just wasn't going to be his day.

Blair wasn't trying to chop his toes off. It just seemed that way.

Exhausted from lack of sleep, he paused to sip the new tea Dianne had supplied him. It was stronger than Yarrow, but it seemed to do the job. Something-bark, he'd have to ask her to write it down for him. His brain had been too sore to remember what she'd called it.

Jim worked a few feet away, swinging his Pulaski. They were following a steep hillside thick with brush and scraggly looking trees. In three days the fire trail had grown so that the team had to hike more than an hour to reach the end. Over the ridgeline above their heads, smoke from the fire colored the air and created a haze that hid the sun. Several times they had to use a special bandana with built-in filters to breathe.

The work was physically taxing, the clothes hot and heavy on his back. Blair seemed to sweat the liquid out as fast as he drank it in. And behind it all was the ever present, dull thudding headache from his disastrous experiment with his new `gift'.

Gift, what a laugh. The visions had hit him so hard last nigh that his head had nearly exploded. There was no way all that imagery could be sorted out and managed. There was no way Blair was going to try that experiment a second time.

At least, any time soon.

"Bump," called the man down the line.

Gladly.

Blair moved forward with lead-filled shoes. He tried not to think about the fact they still had an hour till morning break. With eyes on the ground, he didn't realize Jim had stopped until he ran into his friend's back.

"Sorry," Blair muttered. He perked up as he saw Jim's attention on the hill above him. "What's up, man?"

"Wait here." Jim left the trail, pushing aside a dwarf-like pine.

"Hey!" Blair started to follow.

"Where's he going?" Dianne called from further up the trail. She leaned on her shovel, her face puzzled. "He shouldn't go off by himself."

"Ji - JR!" Blair hissed, losing sight of Jim's yellow shirt. Visual or voice contact with everyone on the team was a must. "Answer me, damnit."

To heck with it. Blair left the trail, taking the same path through the trees, pushing prickly pine boughs out of his way. The hill was steep. He pushed through the underbrush, spotting Jim ahead. "Hey, man."

"Stay back, Chief."

But Blair could already see what Jim was glumly staring at. "Oh my God," Blair whispered in horror.

Small and delicate, the deer had just started that growth spurt out of being a fawn on her way to a beautiful doe. Her sides and back had ugly black charred spots, some showing red muscle in the center. She'd fallen in an exhausted sprawl, like a macabre photograph, still and lifeless. Even Blair could smell the sickly scent of burnt hair and meat.

"I heard her last breath," Jim said dully. "I had to make sure..."

Blair wanted to throw up. Had there been any food in his gut, he would have.

"What do you have?" Vern demanded, crashing through the brush.

Blair headed back to the trail, unable to stand the sight anymore. He should know by now when Jim said to stay back, it was for a reason. He stumbled back to the freshly cut fire line to crouch down with both hands braced on his thighs, breathing deeply through his nose.

Jim gratefully dropped to a shady spot of earth, pulled his pack close and reached within for his water bottle.

Blair sank down to the ground at his side, then lay curled on the dry pine needles. "Wake me when break is over."

Jim used a boot to jiggle the nearest leg. He knew Blair was hurting, but the kid wasn't helping himself by skipping meals and taking small sips of tea. He kept his voice quiet. "Sit up and drink."

"Not thirsty."

"Don't care."

"Jim."

"Sandburg."

"Stop it."

Ignoring the order, Jim continued to pester until Blair pushed off the ground with a soft curse.

"You are such an ass."

"Your point?"

With a snort, Blair twisted the cap off his canteen and drank. Jim shared a bag of corn chips from his lunch sack. They ate in silence for a while. The rest of the crew clustered in pockets of available shade in groups of twos and threes.

After most the chips gone, Blair leaned back on his hands, his elbows locked. "You know, I've been thinking."

"Ah huh." Hazy sunlight fought to reach them through the blanket of smoke. The air was warm and clingy. Jim rubbed the back of his neck.

"My fire visions are different from the one I had back at Mack's place," Blair commented carefully.

"How?"

"Sharper, more details." He paused to take a long draw from his canteen.

"Maybe because Mack's wife has been dead for ten years? An old memory?" Jim guessed.

Blair shot him a look. "I still can't believe you're down with this."

Jim shrugged. "The proof's in the puddin', Junior."

"Yeah, well," Blair continued. "What if I'm tapping into the memory of the arsonist? The one that started this fire. What if it's one of the people on this crew?"

Jim stuffed the empty wrapper back, eyeing the candy bar within. He'd save it for later. "That occurred to me. I've been talking to the guy in the planning section. No night time burnouts have been ordered. You had thunder in your vision?"

"Yeah, the exact same thunder the night we had to leave our camp," Blair answered. "So, you believe me? You think I'm connecting with the arsonist? Because I got to tell ya, man. I want this jackass. He's got to go down."

Jim rolled his eyes. What did Blair expect? Yeah, he had his gun hidden in the pack, and technically he was still a cop. But he wasn't about to expose them both just to arrest a firebug.

"Listen, I want to see justice done too. But we're not in any position to make an arrest. What are we supposed to do? Hog tie him, pin a note to his front with the details of his crime and ride off into the sunset?" Jim leaned back, one straight arm supporting his upper torso.

"Don't you want to see the person responsible for that..." Blair pointed back down the trail. "... pay for his crime? He's killing defenseless animals, destroying their habitat, it's horrific."

"I agree, Chief," Jim said sadly. "I really do. But the thought of you strapped down to an exam table, having medical tests performed on your person without your consent is pretty horrific too, don't you think?"

Blair swallowed, his eyes dropping down to examine his canteen. He twisted at the waist and dropped it back into his open pack before drawing his knees to his chest and wrapping both arms around his shin.

Nagging guilt caused Jim to sigh deeply, but the apology was interrupted by pounding feet. Vern arrived, breathless, radio held high. "Move out, people. We had a micro burst. The fire just took out our anchor point!"

Reaching out, Jim caught Dianne's arm before she fell. Jogging down the freshly cut trail was hard on everyone's ankles and he had watched her foot turn on a large rock.

"You okay?" he asked.

She nodded breathlessly, her faced flushed but calm. "Thanks."

Jim turned her loose, glad to see her continue without a limp. Fifteen feet ahead Blair had stopped to wait for them. Somehow they'd ended up at the tail end of the crew's dash for freedom.

"Jim? What'd he mean about our anchor point?" Blair asked when Jim pushed him ahead.

"Means our safety route."

"We're cut off?" Blair asked, his voice rising between gasps for air. "What happened?"

"Micro burst is a strong downdraft of air, probably from one of these thunderheads. Must have sent the fire in an unexpected direction." Jim didn't like they way they were falling behind. "Pick up the pace, Chief."

Jim could hear Vern barking into the radio. He was leading the group, scouting ahead, checking for fire. Jim had a map in his hand as he jogged along. He glanced down as he ran, reading the lines that showed the topography around them.

They'd been cutting a trail that ran parallel to the ridge line above, over the ridge burned the fire. The micro-burst had scattered the fire like an enormous dropped water balloon threw droplets of water. Apparently several burning embers sailed over the ridge and landed on their side of the slope, but below the trail. Now the question was: who was going to get to the fire line first? The new spot fire or the fire crew?

Jim's money was on the fire. During their run for safety, the smoke had thickened, warning of dangerous ground ahead. What they needed was another option, another way out of the valley they were trapped in. Behind them lay impassable mountain peaks, below ran a small river.

Thirty minutes of running caused the leader to call a short break. Jim moved forward to join Vern standing with binoculars in hand. He moved to a position at his shoulder. They stood on a knoll that provided a decent view. Jim tightened his focus, aware of the familiar and comforting hand on his shoulder. Zooming his vision through the moving smoke, Jim caught the heat waves and flickers of flame.

"We're cut off."

Vern shot him a look. "What?"

Jim pointed. "The fire's within fifty feet of the trail."

"That's nearly a mile away, there's no way you can know that. Wind's blowing this way. Smoke's too thick," Vern replied with obvious irritation.

The others were crowding around them now, their fear apparent in stance and facial expression. Blair had to crowd Jim's back to keep from being shoved away.

"What's he saying?"

"Vern, what the hell is happening?"

"Did he say we're cut off?"

"Everyone!" Vern called out. "Settle down, damn it!" He turned to face his team. "JR thinks the fire's reached the fire trail. I can't tell, too smoky." He held up his binoculars as if to call Jim a liar. "We keep going."

"No," Jim answered. "We're wasting time. If we cut below the fire, head for the river now, we might get under it before it crosses the bottom and heads up the other side."

"Shit!" Vern turned on Jim, a dirty gloved finger pressing into Jim's shoulder. "This is why I hate leading a crew of people that don't train together, no cohesion! I'm still the crew leader. We stay on the trail."

Jim knocked Vern's hand aside. "Only a fool ignores input. I'm telling you the fire's already cut us off! I can see it."

"He's got really good eyesight, man," Blair insisted quietly.

Dianne pushed forward, joining them. "Look, Vern, we can see for sure the fire hasn't reached the river. We know fire burns faster up hill than down. JR's right, we have time to move under it."

The leader turned his back on the group. Jim could feel the group's tension as they waited for his direction. He knew one thing for sure, there was no way he and Blair would continue on the trail. Even if it meant they'd get fired. They were heading for the river. From the murmurs of those around them, he was the only one considering mutiny.

"Okay, we'll drop down," Vern said, spearing Jim with a poisonous look. "Let's move out. JR, take the tail."

With Vern on the radio advising the Incident Commander of their decision, they left the trail. The underbrush was lighter than Jim was used to in Western Washington, but they still had drop-offs and downed trees to go around. All visibility of the fire was cut off by the surrounding forest. Low pine boughs tried to knock off his hard hat. Sweat stung his eyes, blurring his vision. Jim made sure to keep Blair's yellow shirt in front of him at all times.

Blair fell back after ten minutes of crashing through the trees, panting as he asked, "Is it me or is the smoke thinning out?"

"Yep," Jim answered. "We're going to make it."

Men and women were running from tent to tent, a helicopter sat in the open field beyond the sleeping tents. The night shift was awake, geared up and ready to help. The trailer housing the command post was the focal point of anxious looking fire crews as well as several reporters from the local media.

"Get yourselves checked out," Vern ordered. "I'll meet you all at medical." He trotted off to report to the command post.

Several of the crew limped from blisters and turned ankles. One man had a nice goose egg from falling down a steep slope of loose gravel. Others had long scratches under torn sleeves.

They endured a back thumping welcome from the waiting crowd as they made their way toward medical. Blair stayed close to Jim, letting the bigger man run interference for him. His muscles cramped from the long run through the valley. Visions of tall pine trees going up in flames like roman candles still haunted him. They'd made the river with room to spare, getting an eyeful from the fire's edge.

Blair wasn't hurt. All he needed were a few aspirin. He'd been lucky. He dropped to sit in the shade of the tent.

"Okay?" Jim asked, sitting down next to him.

"Yeah," Blair answered. "Just glad we got out of there."

Another crewmember - Blair thought his name might be Allen - joined them in the grass. "Good call, guys. If we'd stayed on that trail any longer, we might still be looking for a way out of that valley."

Jim rested elbows on his knees. "I'm sure Vern would have made the same choice eventually."

Allen's grin disappeared. "Seriously, Vern can be a jerk sometimes, but he's a decent crew boss. Maybe you'd better ask to be reassigned."

"Thanks," Jim responded without any obvious concern. "I'll think about it."

The aid station checked the entire crew out; finding nothing that a little rest and an ice pack wouldn't cure. Vern joined them as promised. The report was grim. The weather pattern promised more of the same throughout the day and into the night. The fire had gained acreage, jumping the established fire line in three locations.

It was a serious set back.

"No more crews go out until current intel is gathered. One crew is still out, but on their way back." Vern removed his helmet and ran his forearm over his dirty brow. "Clean up, rest, the mess hall will be opening in about an hour for early dinner. Looks like we got the rest of the day off."

Blair turned away, hoping to move quick and get to a shower before the line grew too long. Smoke clung to his hair, filling his lungs each time he took a breath.

"JR?" Vern called out.

Blair turned. Vern approached them. He and Jim looked like two boxing opponents sizing each other up.

Vern crooked a thumb off to an empty corridor between the aid tent and a supply tent. "A word?"

"Go on, Chief." Jim gave Blair a small push. "I'll catch up."

Reluctantly, Blair moved away, out of earshot. He looked back once before losing sight of the two men. Vern did look pissed off. Jim wasn't responding though. He remained impassive, standing with his arms folded across his chest, his eyes boldly holding Vern's own gaze.

Blair turned away, wondering if they'd be working here much longer.

"You Sanderson?" asked a man in his fifties. On the portly side with a belly that hung over his belt buckle, the stranger held out his hand as he approached.

"Yeah."

"Mack was by earlier, brought you back your car. Here."

Jim's key ring was dropped into his palm.

"Cool, thanks."

"No problem," the man answered. "Mack's an old buddy of mine. I work in payroll. We've got all the details on paying for repairs hammered out. He said all your stuff was locked inside. It's parked with the other vehicles." He pointed toward a makeshift parking lot on the opposite side of the fire camp.

"Great. Thanks a lot."

Blair continued toward Jim and his tent. He gathered up his clothes, got in line for the showers and was on his way back, clean and refreshed when Jim caught up with him.

"I hear we got the jeep back," Jim said by way of greeting, his face dirty except for where the sweat had run and caused streaks.

"Yep." Blair pulled the key out of his jeans pocket. "How'd that talk with Vern go? We fired?"

"Nah." Jim switched his towel to his left hand and took the key. "Got the party line about following orders. He had the decency to tell me I was right though." Jim smiled. "Turns out he used to be Army, served in artillery. He also explained this was his third major fire in a row and he was getting cranky. Suppose I can cut him some slack."

"Wow, three fires." Blair felt a pang of sympathy for the guy. "Guess leading a group of strangers would be kinda hard."

"Yeah, I can imagine." Jim eyed the long line for the showers. "Damn, looks like my timing is off. Don't wait for me. Go ahead and eat when they open."

With hours of daylight left, many of the fire fighters gathered together for poker games or read in their tents, everyone waiting for the chow line to form. Thunderhead clouds loomed threateningly over the camp, as if mocking the puny human attempt to stop the fire. They promised rain, but didn't seem ready to deliver.

Blair tidied up their tent. He turned the sleeping bags inside out, giving each one a hard shake and leaving them outside, hooked on the rear tent pole, to air out. Dirty clothes were gathered up. They both had another day or so worth of clean underwear left before it would be time to wash.

Jim joined him just as he finished. "Housekeeping?'

"Just squaring things away," Blair answered. `Quick shower."

"They opened up the mess hall," Jim answered, dropping his towel on his empty cot and stuffing his dirty clothes into the plastic bag to join the rest. "Three quarters of the line decided to eat first, shower later. I nearly joined them. We'd better beat feet over there if we want some food."

The dining tent was full. But even with the swelling crowds of both the day shift and the night shift, food was hot and ready for those stragglers coming in late. Jim and Blair took their heavily laden trays of food to the shady area under some trees. Several familiar faces were already sitting on the ground; Dianne, Allen, Vern and others from their crew. They dropped down; the prickly vegetation mowed short to accommodate the fire camp gave a picnic-like atmosphere.

Blair could sense the general feeling of euphoria in the group. They were happy to be alive and enjoying a meal. The morning had caused many of them to appreciate the simple things again.

"Tastes pretty good," Jim mumbled.

Blair agreed, not even caring he was eating more red meat. He'd requested a smaller steak, and loaded his plate with the pasta salad they served. He'd even taken a modest sized helping of the apple crisp.

Half way through the meal the vision hit.

Without explaining, Jim suddenly set his nearly empty tray down and took Blair's away. The younger man didn't get a chance to protest.

Suddenly it was night. Blair was walking - no, not walking - jogging over a rough ground littered with rocks. He stumbled. Flickering red light made it hard to clearly see the ground. He turned, seeing a growing wall of fire take down the edge of a forest. Wind fanned the flames away from him. The depth of the fire told him he'd been at this for some time, burning as he went along.

He fell.

Whatever he had been carrying in hand was lost as he hit the ground on his hands and knees. As he searched the dark ground for... the drip torch can, that's what he'd used ... He felt a pull on his wrist. He jerked, and he was free.

An engine motor, revving loudly, drowned out the snapping sounds of the fire. A lone Jeep burst out of the fire and passed him within fifteen feet. He could see Jim's determined face in the driver's seat.

"Easy, Chief."

Wow, Jim was talking to him? How's that possible?

Then Blair opened his eyes and he was back in the meadow, sitting under the tree with Jim and the others. No one seemed to notice the two of them and Blair was glad. Now he understood the embarrassment that epilepsy patients dealt with when coming out of a seizure.

Blair hated this. Hated not knowing when a vision or memory or whatever this was would hit.

"Okay now?" Jim murmured. He leaned close, looking casual with one leg bent, arm resting on his knee.

Blair had slumped forward slightly, back bowed over crossed legs. He straightened with a grimace. "'kay," he whispered.

Incredulously, Jim returned his tray of food. "Finish, we'll go back to the tent and you can lie down."

As if.

Blair wanted to tell him what he'd seen. It was so sharp, so clear. He looked at the group of men and women. Was it one of them? Did this thing only work when he was within so many feet of the person broadcasting the memory?

"Jim-"

"Not now, Chief," Jim said, cutting him off gently. "Eat first, then we'll talk."

The food looked the same, smelled the same, but he wasn't interested. Jim had returned to his meal as if nothing had happened. Blair tried not to get pissed. After all, they didn't need to draw attention to themselves and this was not the place to talk about it.

An official looking man dressed in the traditional uniform of the firefighters, but much cleaner, approached. Blair recognized the man from the first day at the camp. He was the head incident commander.

"Bjerken? Easton?"

Jim looked up in answer, raising his fork.

That's right, that's Jim's fake name.

"We need you both at the command post," the man ordered before walking over to the next group sitting across the opening under another tree.

"What's up?" Blair asked as Jim gathered up his stuff.

"Not sure, I'll meet you back at our tent." Jim paused, his eyes on the leader, listening. "Sounds like he's gathering all the crew bosses."

"You're not a crew boss, why'd you get included?" Blair asked, not liking the fact he was being left out.

"Not sure," Jim answered, puzzled. "I'll guess I'll find out."

His meal over, Blair returned to the tent. It was way too early to sleep. While in Spokane he'd picked up a paperback from the grocery store's assortment of best sellers. Not much of a mystery reader, Blair had admired the cover to the latest Tony Hillerman story and Jim had thrown it in with the groceries, saying it would keep his mind busy.

Blair found the book in the bottom of his clothing bag. He was just getting into the story when Jim poked his head into the tent.

"Hey, can't stay too long."

Blair sat up. "What's happening?"

Flashing a grin, Jim answered, "We've got more crews coming in tomorrow morning. They're working on a new attack plan and need more crew bosses. Guess I get a field promotion."

"What? They can do that?"

Jim shrugged. "No choice, really. This fire isn't the only one acting up. They're out of people to lead. You're on my crew. Gotta get back. Just wanted to let you know." He started to leave.

"Wait, Jim," Blair said in a rush. "I need to tell you about that last vision."

"Chief." Jim held up his hand. "Later, okay? I told them I'd be right back. The promotion comes with a raise and we need the money. You can tell me tonight. Promise you'll rest. Your head okay?"

Frowning, Blair dropped back to sit on the cot. "I'm fine."

"Good," Jim answered, already halfway out. "Catch you in a few hours. We'll talk."

Left alone again, Blair flopped back on his cot.

Thirty minutes later the words on the page danced, making no sense. Blair set the book down and sat up. Even with both ends of the tent open to accommodate the breeze, Blair was too warm. All trace of the headache was gone now.

He returned the book to his tote bag, his fingers brushing over his own set of keys. Jim had given him the extra Jeep key, just in case. He pulled out the ring, feeling the weight of the metal in his palm, remembering what Jim had said before about catching the arsonist.

But that was before. Now Blair had seen - through the arsonist's eyes - their very own escape through the forest fire. He knew exactly - sort of - where the person had stood. It was actually close to the fire camp. Within a few minutes drive if he took the jeep. He knew from the information given to all the fire crews that area had been what was called the `foot' of the fire, which was another way of saying where the fire had started. The wind had pushed the fire up the valley until it had hit the first mountain ridge and jumped. Now, days later they were still fighting the same fire, but several ridges away. The original spot had cooled off days ago.

His mind made up, Blair gathered together a few items. He used the backpack the forestry guys had issued him, making sure he had a full canteen of his tea and another with water. He wrote a hasty note for Jim, just in case and brought in their sleeping bags. After closing down the canvas tent flaps, he headed for the parking lot.

"Blake!"

Blair turned at Dianne's call, seeing her approach from the showers looking fresh and clean. "We're starting a card game. Interested?"

Blair shook his head. "No, thanks. I'm going to take a drive. Get out of here for a bit." He could tell from her expression she was hoping he'd invite her along. "Just need to get some alone time, ya know?"

She nodded graciously. "I understand. We tend to live in each other's pockets on these fires. Still, it's a great way to fund my education."

"Really? What are you taking?" Blair couldn't help himself.

"Believe it or not, journalism. If the season keep up, at this rate I'll have enough for my degree." She stuck both hands into her back pockets. "I want to travel, maybe get on with a big named magazine." She seemed to realize she was keeping him. "Anyway, I'll catch you later."

After she was gone, Blair searched the roped off parking area for their jeep, finding it nearest the road. It looked much better than when he'd last seen it, but a lot worse than the day they'd bought it. Bare metal had been painted over with black spray paint. The glass had been replaced, along with the melted plastic lens. Some of the decorative trim was gone.

Blair didn't care. He unlocked the door, noting the new rubber gasket and got in. The engine started on the first crank. It sounded good. He backed it in a tight arc and drove across the field. Once on the dirt road, he picked up speed and headed for the small gravel forest service road.

The briefing had lasted an hour longer than Jim had expected, partly because of the constant updates from the NOAH weather broadcast. Two storm fronts were converging on western Montana. In the end, it was still a toss as to which would win. The prayer leaned toward the storm with a promise of rain, but the plan was for the other, dryer, front.

Jim's crew would be working the less dangerous area of the fire. He'd be in charge of ten to twelve folks responsible for trail repair, and a few small burn outs. Along with Blair, he'd been promised another experienced person to perform the actual burn out procedure. To Jim's surprise, it had been Vern's own testimony of their escape earlier that day that had brought Jim's name into the pool of new crew bosses.

Jim further amended his feelings toward the man. Everyone was entitled to a few mistakes. Plus when it boiled down to it, the guy had made the correct decision when it had counted.

Walking toward their tent, Jim recognized the circle of people in the midst of a poker game, half expecting to see his partner among them. Dianne looked up with a welcoming waive. "JR, join us! Blake's not back from his drive yet and these guys are easy marks." She ignored the snide comments from the men as she pointed to the stash of money before her on the makeshift plywood table.

Jim's attention was on the first part of her comment. "Blake's gone? When? How long ago?"

She frowned, glancing down at her own wrist then looking around. "I don't know. Um... a while ago. What time is it now?"

It was still early. One of the other card players answered. "Just after six. We've been losing money about an hour and a half now."

Jim looked toward the distant parking area, easily seeing vacant spot where the jeep had been. "Did he say where he was going? How long he'd be gone?"

She lifted her shoulder in a smooth shrug. "No. Is something wrong?"

Pasting a fake smile on his face, Jim scratched his beard in a bored manner. "Nah, I'm just curious. I'll take a rain check on the game. See you guys later." He hurried to the tent, expecting and finding Blair's note.

J, This time I saw `us' in the jeep, escaping. Going to look for proof. B.

Shit.

Jim managed not to slam his fist into the tent pole. What was Blair thinking? What if he had one of those damn visions while driving? Jim glanced back at the note, deciphering Blair's destination. It wasn't that far away, maybe fifteen miles. He should be back by now. It would be getting dark soon. Already the sun was below the mountain ridge to the east. Jim knew a few of the fire fighters had personal vehicles on site. Maybe he could talk someone into driving him over.

Blair continued to search the ground, sure he'd found the exact spot where he'd fallen. Or actually, where the person whose memory he had shared had fallen.

After a few false starts and doubling back once, Blair had finally found the right dirt road. He should have taken the time to get a map, but he'd thought he'd known the area well enough to get by. Oh well, he was in the right spot now. He was sure of it.

Before him about a hundred feet stood the remains of a forest, now blackened with fire. Trees once green and beautiful were stark, black poles leaning crookedly into each other like victims of a violent crime. The air still stank from smoke. Blair hated looking at it, reminded of the sight of that dead deer from that morning.

He stood in a dried up creek bed, which explained the expanse of rocks spread over the ground. During the rainy time of year, the run off from the mountain must fill this and hundreds of similar areas, to flow into the small river in the bowl of the valley. The wash had been nature's own firebreak. That and the wind had kept the fire from spreading back toward the main road.

He forced his eyes to return to the ground. Had the arsonist ever found the drip torch? There would be fingerprints. Proof certain of who had done this act of destruction. But no matter how hard he looked, Blair couldn't find it.

Blair looked up at the sky, knowing he didn't have much daylight left. He wore his backpack. If he needed, he could get the headlamp out and continue to search. But Jim would be out of the meeting by now, probably freaked to find him missing. With one last skimming glance over the area, he ran a hand through his hair and turned toward the distant jeep.

A flash of turquoise caught his eye.

"Yes!" Blair sprang forward, nearly tripping over the round stones. He bent down and gently lifted a watch by one broken end of the silver band. This was better than a drip torch can. Surely the arsonist would have left a fingerprint.

Holding it high, Blair turned the watch so the light reflected off the back. Fuzzy etchings became visible and he cursed that fact he'd left his glasses back in the tent. If these were in fact the owner's initials, wouldn't that be too much?

He used a clean bandana to wrap up the watch and shoved it into his jean pocket. Hurrying toward the parked jeep, he heard an approaching vehicle. A red four-wheel drive Dodge Ram came into view. Unexplainable tense, Blair moved as fast as he could without breaking into a run. He reached the jeep just as the truck neared enough for him to recognize Jim sitting in the passenger seat.

Blair relaxed.

"What were you thinking?" Jim demanded as he boiled out of the passenger side, covering the distance between them in long strides.

Holding up his hands, Blair looked to see who had driven.

Vern.

"Hey, easy, man. I just thought I'd look around some," Blair said soothingly.

Vern got out. "What are you looking for?" the crew boss asked.

Blair was too busy to answer. Jim was doing that `in your face' thing he did when pissed. Blair felt his heels leave the road as strong hands grabbed his upper arms. Standing on tiptoes, Blair snagged Jim's shirt front with both fists to keep his balance. "Jim," he calmly whispered. "It's okay, I'm fine. I found something."

Judging by his face, Jim was not impressed. "You can't just take off, Chief," he answered in a harsh but equally quiet voice. "What if you had another episode while driving? You could be killed, damn it." With obvious visible restraint, because Blair was certain what Jim really wanted to do was shake him until his teeth rattled, Jim turned him loose.

"I take it Blake is supposed to ask permission first before borrowing your Jeep?" Vern joked as he crossed the road to join them. "So this is where the fire started, huh?"

"Yeah," Jim answered, casting Blair one last look before nodding to where the road emerged from the burnt forest. "We managed to make it through without burning."

Blair absentmindedly patted his pocket, wishing he could show Jim the watch. He'd have to wait until they were alone. Vern was talking about topography and heavy fuel when Blair's vision darkened. He felt Jim's steadying hand on his arm seconds before reality shifted and he once again found himself on his hands and knees in darkness, the heat of the burning forest warming his face.

His hands urgently patted the rocks. It was imperative that he leave no evidence behind that could trace him to the fire. The dreams warned him, guided him, and kept him safe.

His fingers brushed the metal handle of the drip torch. Blair felt relieved, he'd found it. He stood and gingerly crossed the dry creek bed. He held a flashlight now, lighting his way. A red truck waited for him, hidden behind a stand of trees.

The memory ended. Blair's gasp interrupted Vern's ongoing dialog. Without thinking, Blair turned, looking for and seeing the dense patch of trees which had completely hidden the truck. Even if they hadn't been escaping a forest fire, Jim wouldn't have been able to see it.

"What is it?" Jim asked him.

Blair looked back at Vern with dawning realization. He never was very good at keeping his emotions hidden. Vern's hand tucked behind and reappeared holding a small automatic gun.

"Why, man?" Blair asked, raising his hands.

Seeing the gun, Jim did the same, shifting to stand between Blair and Vern. "What's going on, Vern?"

"You don't have to do this," Blair said, sidestepping Jim's protection and ignoring the low growl of disapproval it caused. "We can help you."

"Shut up. A hippie like you would never understand. Civilians just don't get it." Vern backed up a few steps and pointed the gun at Blair. "Did you find it?"

"Find what?" Jim asked, glancing down as Blair pulled out his bandana, clutching it in his hand.

"Proof, man," Blair answered not taking his eyes off Vern. "I found a custom-made watch, silver and turquoise with something engraved on the back."

"Toss it over," Vern commanded, catching the wad of cloth easily in midair with his free hand.

"Okay." Jim jerked his head down the road. "You've got your proof. We'll even give you a head start. Get out of here."

"Yeah, right," Vern answered sarcastically. "As if you'd let me get away." He looked thoughtful for a moment then nodded toward his Dodge. "Move toward the back, both of you. There's some cord in the back. Get it," he ordered, looking at Blair. "Tie him up."

"Listen-" Blair started.

The gun fired, kicking in Vern's hand and spraying a pattern of gravel and dirt that stung Blair's ankle.

Blair jumped back. "Shit!"

"Do it!" Vern ordered loudly.

After Blair had Jim tied, hands behind his back, they climbed into the open bed of the truck. Blair was then commanded to tie Jim's feet together. When Blair was ordered to lay, stomach down, over the dropped tailgate and put his own wrists behind his back, he tensed.

Jim saw it. "No," he whispered, shaking his head.

Blair let his body relax, wincing a little as the thin cord dug into his skin, then Vern quickly tied his ankles before climbing into the truck bed. He dragged Blair to Jim's side and tied their bound hands to metal rings bolted into the bed.

"I'm dropping you two off at a more remote location. I need time to get my stuff together and leave." Vern dropped to the ground and slammed the tailgate back into place.

"Sorry, Jim," Blair said after the truck started moving. He tugged his bound hands.

"Did you have another vision?" Jim asked, shifting to get comfortable. "That how you knew it was Vern?"

"Yeah." Blair sighed. "You know? As a gift, its timing sucks."

The truck bumped over the dirt track. Jim tested his bindings, cursing the fact he'd left his gun back at the fire camp. They were high on a mountainside, following an ancient, abandoned logging road. It was obvious Vern knew this area well. If Jim were to guess, he'd say they were close to Elkin Valley. Dusk had fallen. Wind swayed the pines as distant rumbles of thunder bounced around the hills.

Finally the truck slowed, reaching a dead end. With just enough room to maneuver, the Dodge looped around to point out the way they'd come. Vern got out and climbed back into the truck bed. Jim could see the knife in the man's hand. It slashed through the cords binding them to the rings and around Blair's ankles. Blair was pulled by his feet and shoved out of the truck. He landed with a painful grunt. Jim was treated the same, managing to land on his knees in the dirt.

Vern closed the tailgate. Without a backward glance, the arsonist returned to his truck and drove off.

"I can't believe he didn't kill us," Blair said with wonder as he rolled to his side and struggled to sit up.

Jim walked on his knees to Blair's side. "He didn't shoot us, Chief. Doesn't mean he's not planning to kill us. You got that Bar Mitzvah knife on you?"

"What's that supposed to mean?" Blair asked as he dropped his shoulder down to the dirt again and offered his hip to Jim. "That pocket, man."

Jim turned around. He still has some feeling in his hands. Blair had been kind when he'd tied him up. He ended up having to turn the pocket lining inside out, but managed to get the knife. "He didn't have the nerve to kill us with the gun, but he had fuel cans in that truck. I could smell them. I figure he'll wait until he gets below us and start a new fire."

"You're a virtual fountain of good news. What are we going to do?" Blair demanded.

Jim sawed through the strong cord around his own wrists. "We're going to go over the top of the ridge and walk out the other side. There... got it. Hold still, Sandburg."

After they were both free and standing, Jim returned the knife and tilted his head to listen. "The truck's not moving. I'd guess he's a mile or so below us, where the road starts to switch back and forth. He's probably starting the fire."

Their progress was meager at first. Blair's stumbled. His eyes squinted with pain as he moved. Pins and needles chewed away on Jim's feet too, but after a few moments the pain faded. They scramble up the steep mountainside. After Blair's second stumble and wordlessly picking himself up off the ground, Jim made him grab hold to the back of his belt. Within the trees the darkness was nearly absolute.

"Is that smoke?" Blair asked nervously as he sniffed the air.

"Yeah," Jim answered shortly, saving his breath. He'd been smelling smoke now for the last fifteen minutes. He could hear the fire growing behind them. From the sounds, Vern was burning a wide swathe below them, probably as he drove. Jim briefly considered trying to sidestep the fire but dismissed the idea. Going up and over the top was their best chance.

Jim had no idea how it happened. How he'd missed the danger except that he had stupidly been fixing his hearing on the fire below them. One minute they were jogging up the pine needle covered ground, dodging low limbs and skirting around obstructions like boulders and fallen trees, the next minute a dark form exploded from out of nowhere, crashing through thick underbrush on their left.

"Jim!"

Blair's shout came seconds after a sharp pain blossomed behind Jim's eyes. He was falling backwards. He heard Blair's grunt of surprise, felt hands trying to catch him, break his fall, then nothing.

Blair cradled his injured friend's head to his chest. The large bull elk and two smaller females had blasted out of the darkness, leaving both men sprawled on the forest's floor. Warm blood soaked the front of Blair's shirt, snapping him out of his shocked daze.

"Jim!" he repeated, gently inching out from under the cop while supporting his head and shoulders. Jim was still and Blair was terrified. "Oh God, man. Please, please be okay."

It was too damn dark. He slipped out of the pack, juggling Jim as carefully as possible. One handedly opening its top, he found his head lamp and switched it on, pointing the beam at his friend. Jim's eyes were closed, but he was breathing. A gash on the side of his head bled freely.

Thankful he'd kept most of his issued wild land fire fighting stuff inside the pack, Blair found the compact first aid kit. He just completed the pressure bandage as Jim started to stir.

""nnburg"

"Jim, take it easy," Blair ordered, tying the last of the cloth strip around Jim's head.

"What... hit me?" Jim's voice was faint but clear.

"I think we just wrote the nineteenth `watch out situation', man," Blair quipped as he returned his kit to the backpack, wishing he felt as calm as he managed to sound. Nothing like keeping busy to avoid showing your terror. He quickly donned his head lamp, a simple affair of a light held in place by a wide elastic band around his head. Next he slipped both arms through the straps of the pack. The smoke was getting thicker. They needed to move. "Avoid panicked elk with honking huge antlers. You took a nasty hit, Jim. Can you stand?"

Jim made it to his feet, swaying like a groom at his bachelor party. Blair got under one arm and urged him to take a step. "We gotta keep going."

Another step and Jim crumpled, both hands going to his head. He moaned once when his knees hit the ground and fell forward to throw up. Blair grabbed his shoulders, keeping him from taking a nosedive in his own vomit.

"Damnit, Jim. Get up!" With strength fueled by knowing death was coming fast, Blair got Jim to his feet again. They staggered another ten feet up the slope.

"Blair... I'm not going to ma-"

"Shut up!" Blair ordered harshly, tightening his grip. "Save your breath for walking." Blair's headlight was catching clouds of smoke now, drifting up from below, bringing heat that dried the sweat on the back of his neck. "We're going to be fine. We're close to the top, right?"

With surprising strength Blair didn't know Jim had, the cop wrenched free from his grasp. "Go on," Jim ordered, trying to take a step on his own, but stumbling. He landed on his hip with a grunt of pain.

Blair dropped down to one knee, gathering Jim's arm and getting ready to lever him back up. But Jim wasn't having any of it; he shoved Blair hard enough to send the younger man backwards onto his butt.

"Go!" Jim snapped. He fell to his elbow, looking ready to heave his stomach lining.

"Jim." Blair scrambled back to a kneeling position. "I'm not leaving, okay? Just get that idea out of your stupid, stubborn, pig-headed brain."

"Goddamnit, you little shit!" Jim shouted, eyes hard with anger. "For once in your life, do what I tell you! Get out of here!"

The fury of that statement nearly bowled Blair back again. Jim's face was red with anger, his eyes wild with...

Fear.

Confusion lifted and Blair's rising anger dissipated. "This is just, so you man." Blair took a second to snicker. "Well, it's not going to work, okay? I'm not leaving you. No matter what you yell at me, how many cuss words you think up, you can even call me a worthless bastard - except if you diss Naomi, I'm going sock you in the jaw after we get out of this, understand? Point is; I am not leaving you."

Taking a deep breath and cringing from the obvious pain that caused, Jim seemed to fold in on himself. "Chief..." His voice was soft, the anger gone. "I'm just going to get you killed. I'm never going to outrun that fire."

But Blair had already figured that last part out. He cast out the lamp's beam in broad sweeps, checking their immediate terrain. Both of them had fallen into a stand of tall weeds. Blair knew enough about forests and eco-systems to know that something had changed. They were in a circular clearing on the mountainside, devoid of trees. For whatever reason; disease, windstorms or an ancient fire - it provided a respite from the heavy fuel they were running through.

"Maybe... just maybe we don't have to run," Blair said, standing up. He took Jim's arm. "Come on, man. I need to move you out of this stuff."

"What?" Jim drunkenly got to his feet, leaning on Blair as he moved back down the slope a few feet. He let Blair lower him back down to the ground. "Sandburg."

"Trust me, Jim."

First Blair scouted around for a makeshift tool. He found a football sized flat rock with a flattened edge. Running back up the hill, he positioned himself until he judged the very middle of the clearing. He had a good fifty feet clearance, maybe even seventy-five in parts. It was hard to judge in the darkness. The smoke wasn't helping much.

Blair dropped to his knees and slammed the edge of the rock into the soft ground. Working like a madman, he flung clumps of sod through the air until he had a swath of churned soil about three by six feet. Around him the tall grass was like straw as it swayed in the hot breezes.

Hot.

As in approaching fire.

Blair looked up. An orange glow backlit the trees below them. His stomach twisted in sudden terror. He pushed the panic down. This would work. They were going to be fine. He started plucking fistfuls of dry grass. Like a sprinter leaping from the starting line, he raced back to Jim's side, twisting out of his pack and pawing through the contents. He'd remembered seeing a lighter in with his survival kit and wondered about it. Why carry fire when you were supposed to be fighting fire?

"Blair?" Jim muttered, cringing as if his own voice brought pain.

"Almost ready."

Saying a quick prayer, he flicked the lighter. A yellow flame appeared on command and he touched it to the pile of grass he'd built. It caught and quickly spread to the nearby standing grass. Blair checked to make sure Jim was safe.

"What are you doing?" Jim demanded, his words slurred. "Wind's not right for a burn out. We're on the wrong side."

"I'm not doing a burnout, Jim," Blair told him, watching the flames gather speed, fed by the heated air currents being pushed ahead of the approaching fire. Blair chanced another look over his shoulder, half expecting to see a wall of fire.

It was close, but not knocking at their back door yet. Overhead, firebrands flew through the night sky. Blair turned back to watch the grass burn, now reaching the dug out area. "I know why they call this stuff flash fuel. Come on, Jim. Time to move into our new home." Blair took Jim's arm and forced him to stand again.

The burnt stubble was still hot enough to feel through his boots and jeans. "Dial down the touch, man," he ordered, propelling Jim forward. "And for god's sake, don't fall, okay?"

They stumbled toward the small oasis of mineral soil, the only part of the clearing not burning or smoldering. A loud series of snapping sounds, like thousands of small firecrackers going off at once, caused Blair to turn his head.

A forty foot pine tree burst into flames, shooting red streaks high into the sky.

The fire had arrived.

"Come on, Jim." Blair managed a meager burst of speed until, after what seemed hours as time slowed, he could drop Jim back down to the dug out heaven.

Jim's gaze found the approaching fire and a look of horror filled his normally stoic face. Blair had his pack off and reached in for the square, brick-size fire shelter within. There was no time for mistakes now. The heat of the firestorm caused the skin on his face to tighten. Blair released the shelter from the plastic covering and snapped it out.

Spreading the heat reflective material out with his hands, Blair located the handholds and planted one foot over the base of the shelter. His last look at the fire, now at the edge of their clearing, nearly sucked his eye sockets dry. The shelter was built to hold a single person. If they lay side by side, they'd be up against the material and would be burned as it heated.

"Down!" he ordered.

Jim lay face up in the dirt, his feet pointing to the approaching forest fire. He raised his hands, ready to catch. Blair dropped down, falling into Jim's hands, pulling the shelter over them and packing the edges into the loosened dirt as fast as he could. Jim tried to help.

The fire arrived like a nightmare, bringing heat and terrifying sounds. Inside the shelter the temperature rose. The two friends listened to the fire devour everything around them.

Blair buried his face into Jim's shoulder and squeezed his eyes shut, unable to tune out the sounds around them. It was one thing to sit around a campfire and enjoy the pops and snaps of burning logs, but quite another to be fighting to stay alive smack in the middle of a fire. It was beyond terrifying.

"Easy, we're doing good," Jim murmured softly.

Blair realized his body was shaking with unused adrenaline. There was nothing left to do now, except to pray that he had done enough. He gripped the web handholds tightly as hot air buffeted their shelter, knowing if the fire driven wind snatched the protection away, they were dead men. Jim's arms circled Blair's torso, a solid anchor.

"Neat trick, Chief. Burning the fuel first," Jim said, his lips inches from Blair's right ear.

Turning his head to lay a cheek on the older man's collar bone, Blair answered. "A survivor in the Man Gulch fire did it, learned it from the book." Jim's deep chuckle tickled and Blair couldn't help but grin. "What?"

"You're priceless, Sandburg," Jim answered between snorts of amusement. "Only you."

They fell silent for long moments, the air lung-blistering hot. Blair took shallow breaths, his tongue unsuccessfully searching for moisture inside his mouth. How much more heat could they stand? Was it possible to be baked alive and feel it happen? If he was dying, there were things he needed to say.

"Jim, I'm sorry I snuck off and let them operate on my brain."

Jim's chest was on an inhale when he froze, then released his breath with a gentle sigh. "I thought we covered this already."

The heat was easier to handle with his eyes closed. Blair tried to tell himself it had nothing to do with Jim being able to see his shame. "I know you said to forget it, but I can't."

"This is about me calling you a little shit, isn't it?" Jim joked. "Not my fault. I have a head injury."

Blair wasn't so willing to laugh it off. "You gave up everything. It's not right."

The arms tightened. "This is the last time, Sandburg. You understand me?"

Blair gripped the webbing and waited, his eyes still closed.

"We're not having this conversation again, so listen up," Jim commanded firmly, all humor gone now. He shifted his shoulders in the dirt, jiggling Blair's head a bit before continuing in an uncharacteristically gentler tone. "Everything that matters, everything I hold valuable is inside this damn shelter. Get it? The stuff I left was just comfortable trappings. That's all. I've lived for over a year with nothing but my weapon and scrap I salvaged from a downed chopper. I don't need a loft or the junk inside it." Jim fell silent for a few seconds. "Is that clear enough for you? Or do I have to write it down in book form?"

It was so hot that the tears dried in their tracks on Blair's cheeks. He cleared his throat before answering; hoping the noise of the fire would mask his broken voice. "No, Jim. I hear you."

"Good." Jim grunted. "Damn, my head's killing me. How big was that elk, anyway?"

Blair knew enough to drop the subject. He'd give Jim that much, knowing how difficult it was for his friend to share deep feelings. The warmth that seeped through Blair's body had nothing to do with the fire around them.

"Did you try dialing down?"

"Yeah, helps a little. Still feels like a railroad spike in my skull." Jim's grip tightened as a strong gust of wind hit their shelter. "You got that okay?"

"Oh, yeah."

Deep rumbling thunder rolled over them, reminding Blair of the possibility of lightning strikes. Wouldn't that be a hoot? Survive a forest fire and end up killed by lightning.

"Talk to me, Chief," Jim said. "We need to stay awake."

"What about?"

"Anything, just talk."

An itch began to crawl in Blair's scalp, just above his ear, like a trickle of sweat or a bug. Since there was no way even a hint of moisture could survive in their human oven, Blair's bet leaned to the bug. With no free hands, he opted to rub his head on Jim's shoulder, bringing a chuckle from his friend.

"Something you feel like sharing?" Jim asked, at the same time reaching up to card fingers through Blair's hair.

The impromptu head massage felt wonderful and Blair decided he didn't care about a stupid ant or even a spider. "Itch."

"I got it, so talk to me."

"Ah, okay... did I ever tell you `bout the time - wait, first you gotta promise me. Anything I tell you can't be used against me. `Sides, I'm sure there's a statute of limitations."

That brought another short snort of mirth. "Agreed, Sundance, spill it."

"Okay, then. It was me and a buddy on spring break. We hitched to Florida and..."

Blair talked, sharing a long forgotten story, adding embellishments if it helped to take Jim's mind off their situation. Jim made occasional snarky comments in his typical style. But talking was becoming a chore. The heat inside the shelter rose until Blair was sure his back was blistering.

"... So the crocodile did... the only thing he could..." Blair bit his lip, unsuccessfully holding back a groan. "It's too hot, Jim."

"Where's the water bottle?" Jim asked.

"Pack," Blair breathed.

The weight of Jim's right arm lifted from Blair's back. The loss made Blair feel lighter than air, as if his body was in danger of lifting off the earth into the night's sky. It scared him. A few minutes later the lip of the canteen touched his lips. Twisting his head, he managed to swallow a few mouthfuls of warm water. Jim took a drink before setting it back down.

The moisture wicked out of Blair's mouth within seconds. His body felt like an old vinyl record left in the sun too long, warped and wavy. Not that he ever ruined his mother's records by forgetting to put them away. It wasn't his fault. Who knew Phoenix had temperatures above a hundred? Not little boys playing outside. There was a swimming pool at the trailer park they lived in that summer. Naomi had signed him up for lessons. He hadn't wanted to go. The blue water scared him. God, what an idiot he'd been. What he wouldn't do for a pool of blue water right now. Even with the chlorine smell.

It dawned on Blair he was having problems keeping his thoughts in order. He wanted to tell Jim about that, but his tongue wasn't willing to work for him anymore.

"Chief?" Jim sounded worried. He jiggled Blair a bit. "Hey, talk to me."

Wish I could man, but I'm looking for the blue water. I've decided I'm not afraid to get wet anymore.

It was the strangest thing, someone was knocking on their... Why were they in a shiny tent? Who was knocking? Lot of soft thuds hitting the tent and what was up with Jim?

"Jim?" Blair muttered.

"Stay with me, Sandburg," Jim told him between chuckles. "For once our luck arrived on time. It's raining."

Blair was sleeping peacefully.

Jim lifted the edge of their shelter carefully from the now muddy ground. The outside air felt delicious, cool and moist. The fabric of their shelter no longer scalded their skin. Carefully, Jim shifted Blair over to lie at his side, using the shelter as a drop cloth under his sleeping friend's body.

God, they'd come too damn close. Another ten minutes of that heat and they both would have died, like the stupid people that left kids and dogs in hot cars with windows left open just a crack.

Blair's snores drew Jim's attention and he took a second to adjust his friend, insuring his airway stayed open. He slipped out from the shelter, moving slowly to allow his head injury time to catch up with the new game plan. Drops of rain met dry and cracked skin and Jim rolled his head from shoulder to shoulder before standing. He welcomed the rain, knowing the weather change had saved their lives.

The forest around them still burned, but not with the intensity previously felt. Billions of hissing sounds almost caused him to zone, but he pulled back. Even the wind had settled down. The forest fire's growth would be stilled, maybe even stopped altogether, depending upon the topography near the fire's edges.

Jim stood and looked around. He walked to the perimeter of their clearing then backed away as the wall of heat threatened. Okay, then. They'd stay put. Judging from the dark clouds above, this was more than a passing rain shower. Returning to the shelter, Jim slipped back under the folded fabric.

Blair squirmed, stretching as if looking for a more comfortable position. "Whazmpin?"

"Everything's fine, Chief," Jim told him, lying back down and pulling the fabric over them both. They needed protection from the rain and the fire now. "Go back to sleep."

"...kay..." Blair curled an arm under his head and rolled onto one side to lean against Jim.

It didn't take long before Jim followed him into sleep.

When he woke next, cloud filtered light played at the edge of the shelter's opening. Blair was pressed up against his side, still asleep. Jim lifted the upper covering bringing in fresh, cooler air and heavy, smoke laden fog.

Morning had arrived and the forest looked passable.

"Wake up, Sandburg." Jim flipped back their covering.

Surprisingly, Blair did. He sat up, looking around with a bewildered expression on his soot-blackened face. "What happened?"

Jim held out his palm, catching several tiny raindrops. "The weather changed on us."

Blair grinned. "Cool."

"That too," Jim answered. "Come on. We've got to find help."

They packed up the shelter, took a drink of water and relieved themselves. Jim started to shoulder the pack only to have Blair take it away, telling him in no uncertain terms that he wasn't carrying it with that head injury.

Jim gave in. He studied the forest intensely before picking out a safe route for them to follow. The standing trees still smoldered. Mounds of ash, dirt and embers still burned within. One false step could burn them badly enough to make walking out impossible.

"Okay." Jim looked at Blair. "Walk behind me. Don't touch anything."

"Right, I'm ready."

Jim set out. Blair followed closely behind, stepping exactly where Jim had stepped, as instructed. They headed uphill, still looking for the fastest way out of the burned forest.

At one point, Blair's footing slipped. The slope had angled upward steeply. Jim could tell they were near the top of the ridge. Before Jim could turn, Blair grabbed a nearby tree to keep from falling.

"No!" Jim grabbed Blair's arm and jerked him up the hill side as fast as he could, his eyes upward.

"Hey," Blair complained, seconds before a heavy `whomping' sound caused him to turn in surprise. "What the hell?"

"That's why I said don't touch, Chief." Jim said, eyeing the fifteen foot upper trunk from a burned pine tree. He glanced up to where it had snapped off from the standing base. "They're called `widow makers'. The tree was already dead. The fire just weakened it. Doesn't take much for the upper part to snap off and come crashing down with enough force to kill a man."

"Wow..." Blair stared at the fallen trunk, the broken end above his head and finally to Jim's face. "Wow, thanks."

"Welcome," Jim answered. "Now, don't touch. Got it?"

"Got it." Blair hoisted the pack up on his shoulders and offered a quirky grin. "Really, man. I got it."

Continuing to move carefully, they finally reached the top of the ridge. Here the fire still burned along the ground with short flames, moving slowly. The canopy overhead was okay. It was just a matter of stepping over the flames and they were in greenness again.

Blair turned to look at the flames. "Can we stop it?"

"Don't have to, Chief." Jim said. "The weather will for us. Come on."

Going downhill increased their travel speed. Jim found an animal trail and turned to follow. They traveled easily, moving in a downward direction, but at an angle to the mountainside. After a few hours, he held up a hand and called for a break. They finished the last of the water and rested until Blair's breathing and heart rate leveled back to normal.

"How's the head?" Blair asked. "I've got more aspirin."

"I'm good." Jim touched his bandage, feeling the dirt and soot in the loose webbing. "You did a good job."

"It's near the hair line," Blair reported, touching his own forehead to demonstrate. "You might need stitches."

"We'll see. First I want to get the word out about Bjerken, before he gets too far away." Jim stood up and brushed off his seat out of habit. He looked down at his sad state of dress. They were both covered in mud and soot. Why was he bothering?

Blair held up a hand. "Wait a second." He tilted his head, his eyes unfocused for a brief second. "I think someone else is here."

Instantly Jim sent out his hearing, alarmed that he'd been slacking and not as alert as he should. "I don't hear anything."

"No, not hearing." Blair lifted his chin, boldly looking at Jim. "I just... can't explain it, Jim. I just feel it."

Then Jim heard faint sounds somewhere above them on the mountain side: footsteps, metal scraping on rock and an occasional murmur. "I've got it. Sounds like a fire crew. Come on."

Climbing back up toward the ridge line, they found the fire crew working away, laying down a fire line. The rain had slacked off but the ground and vegetation was still wet. The fire crew traversed a narrow saddle area between the edge of the slow moving fire and a cliff-like droop off to the forest below.

"Hey!" Allen was first in the line and spotted the bedraggled pair emerge from the forest. "JR! Blake! What happened? Where've you two been?"

Jim looked over the crew visible to him, only recognizing Allen and Dianne from their old crew. He knew command's plans were to break up the crews into new groups when the reinforcements arrived. Apparently, they had. "Who's the leader? I need to radio command," Jim said.

Dianne was at their side instantly, shrugging out of her pack. "Ohmygod! You guys got trapped in the fire, didn't you? JR, your head, are you alright?" She pulled out her water canteen and handed it over. Blair accepted it, taking a long drink.

Word spread down the line, more and more firefighters jogged up to join them faster than Jim could keep track. Frustrated, he asked again about a radio.

"The crew boss has it," a new face answered from Jim's side. "Here he is."

Then, before Jim could do anything to stop it, Vern Bjerken had Dianne by the neck with one arm and a long, wicked looking survival knife pressed against her ear. To Dianne's credit, only a squawk of surprise escaped before she clamped her lips together and remained still.

"Don't do it, Vern," Jim demanded, pissed at himself for not thinking this through. He'd expected the arsonist and would-be killer to be half way across the country by now. Not reassigned to a new crew. Blair stayed at Jim's side. The rest of the men fell back in surprise at their boss's sudden action.

Vern stepped back, dragging Dianne along. "There's no way you both could survive that fire."

"What the hell you doing, Bjerken!" Allen shouted. He held his Pulaski like a weapon. "Let her go!"

"Not till I'm out of here," Vern answered. He pressed the edge of the blade close to her skin, just under her earlobe. "Back off!"

The group of fifteen men froze. They formed a semicircle around Vern and Diane, hemming them up against the drop off. No one stepped nearer to the hostage and her kidnapper. No one backed away either.

"I'm walking out of here," Vern told them. "I'll leave Dianne behind when I reach the van."

Jim knew enough not to believe any promise this man made. He already proved he didn't follow through. More likely he'd kill Dianne when he no longer needed a hostage. Before Jim could formulate a plan, Blair spoke.

"It's over, man," Blair said in a way that almost had Jim believing him. Blair raised a hand, reaching out like Vern was going to hand over the knife. "You know it, too. I can tell. No more fires. All of that is finished now. You can stop the nightmare right now. There are doctors who can help you."

"Shut up," Vern ordered. Bead of perspiration broke out under the band of his hardhat and on his upper lip. He tightened his arm around Dianne's neck. "You don't know what the hell you're saying."

"I do," Blair answered, easing forward so carefully, so smoothly that at first Jim didn't see him move. "I saw the dreams too. They're terrifying, man. I don't blame you for starting those fires. But you don't have to anymore. I know you fight the fires because you feel guilty. You don't have to. Don't you get it?"

It was working. As Blair talked, the knife drew away from Dianne's neck. She met Jim's eyes, demanded to know the game plan. Jim wished he knew. Other than waiting to see how far Blair's dialogue would take them, he didn't have one.

"You see the dreams?" Vern asked in quiet amazement. "How? What are you?"

"No one special," Blair said soothingly. "We just want to help you. We walked all this way, through the fire, man, right through the fire to find you. And we did, didn't we? You didn't expect us to find you, but we did. We want to help."

Except for the snap and pop of the burning pine needles, the mountain air was still. For a moment no one moved.

Then Blair's outstretched hand beckoned invitingly, totally non-threateningly and Vern responded. His arm loosened around Dianne's neck. Blair stepped closer and Jim wanted to yank him back but settled for just a hand on one arm, just above his bent elbow.

"No closer," Jim whispered so low he doubted Blair could hear.

But the younger man did, whispering back, "Jim, it's working. Lemme go."

Jim watched the distance between Vern's knife and Dianne's skin grow an inch. Blair was right, it was working. But, damn it, Jim hated this.

Blair's spoke again, this time for Vern's benefit. "I know you care. You work hard to stop the fires. You take good care of us on the trail. You don't want to hurt Dianne, do you?"

"No," Vern answered in almost an automation response, his eyes lacking focus. With a series of rapid blinks, he glanced down to the woman in his hold. "I don't want to..."

"Okay then, okay." Blair eased forward another half step, to the end of Jim's arm. "We agree, don't we? Go ahead and let her go. Keep the knife if you need to. That's cool. We can talk about this."

Vern's arm shook with a mild muscle spasm, tightening around Dianne. Jim saw her eyes glistening with disappointment. At least the knife hadn't returned its previous spot under her ear.

Blair made soft shushing noises, determined to soothe. The arm in Jim's hand tensed and gently, carefully tugged twice, a silent plea for permission.

Against everything Jim believed in, he turned Blair free.

Allen picked that moment to take a step forward and Vern was instantly on guard. The knife pressed firmly against tan skin again. Jim waved him back with a low flip of his right hand and Allen fell back in line while Blair eased forward. Rain fell again, changing from the light mist. They landed in Blair's messy hair and clung to the curling tips.

"Relax, man. No one's going to try anything," Blair said. "You're in control. We're just worried about you and Dianne. No one needs to get hurt today. You keep us all safe. You're the crew boss. I know you care. You don't want to hurt anyone."

"Beauty..." Vern's face became slack. "The mountains are so beautiful. I don't want to..." He closed his eyes. "The dreams, they're from over there. Nothing but sand... death... heat..."

Blair took another step and Jim thought his heart would stop. His friend was within slashing distance of the blade in Vern's hand. It was obvious now that the man was not all there. Something in his past, perhaps from his life in the Army had surfaced and twisted his mind. They were dealing with an ex-soldier long overdue for a shrink's couch.

"At night, the dreams take over, don't they?" Blair said sympathetically. "Oh, man, I'm sorry. We'll get you help, okay? Just let Dianne go first. We'll make some phone calls, I'm sure th-"

In a flash of speed, Vern shoved Dianne away. Not expecting the movement, no one seemed prepared to react.

Dianne nearly flew as she fell forward. Allen and the two men on either side of her broke her fall awkwardly, taking out a few more of the fire crew as they all fell to the ground in a heap. Jim's own movements were delayed, having to dodge a few flailing feet. Precious seconds were lost getting to Blair's side.

Vern's left was cut off by a majority of the crew, behind him was the drop off. He reached out to grab a handful of Blair's muddy and wet shirt, jerking the smaller man toward him and pulling him along as he sprinted for the narrow opening between a large granite boulder and the group's fringe.

"No!" Jim shouted in frustration as Blair became the hostage, the knife's tip under a new chin now.

Vern used Blair as a shield. It worked. The other crew members fell back, giving right-of-way as Vern ran and Blair stumbled along. Jim could see Blair's effort to keep his chin high and try talking at the same time.

More bodies got in Jim's way as the group milled about in excited confusion, giving Vern time to reach the edge of the fire and plow through the short flames into the burned out area. He powered up the blackened slope dragging Blair. Jim jumped the flames and followed as silently as possible. Blair was still trying to talk his way free, relentlessly urging the man to give up and seek help.

They were near the ridge line now. The spindly blackened tree trunks watched silently as their murderer ran between them. Jim followed, keeping them in sight, looking for his chance to take Vern out.

Vern's right foot hit a hot air pocket under dirt and hot ash, a small but effective trap. The burned out hollow that had once been a trunk and root system captured his boot, spilling Vern's sense of balance. With a cry of pain as the heat seared his pant leg above his boot, Vern tilted. His shoulder slammed into a standing tree.

Jim heard the crack and didn't bother looking up. His legs pumping like the engine pistons on a race car, he charged forward, one hand twisting the knife away from Blair and snapping Vern's wrist, the other arm reached around Blair's waist.

Jim didn't stop. Like the old fashion mail system, delivered by moving train, he claimed Blair and kept running. Between the blistering heat on his ankle and the new pain in his wrist, Vern lost his hostage without a fight.

Danger was falling silently. Jim could hear the sound of air rushing along charred bark, of snapping branches, then a thick and soft sounding thud. The ground shook, first with a sharp spear-like hit, followed a second later with a longer `whomping' sound.

Blair made a gagging sound.

Ash flew up as the `widow-maker' lay to rest on the forest floor. Sometime in all that noise, a quieter sound of a falling body was lost. Jim slowed down, his legs screaming for a rest from the adrenaline surge from hell. He had to be careful not to touch any tree, or keep Blair from touching. A clearing up ahead was perfect and he stopped, turning Blair loose.

"Oh, God," Blair moaned, dropping to one knee and leaning forward as if to puke. He'd had a full view of Vern the entire time.

Jim panted; turning reluctantly to see what he knew would be there. A few of the crew members, Allen among them, were carefully approaching the accident site. Vern was down, the long section of tree still lying across his chest. By the unnatural angle of the man's neck, Jim knew the man was beyond medical attention.

The rain started falling heavily then. Down the hill the orange flames struggled briefly under the onslaught before disappearing. The fire was stopped.

"Something tells me there's more to your story."

Blair looked up from packing the jeep. They were minutes away from leaving. The goodbyes had been given and he was beyond ready to split. Jim's casually continued to check the air pressure in the tire with the pencil gauge.

"Everything worth saying's been said," Blair answered.

Dianne's smile told him what she'd thought of that comment. She wasn't buying it. But she wasn't going to make any waves either. "I still can't believe Vern was the firebug. He didn't look the type."

"Unfortunately, it's not a condition that's easily recognizable," Jim answered. He pocketed the gauge as he stood. "They'll probably find he had a history of depression or PTSD from his time in the military. That's usually the case." He turned to Blair. "You about ready?"

"Yeah," Blair answered. He held out a hand to Dianne. "Thanks for everything you've done. The tea and stuff."

"You're very welcome." She took his hand, and then surprised him by pulling him into a warm hug. "Thanks for saving my life. You're my hero."

Feeling his ears burn, Blair hugged her back. "You're welcome, too."

She moved to hug Jim. "Thanks again." After turning him loose, she frowned. "How you can leave? What about your pay?"

"Taken care off." Jim opened the driver's door. "The fire's already fully contained. This rain is here to stay for a couple more days. Blake and I have had our fill of firefighting for a while."

"More like a lifetime," Blair whispered as he walked around to the passenger side.

It had been a long day.

After arriving in camp, giving a report, driving back with the cops, hiking back to the body, retelling the same story half a dozen times it had been late in the afternoon before they got to eat and shower. Jim got checked out in the medical tent, opting for medical strips to close the gash on his forehead. They got a ride back to Elkin valley. Thankfully, their jeep had been right where they'd left it.

After returning to camp, they had packed their things and checked out with payroll. Charlie had estimated their payroll and given them the left over after the Jeep's repair bill. They ended with additional money to add to the coffer. Not a lot of dough, but some.

The scary part had been the look the senior deputy had given them when Jim had informed them they wanted to leave. Reality came crashing back to Blair's mind. They were still on the run. He could tell by Jim's stance, the way his eyes narrowed and he shifted his body that the older man was anxious to move on.

Yet Jim's fake IDs had held up to the local police scrutiny. Plus, the fourteen eyewitness' account as to what had happened up on the mountain hadn't hurt and backed up their version of what had happened. After a final interview, they were free to leave.

Jim started the engine as Blair buckled his seatbelt. Dianne stepped back, lifting the hood to her parka to shield from the rain. She raised her hand in farewell as Jim put the Jeep into first gear and released the clutch. It was late. The sun had dipped behind the mountains.

Once on the wet asphalt, Blair relaxed with a sigh. He looked at Jim. "You sure you're okay to drive?"

"I'm fine." Jim rolled a shoulder. "No pain. So, why didn't you tell me about the dreams?" Jim asked unexpectedly.

"Dreams?"

Jim glanced over. "You told Vern you saw his dreams."

Blair shrugged. "Grasping for straws mostly, nothing specific. Just an overall feeling I got whenever I got a memory leap."

"Memory Leap?"

"Whatever you want to call it." Blair rubbed his brow. "What I'm saying is I picked up a feeling of terror, like he was haunted or something. I can't explain it."

"Okay," Jim said. "I think I understand."

Blair laughed wearily. "Glad you do, because I'm still clueless." He leaned against the door. "You know, I'd like to do some research. Maybe I can find a few facts. I need to get a handle on this thing. If I start cross-referencing folklore with dreams and memories and tie in senses..."

"We could try staying for a while in a larger city. Somewhere with a good library, make it easier to access the Internet," Jim said, a wide grin splitting his face.

"What's with the grin, Jim?"

Jim laughed. "You're starting to sound like the old you again."

"Yeah?" Blair smiled, warmed by the comment. He did feel pretty good. After all, they were back to doing what they did best. Even if Jim couldn't flash a cop's badge and make an arrest right now. They had stopped an arsonist. Blair wished the man hadn't died. Yet it was almost as if the forest had exacted its own brand of justice.

Lost in thought, he jumped when Jim lightly slapped his arm.

"Yeah," Jim confirmed. "Welcome back, Chief."

End... for now.

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