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

"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."

If you enjoyed this story, please send feedback to LKY

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