"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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