“Get it warmed up, get it going.”

But one pump wouldn’t do the job, she thought. Might as well try a goddamn piss bag.

“We’re screwed.” She slapped a fist on the useless pump.

Gull caught her eye. “No way two stripped valves end up on the pumps by accident.”

“Can’t worry about that now. We’ll hold her with one as long as we can, use the time to saw and dig a line. We’ll double back to that old Cat line we crossed, then retreat east. Goddamn it, give up all that ground. There’s no time to get more pumps or manpower in here. Maybe if I had some damn duct tape we could jerry-rig them.”

“Duct tape. Hold on.” He straightened, ran to where Dobie shoveled dirt over a dying spot fire.

Rowan watched in amazement as he ran back with a roll of duct tape. “For Dobie it’s like his Tabasco. He doesn’t leave home without it.”

“It could work, or work long enough.”

They worked together, placing the faulty valve, wrapping it tight and snug to the discharge. She added another insurance layer, continued the setup.

“Fingers crossed,” she said to Gull, and began to stroke the primer. “She’s priming,” she mumbled as water squirted out of the holes. “Come on, keep going. Duct tape heals all wounds. Keep those fingers crossed.”

She closed the valve to the primer, opened it to the collapsible hose.

“It’s going to work.”

“It is working,” she corrected, and flicked the switch to start and warm the engine. “Trigger, on the pump! Let’s get the other one going,” she said to Gull.

“Not two of them,” Gull repeated while they worked.

“No, not two of them. Somebody majorly f**ked up or—”

“Deliberately.”

She let the word hang when she met his eyes. “Let’s get it running. We’ll deal with that when we get out of this mess.”

They beat it back, held the ground, laying a wet line with hoses, hot shoveling embers right back in the fire’s gullet. But Rowan’s satisfaction was tempered with a simmering rage. Accident or deliberate, carelessness or sabotage, she’d put her crew at risk because she’d trusted the equipment.

When they reached Yangtree’s proposed rendezvous time, they were still over a half mile south of the head with fourteen hours’ bitter labor on their backs. She deployed most of the crew north, sending two back to check the burnout, and once again cut across the burn.

She took the time to calm, to radio back to Ops with a report of the faulty equipment and the progress. But this time when she crossed the dead land, she heard the buzz of saws.

Encouraged, she followed the sound until she came to Gibbons’s line.

“Did I call this a clusterfuck?” He paused long enough to swipe his forearm over his brow. “What’s the next step up from that?”

“Whatever this is. We’ve run into everything but Bigfoot on this. I had two pumps with stripped wye valves.”

“I had three messed-up chain saws. Two with dead spark plugs, one with a frayed starter cord that snapped first pull. We had to—” He stopped, and his face reflected the shock and suspicion in hers. “What the f**k, Ro?”

“We need to brief on this, but I’ve got to get back to my crew. We’ll be lucky to make the head in another three hours the way it’s going.”

“How far east are you now?”

“A little more than a third of a mile. We’re tightening her up. We’ll talk about this when we camp. We may catch her tonight, but we’re not going to kill her.”

“The crew’s going to need rest. We’ll see how it goes. Check back in—if we don’t tie up before—around ten, let’s say.”

“You’ll hear from me.”

She caught up with her men, following the sound of saws as she had with Gibbons, found them sawing line through black spruce.

They’d been actively fighting for nearly eighteen hours. She could see the exhaustion, the hollow eyes, slack jaws.

She laid a hand on Libby’s arm, waited until the woman took out her earplugs. “Extended break. An hour. Nappie time. Pass it up the line.”

“Praise Jesus.”

“I’m going to recon toward the head, see what we have in store for us.”

“Whatever it is, I’ll kick its ass, if I have my nappie time.”

She signaled to Gull. “I’m going to recon the head. You could come with me, but you’d miss an hour’s downtime.”

“I’d rather walk through the wilderness with my woman.”

“Then let’s go.”

They walked through the spruce while around them jumpers dumped their tools, dropped down on the ground or sprawled on rocks.

“Gibbons had three defective chain saws—two dead spark plugs, one bad starter cord.”

“I’d say that makes it officially sabotage.”

“That’s unofficial until the review, but, yeah, that’s what it was.”

“Cards was spotter. That puts him as loadmaster.”

“Load being the operative word,” she reminded him. “He wouldn’t check every valve and spark plug. He just makes sure everything gets loaded on, and loaded right.”

“Yeah, that’s true enough. Look, I like Cards. I don’t want to point fingers at anybody, but this kind of thing? It has to be one of us.”

She didn’t want to hear it. “A lot of people could get to the equipment. Support staff, mechanics, pilots, cleaning crews. It’s not just who the hell—it’s why the hell.”

“Another good point.”

Because she felt shaky, she took out one of her precious Cokes for a shot of caffeine and sugar, and used it to make yet another energy bar more palatable.

“We wouldn’t have been trapped,” she added. “We had time to take an escape route, get to a safe zone. If we hadn’t fixed the hoses and held that line, we’d have gotten out okay.”

“But,” he prompted.

“Yeah, but if the situation had been different, if we’d gotten in a fix and needed the hoses to get out, some of us could’ve been hurt, or worse.”

“So the why could be one, wanting to screw around, cause trouble. Two, wanting to give fire an advantage. Or three, wanting somebody to get hurt or worse.”