“Bet your ass. And watch yours.”

As she worked her way through the fire, she coordinated with Gibbons, with base, kept her ears and eyes peeled for the tankers. She cut east, eyes smarting with smoke, then jumped back, skidding onto her back as a burning limb thick as a man’s thigh crashed to the ground in front of her.

It caught fresh fuel on the forest floor, ignited with a whoosh to claw at the soles of her boots before she scrambled clear.

“Widowmaker,” she shouted to Gibbons. “I’m good, but I’m going to be busy for a minute.”

She beat at the fresh flames, chopping at the ground to smother what she could with dirt. She heard the thunder of a tanker, muttered curses as she fought her small, personal war.

“I’m clear.” Shoveling, stomping, she signaled Gibbons, then the tanker pilot. “I’m clear.”

And ran.

The thick pink rain fell, smothering flame, billowing smoke, thudding onto the ground, the trees, with heavy splats. She sprinted for shelter as globs of it struck her helmet, her jacket. A volley of firebrands sent her on a zigzagging dash for higher, clearer ground.

She heard the telltale roar at her back, felt the ground shimmy under her feet. Following instinct, she leaped through the undulating curtain of fire, all but heard it slam shut behind her before the blowup burst. Rocks skidded under her feet as she pushed herself up an incline above the hungry, murderous blaze.

“I’m clear.” She shouted it as her radio popped with voices. “Had a little detour.”

She wheezed in a breath, wheezed one out. “Give me a minute to orient.”

A wall of fire, solid as steel, cut off her route back to her team.

She pulled out her compass to confirm direction, accepted that her hand shook lightly.

Cut across to Trigger’s line, she calculated, regroup, then circle down and around to her own.

She relayed her plan, then took a moment to hydrate and settle her nerves.

Back on the line, Gull looked straight into Gibbons’s eyes.

“Is she hurt?”

“She says no. She’s playing it down, but I think she had a close one.” He swiped at sweat. “She’s cutting over to Trig, then she’ll circle around back to us. The mud knocked it back some on their flank, and they’re working the pumps up toward the head. They’re in good position.”

He shook his head. “We can’t say the same. The wind’s whipping her up this way. Elf, take Gull, Stovic and Dobie and get these pumps up there. Follow the Cat line. Start drowning her. I’ll send you up four more as soon as we get the men.”

“Spot!” Libby shouted, and two of the team leaped to action.

“We’re getting hammered over here,” Gibbons told Trigger over the radio. “Can you spare anybody?”

“Give you two. That’ll be three when Swede gets around.”

“Tell them to hump it!”

Gull manned the hose and swore the force of water only made the fire dance. The wind chose sides, blew flames into massive walls.

“L.B.’s sending in another load, and pulling in jumpers from Idaho,” Janis told him.

“Did Rowan make it to Trigger?”

“Rowan changed tactics. She’s doubling back to Gibbons. We’ve got to catch this thing here, catch her here, or fall back.” She yanked out her radio. “Gibbons, we need help up here.”

“I’m waiting on Matt and Cards from Trigger’s line. And the Swede. Fresh jumpers coming. ETA’s thirty.”

“Thirty’s no good. I need more hands or we’re pulling back.”

“Your call, Elf. I’ll get locations and come back. If you’ve got to move, move.”

“Goddamn it, goddamn it. Stovic, get those snags. If she crowns, we’re screwed.” As water arced and sizzled, she looked over at Gull. “We can’t hold her for thirty without more hands.”

Something stirred in his gut. “Rowan, Cards and Matt should’ve gotten through by now. Radio her, get her location.”

“Gibbons is—”

“Radio her, Janis,” he interrupted. “This has been going south since the jump.”

And maybe it wasn’t just nature they fought.

He listened to her try to raise Rowan once, twice, a third time. And with each nonresponse his blood ran colder.

She tried Matt, then Cards, then answered swiftly when Gibbons hailed her.

“I can’t reach any of them on the radio,” Gibbons told her. “I’m going to send somebody in to their last known location.”

But Janis had her eye on Gull. “Negative. Gull’s going. He’s the fastest we’ve got. Send me somebody. We’re going to try to hold it.”

“Libby’s heading up now. I’ll get more mud, call in another Cat. If you have to retreat, head southwest.”

“Copy that. Find her,” she said to Gull.

“Count on it.” He turned to Dobie. “Hold it as long as you can.”

“As long as you need,” Dobie vowed, and took the hose.

He ran, using his compass and the map in his head to gauge direction. She’d been forced west, then south before she’d angled toward the left flank. He tried to judge her speed, her most probable route before she’d reversed to head east again to assist the right flank.

She’d have met up with Matt and Cards if possible, he calculated, but she wouldn’t have wasted time waiting for them or changing from the best route back, not when her team needed help.

A spot burst to his left, flames snaking from ground to tree. He ignored the instinct to deal with it, kept running.

But she wouldn’t have, he thought. She’d have fought the fire as she went, and doing so shifted her direction at any time.

And if another enemy had crossed her path, she wouldn’t have recognized him. She would see a fellow soldier, a friend. Someone trusted, even loved.

He jumped a narrow stream, pushing himself through the heat and smoke and growing fear.

She was smart, and strong, and canny. She’d fight, he reminded himself—maybe more fiercely when the enemy had disguised himself as friend.

He forced himself to stop, check his compass, reorient. And to listen, listen, for another under the growling voice of the fire.

North, he decided. Northeast from here, and prayed he was right. A tree crashed, spewing out a whirlwind of sparks that stung his exposed skin like bees.