Page 3 of The Firefighter's Angel
He grins. It’s ugly. “Come on. You want it too.”
“No, I really don’t,” I snap, backing away. “We’re going back. Now.”
He lunges. I scream, stumbling backward, but he grabs my arm. “Don’t make this harder than it has to be,” he mutters, voice rough now.
I panic.
Pure, unfiltered terror floods my chest. Without thinking, I jerk up my right knee, catching him between the legs. He gasps, muttering a long string of foul words as he doubles over.
I don’t wait for him to recover. I turn and run, going off the trail, into the thick of the woods. Branches whip at my arms, roots catch at my feet. I don’t care. I run like something inside me has snapped loose.
Behind me, I can hear his loud, angry voice. “You piece of shit! I’ll find you!” he yells. “And when I do—”
I increase my pace, pushing myself by sheer will. The trees blur, and I barely feel the scrape of bark or the burn of my lungs. I just need to disappear. I don’t know where I’m going; I just know I have to get as far away from the monster as possible.
Suddenly, my foot catches on something slick. The world seems to tilt for a second, and I tumble down a steep bank, the sky vanishing above me in flashes of green and gold. Rocks slam into my side, and I land hard, rolling onto something that feels like gravel.
My ribs sting. My ankle throbs. There’s blood on my hands.
But I’m alive.
A dirt logging road stretches out beside me, empty and eerily quiet. I drag myself off the trail and into a low patch of brush, myheart jackhammering in my chest. I crouch down, clutching my pack like it might protect me.
Footsteps crunch along the ridge above me.
Lyle.
I press my hand over my mouth, holding my breath as he gets closer and closer.
Please, please no…
I can hear him now, breathing heavily. Calling my name. Each step sounds like a countdown.
I don’t know how long I can stay hidden.
Chapter Two
Daniel
There’s something sacred about this kind of silence.
The kind that lives deep in the trees, past the tourist trails and manicured overlooks. Out here, it’s just pine and wind and the occasional crackle of a squirrel darting across fallen branches. The kind of peace you can’t fake.
I steer the bush truck slowly along the narrow gravel road, the tires crunching with a steady rhythm. The cab smells like smoke and sweat and old coffee…just how I like it. A week ago, lightning sparked a fire a few miles from here. It was small, easy to box in, but I’ve learned never to trust nature to stay predictable. Fires hide. They wait for wind or heat or one dumb mistake.
So I come out here to double check. Keep an eye on the soil, the trees, the tension in the air. It allows me to stay off-grid while still feeling useful.
Solitude. It’s the only thing that makes sense anymore, after the Army stripped away everything that mattered and the fires took what was left. Friends I bled with. Men I carried out of the flames when it was already too late.
Now it’s just me and Lucy, the dog I rescued when she was just a stray pup with a broken leg. I like animals—they’re muchsimpler than people. With Lucy, I don’t have to talk. Don’t have to pretend I sleep well or feel whole. I just…take care of her.
I round a bend, the mountains unfolding in the distance like a layer of gold and shadows.
God, this place…
It’s peace and chaos. It’s everything that makes sense to a man like me. A man who’s lost his sense of being and purpose. Here, I don’t have to explain why I don’t want to join team dinners and Friday night games. I don’t have to play nice…
A loud, high-pitched scream pierces the haze of my thoughts. I slam the brake, gravel skittering under the tires. I throw the truck in park and leap out, acting on pure instinct. The scream’s echoing down the ridge somewhere to my left. I grab my radio, check my belt for my field knife, and head straight into the trees.
