56
Steve watched as the fire approached.
He needed to remember never to piss off ICA Mark Henderson. The terrorists must be crapping in their pants right about now.
A mile-wide wall of fire was marching down three sides of the ridgeline to sweep into the camp’s valley. Flames rolled a hundred or more feet into the darkening sky.
Sap exploded, shattering trees like a cheap bat whacked on the trademark. He’d stood in the face of a big fire on a rampage any number of times. It was a moment that defined a smokie. Did you face the devil and beat it back? Did you turn tail and run? Or were you so damned sure of yourself that you stood fast until the beast ran you down?
He’d been trained in how to read the fire, and every single thing he could see about this one sent a single message.
Run!
