“What are you—?” Caplan cupped his hands around his mouth. “Get back here!”
A few of the big shots twisted their heads around. But they stared at the fire, not at him.
Then Keifer looked over her shoulder. Her gaze met Caplan’s and he saw a look of profound terror in her otherwise-vapid eyes. The sort of terror that couldn’t be explained by the laws of this world.
Keifer faced front again. Arms flapping at her sides, she propelled herself to the tree line and past it. Moments later, the other big shots followed her into the forest.
Without breaking stride, Mills, Elliott, and Caplan continued across the field. They passed by the spot where Perkins had attacked Pearson. Caplan saw smooshed grass and little puddles of blood.
But no Pearson.
Immediately, he turned his attention to the pile of guns.
Again, no Pearson.
Caplan scanned the rest of the clearing. But the big shots had trampled a lot of grass, obscuring any clues the man might have left behind.
A loud burst filled the air. Caplan glanced at the fire. It was approximately fifty yards out, as tall as a skyscraper, and seemed to stretch for a whole city block. The flames ran the spectrum of the fire rainbow, from red to orange to white. They moved forward with firm, deliberate speed, still throbbing and trembling. Between and above the flames, he saw billowing gray smoke, along with significant patches of blackness. Loud crackles, along with monstrous roaring, like an airplane about to take off, nearly deafened him.
Caplan and Mills hauled Elliott to the helicopter. Morgan jumped into the cabin and grabbed her by the armpits. Toland frowned in annoyance but he deigned to help out as well. Together, they hauled Elliott aboard.
Mills paused, her eyes traveling to the point where the big shots had entered the forest. “How long do you think they’ll last out there?”
“Longer than us if we don’t get airborne.” Caplan jabbed his thumb at the cabin. “Your turn.”
Without hesitation, she clambered into the cabin. Then she turned around, offered her hand to Caplan.
But Caplan hesitated. There was still the matter of Corbotch, the man who had started this whole thing. Corbotch’s resources could definitely improve their odds of survival. On the other hand, he was responsible for dozens of deaths.
Hot air engulfed Caplan and his forehead turned slick with sweat. He tasted ash and smoke in the air. The odor of burnt wood filled his nostrils.
If anyone deserved to die, it was Corbotch. But Caplan’s instincts told him that was the wrong move. And not just because they might need Corbotch to survive the coming extinction. But because… well, just because.
“Your turn.” Caplan rotated toward Corbotch. “Get in…”
But no one was there.
Corbotch was gone.
Chapter 59
The rotors gained speed, spinning faster and faster. Caplan steadied himself against a metal bar next to the open cabin door as a rush of hot air washed over him. The blowing air was loud, but the fire — now just twenty-five yards away — easily drowned it out.
Swiveling away from the fire, Caplan studied the clearing, searching for Corbotch, Pearson, or any big shots that had rethought their plans to flee the oncoming flames. But all he saw was grass.
He glanced over his shoulder. Toland and Morgan sat in the two plush seats directly behind the cockpit. Toland lounged in his chair, eyes closed, as if all was right with the world. Occasionally, a snore would escape his lips. In contrast, Morgan hunched forward, her elbows resting on her knees. Her hands were cupped around her cheeks and she stared straight ahead, a pensive look upon her face.
Mills sat across from Morgan. Her legs, along with her muddied and bloodied feet, were curled upon her chair. Her forehead was plastered against her window. Elliott sat next to her, securely buckled into her seat. Physically, she looked fine. But deep stress lines, probably permanent now, crisscrossed her visage. Her eyes were hazy and unfocused and Caplan guessed that no amount of therapy would change that. Not that it mattered since she, along with the rest of them, would apparently be dead in a few months anyway.
There was an empty seat in the cockpit. But Caplan didn’t bother to take it. As soon as they’d flown clear of the fire, he had every intention of taking a page out of Toland’s playbook. He’d lie down on the plush wool carpet, prop his grime-soaked head up on his backpack, and grab a few Z’s of his own. Just the thought of it caused a small smile to flit across his face.
Gusts of gray smoke shot into the clearing and swept into the cabin. Toland’s eyes opened wide. He sucked in a mouthful of smoke and then started coughing. “Close…” He hacked a few times. “Close the damn door!”
“The others…” Caplan coughed as well. “… they’re still out there.”
“They can go to hell.”
The rotors picked up even more speed. Tons of gray smoke blew into the chopper. It got in Caplan’s lungs and in his eyes. He couldn’t breathe, couldn’t see. Rubbing his face on his shirt and fighting off more coughs, he cast a look at the fire.
“Whoa,” he whispered in awe.
The fire was no longer twenty-five yards away or even ten yards away.
It was here.
Gigantic flames, tall as skyscrapers and bright as spotlights, licked the edge of the clearing with ravenous desire. The colors, brilliant reds and oranges along with an almost bluish white all against a throbbing, trembling black backdrop, captivated his attention.
The chopper lurched a few inches off the ground. It swayed in the air like a pendulum before shooting toward the center of the clearing.
Caplan stumbled. His sweaty hand slipped on the metal bar, but he managed to keep his grip on it. With his other hand, he reached for the cabin door.
A weighty object plowed into his legs. His feet slipped out from under him and his rear thudded against the carpet. His lower half felt like it had suddenly doubled in size and his grip on the bar began to slip all over again.
Morgan unbuckled her belt, grabbed for his hand.
But she was too late.
Caplan’s fingers slipped off the bar. The chopper lurched as he tumbled feet-first to the ground. He landed awkwardly, twisting his knee, and rolled to a heap. The fire raged all around him, encircling the clearing and burning away at the deep grass.
Caplan tried to think, but the wildfire completely overloaded his senses. Blinding colors were everywhere he looked. He smelled burning wood and grass. Heard nothing but crackling flames, splintering tree trunks, and those awful roaring noises. Smoke filled his mouth and lungs and the pulsating heat roasted him like he was in an oven.
Confused and disoriented, he tried to get up. But again, he felt the weighty object. It pinned him down, held him flat to the rapidly scorching earth. Looking up, he saw a hazy form mounted on his chest. He blinked a few times. His eyes cleared.
And he saw Pearson.
A heavy fist cracked into his cheek. Caplan’s jaw snapped open and he choked out a hoarse cry. Instantly, smoke and ash streamed down his lungs, leaving him coughing and choking for air.
He wriggled, trying to throw off the giant man. But a fist to the collarbone stopped him cold. A third punch slammed into his jaw. His whole body shuddered as if his soul had been knocked clear out of him.
A thick fog settled over Caplan’s brain. His pain and fear melted away. It was kind of nice, actually. Languid and peaceful, like the first few moments after waking up from a deep sleep. Where was he again? Why was he here? Did any of it really matter?