Page 4 of Hemlock Firestorm (Black Timber Peak Hotshots #3)

THREE

COLE

The roar of the plane's engines drowns out everything but the thundering of my own heart.

I force myself to breathe steadily, in through my nose and out through my mouth, as we approach Jo's position.

My eyes scan the landscape below, taking in the intricate dance of smoke and flame with the practiced eye of a veteran firefighter.

Dark plumes billow upwards, carried by capricious winds.

The fire's leading-edge races across the drought-parched forest floor, consuming everything in its path.

Years of experience let me read the patterns, predicting where the blaze will surge next.

It's moving faster than our initial models projected - a grim realization that settles like lead in my gut.

"Confirmed visual on Hadley," the pilot yells. " She's still mobile, but the fire's gaining ground quickly."

I nod sharply, double-checking my gear for the hundredth time. My hand trembles slightly as I adjust a strap, and I clench my fist hard enough for my blunt nails to dig into my palm. I can't afford doubt. Not now. Not with Jo's life on the line.

Shaking off the moment of weakness, I move into position by the door. The bitter scent of smoke invades my nostrils as I stare down at the inferno below. For a heartbeat, I'm transported back five years.

I violently shove the memory aside.

Focus, Whitlock.

I get the all clear from Jerry. "Go get our girl, Whitlock." He shouts and slaps my back, a spotters signal telling me to go.

I don't hesitate.

The sudden awareness of that surprises me.

The rush of freefall envelops me. The bite of wind, the acrid sting of smoke, the searing heat rising from below.

My body moves on autopilot, ingrained training taking over.

The ripcord is automatically pulled as I exit and for a heart stopping second I pray it opens.

The abrupt deceleration jolts through my harness as the canopy opens and my worry lessens .

Immediately, I'm assessing wind conditions, adjusting my canopy for optimal control.

Hot updrafts from the fire create pockets of turbulence, threatening to slam me into the treetops if I'm not careful.

I navigate the aerial minefield with calculated precision, angling my descent to land as close to Jo's position as possible, despite the nearly unpredictable drafts.

No wonder she got tossed into the trees.

My boots hit the ground with a solid thud and I tuck and roll.

In one fluid motion, I'm releasing my chute and scanning my surroundings.

The fire's roar is deafening now, punctuated by the sharp cracks of trees succumbing to the flames.

Smoke stings my eyes as I quickly stash my parachute, fighting the urge to call out for Jo.

No sense in wasting precious breath she might not hear.

I retrieve my climbing gear from my pack, my movements economical and practiced.

A distant part of my mind wants to rage at Jo's recklessness, at the sheer idiocy that led to this situation.

I tamp down the anger. Later. If we survive this, I'll give her the ass-chewing of a lifetime.

For now, I need to stay mission focused.

As I secure my harness, I catch a flash of movement through the trees and I run toward it.

There - about thirty feet up a massive hemlock.

Jo clings to an upper branch, her slight form dwarfed by the ancient tree.

Even from here, I can see the precariousness of her position.

The fire hasn't reached this pocket yet, but I can hear it hungrily devouring the forest behind her. We don't have much time.

I approach the base of the tree. "Jo, can you hear me?"

A muffled voice answers, tight with pain or fear or both. "Cole? What the hell are you doing here?"

I zero in on her location, relief flooding through me. She's alive. Conscious. Pissed off, by the sound of it, which is a good sign. Angry Joe is infinitely preferable to quiet Jo.

"Thought I'd drop in, see how your camping trip was going," I call back, already assessing the situation as I try to ease her fear a bit with a joke.

She's about thirty feet up, thoroughly entangled in both her chute and the branches.

It's a mess, but nothing we can't handle.

"You comfy up there, or you want some help getting down? "

"Screw you, Whitlock," she growls. There's a rustle of movement, followed by a sharp hiss of pain and a cough. "I had this under control."

I snort, pulling on my climbing gloves. "Yeah, I can see that. You always land in trees? "

"Only on special occasions. Thought I'd try something new," she says dryly.

Despite everything, I feel my lips twitch in a reluctant smile. She’s a pro at deflecting with banter and humor. It's one of the things I...well, one of the things that makes her a good firefighter.

I push those thoughts aside, focusing on the task at hand. "Alright, Hadley. I'm coming up. Try not to move too much, okay? I need to see what we're dealing with."

"Yes, sir," she mutters, but I hear the strain beneath the sarcasm. She's hurting, maybe worse than she's letting on.

Hand over hand. I start to climb, grateful for the rough bark and knotty tree that gives me plenty of handholds.

The hemlock branches scrape against my jumpsuit but it protects me.

The smoke is thicker up here, making my eyes water and my lungs burn.

I blink rapidly, forcing myself to concentrate on each movement.

She’s coughing. I wish it was easier to breathe in respirators, but the physical activity was too much with them on for them to use.

Don't look down. Don't think about anything but the next branch, the next grip.

I'm about halfway up when a gust of wind rocks the tree. I hear Jo cry out, a sound of pain quickly stifled by the stubborn woman. My heart leaps into my throat.

"Jo? Talk to me. Where are you hurt?"

There's a moment of tense silence before she answers. "I'm fine. Just maybe hurry it up a little, yeah? Things are getting a bit toasty up here."

I crane my neck, trying to get a better view. The fire is closer than I'd like, steadily consuming the dry underbrush. We don't have much time.

I redouble my efforts, ignoring the burning in my arms and the sweat trickling down my back. Just a little further. Almost there.

Finally, I reach her level. The sight nearly makes me lose my grip.

Jo is a mess of tangled lines, torn fabric, and her helmet has been knocked off her head.

Blood trickles down her temple. Her left arm is wrenched at an unnatural angle behind her.

But it's her eyes that stop me cold. Those fierce amber eyes that usually dance with humor or challenge are wide with fear, and I am sure she has no idea.

She tries for a smile when she sees me, but it comes out as more of a grimace.

"Come here often, Whitlock?" She says as though she’s trying to pick me up at a sleazy bar.

I let out a huff. This is how we all communicate with one another and it puts me slightly at ease but coming from her, it also makes my heart race.

I swallow hard, forcing my voice to stay steady. "Had I known this was a date, I would’ve brought flowers."

That gets a weak chuckle out of her. "Nah. I prefer my men to come bearing rescue helicopters and maybe some morphine."

"Your wish is my command." I tap my radio. "Command, this is Whitlock. I've reached Hadley's position. We're going to need that medevac ASAP."

The response is garbled. I’m not even sure if it went through. It’s nothing but static. Fuck.

"I tried already. I can’t get through." She says.

Double fuck.

I edge closer, assessing the tangle of lines. It's bad, but not impossible. "Alright, Hadley. I'm going to start cutting you loose. Try to keep still, okay? I don't want to risk shifting your weight until we know what we're dealing with."

She nods, teeth clenched against obvious pain. "Pretty sure my arm is dislocated but otherwise I am still intact. Just get me out of this tangle and my boots back on the ground please."

The raw vulnerability in her voice hits me like a physical blow. This is Jo Hadley, the woman who stared down a wall of flame without flinching. Who once told a superior officer exactly where he could shove his "mansplaining bullshit." Hearing her say please, hearing the fear.

She coughs against the smoke, "Once I’m down, I’ll deal with this friggin’ fire."

Just like that she was back to being stubborn. I reach for my knife. "I’ll have you down in no time." What I really want to say is no you fucking won’t be dealing with this fire. But I keep it to myself for now. I need her to cooperate.

I set to work, carefully slicing through the snarled mess of parachute cord.

It's slow going, or at least it feels that way.

One wrong move could send us both plummeting to the ground.

The heat is becoming unbearable, smoke so thick I can barely see what I'm doing. My throat is beginning to feel raw.

I make the final cut, and suddenly she's free. I barely manage to catch her before she falls, nearly losing my own balance in the process. She grabs onto my arm with her right hand helping pull herself up. Our jumpsuits are incredibly heavy and while good protection, don’t make for graceful movements.

"I've got you," I murmur, cradling her against my chest. "I've got you, Jo. You're okay. "

She clutches at me with her good arm, burying her face in my neck, probably trying to breathe through the fabric to filter the smoke.

I can feel her shaking, whether from pain or delayed shock or both.

For a split second I just enjoy holding her before I snap out of it.

We need to repel to the ground. I watch as she unclips her personal gear bag strapped to the front of her with her good arm as I hold her steady.

It drops to the ground, slamming off branches on the way.

I feel my gut lurch as I watch the bag. Shit.

That could have easily been her body slamming against those branches.

Getting caught in the trees wasn’t ideal, but smokejumpers are trained to be prepared for all types of landings including ones involving powerlines.

Thankfully that wasn’t the case here. Powerlines make everything more difficult in their own way.

In this case, I needed the parachute to be used as an anchor.

Had Jo not gotten so tangled on her way in, she would have been able to get out on her own.

I quickly check the parachute, ensuring it’s securely hung above us.

If it isn’t, we’ll be in serious trouble.

I tuck the drogue release handle into my left leg pocket and feel around for any loose suspension lines, tying them off to keep us clear .

"Did you check the O-rings?" Jo asks, her breath hot against my neck.

"Yeah, they’re good," I reassure her. I pull out the letdown tape, measuring about four to six feet, and pass it under my right leg, leaving the rest coiled in my pocket.

"Give me a five-point check, Cole," she prompts, her grip tightening around me even as she goes into work mode.

Insubordination in training usually wasn’t tolerated.

Had she not been the incredibly talented smokejumper she is, her mouth would have gotten her kicked off the team.

Her attention to detail and knowledge meant she was an asset to everyone and despite challenging command, she did what she was ordered.

Usually.

I take a deep breath, my mind racing. "RSL disconnected? Check. Tape tied with three half-hitches? Check. Through the O-rings? Check. Under my thigh? Check. Through the carabiner, secured? Double-check."

"Okay," she says, her voice steadying a bit. I feel her relax slightly against me, but the sudden burst of heat from the flames reminds me we don’t have much time.

I steady my feet and hook one arm under the padding on her jumpsuit by her ass.

"Help me get you up." She jumps and whimpers as her arm is jostled but her legs wrap around me tightly.

Even with us both looking like Stay Puft marshmallows, I still have to take a deep breath and remind myself this is work.

"Hold on. Here we go," I say, letting her go.

Her body clings to my front as I slip my hand into the V of the loose side riser.

I pull the cutaway cable, and the satisfying click of the 3-ring release echoes in my ears. "Gently easing down now."

I can feel Jo’s breath quicken as I move to the tight side riser. "Just keep your weight against me," I instruct, trying to keep us both balanced. I pull the cutaway handle, and the second release clicks free.

"Suspension?" Jo asks, her eyes searching mine. Strands of her hair have come free of her braid and stuck to her face where sweat beads. It shouldn’t look as gorgeous as it does.

I glance around to ensure we’re clear of suspension lines. I remove the safety hitch, feeling the adrenaline surge. "We’re good, Jo."

"Alright," she replies, determination sparking in her eyes. "Get us the fuck down from this tree."

I smile. "Such a mouth on you." I pinch the letdown tape on the carabiner, pulling the slip knot free. "Hold on tight," I instruct again, feeling her right arm wrap securely around my torso. With a firm grip, I maneuver us carefully, guiding the tape while keeping my balance.

As we begin our descent, I squeeze the tape, using my right hand to brake against my thigh.

I focus on the ground below moving us around branches.

The fire roars ominously, but I keep my eyes locked on our path, every ounce of my attention devoted to getting us safely down When my feet touch ground her legs slip from my waist. I unhook us and stash what I can back in my pocket.

Her face is pale and sweat tracks down her skin.

"We need to get you to a medic."

"No. I have this." She says assertively as she strips out of her heavily padded jumpsuit, careful with her arm, and grabs her personal gear bag slinging it over her good shoulder with a wince.

"We have to get to the cargo box." She immediately takes off into the direction of the drop zone for the box.

She supports her arm with her other one.

I saw the second her face went into stubborn determination mode and I groan