Authors: Sara King
Alaskan Fire
GUARDIANS
of the
FIRST REALM:
ALASKAN
FIRE
SARA KING
Copyright
© 2012,
All
Rights Reserved,
Sara
King
No part of this work
may be photocopied, scanned, or otherwise reproduced without express written
consent (begging) of the author. For permissions and other requests, email
Sara King at [email protected].
(Don’t
worry, she’s really cool.)
Published
by
Parasite
Publications
All events and characters
described in this book are fictional representations of one kinky author’s
imagination, and any resemblance to real people or events is purely
happenstance. While Alaska is a really big place, it’s also a
real
place, and the author has real experience with it. The locations herein were
kept as vague as possible, and in some cases, names have been changed. While
there is a Yentna River, an Anchorage, a Wasilla, and a Willow, there is no
Lake Ebony, no Ebony Creek, and no Sleeping Lady Lodge on the Yentna River. So
yeah. If you’re looking for werewolves, good luck finding them.
For
my sister, who pestered, cajoled, whined, and threatened me for years to write
an Alaskan Paranormal.
For
Renae, arguably my oldest, biggest fan. May you someday get your Sleeping
Lady.
And
for Stephen, because your epic enthusiasm and exacting, nit-picky standards
matched even my own.
of Contents
Chapter 2: Your Friendly Neighborhood Wereverine
Chapter 6: Feathers and Fire Pits
Chapter 10: Jack and the Puppies
Chapter 13: Christening the Barn
Chapter 15: Jack’s Adoring Fans
Chapter 18: The Third-Lander Within
Chapter 26: You’d Like To Report a
What
?
Chapter 27: The Truth Comes Out
Chapter 28: Jack the A-S-S-H-O-L-E
1
: Meet Jack
“So I guess Candy
told you my brother
called in a favor ‘cause he’s blowing chunks?” Blaze’s
‘replacement’ pilot was striding over to her from the brand new Mercedes he had
parked with a gravel-slinging spin into the Bruce Rogers’ Flying Service
driveway not a minute before.
Blaze, who hadn’t really thought
about what a Bush pilot
should
look like, was now finding herself very
concerned. The skinny kid approaching her was dressed in ragged cut-off shorts,
a skateboarding Bart Simpson T-shirt, sandals, and sunglasses. He looked for
all the world like an out-of-state transfer student Blaze might have shared a
class with in Business 101, not at all like the plaid-and-jeans-clad Bush
pilot, Bruce Rogers, who was
supposed
to be flying her and the rest of
her worldly possessions out to her new life in the Sleeping Lady Lodge.
“You’re Lance?” she asked, trying
not to wince as she attempted to calculate how old the kid was. He barely
looked past eighteen. And, now that she got a good look, his hair was still
wet from a shower.
“Yep.” He spun the keys of his
Mercedes on a finger and stuffed them into the pocket of his pants. Holding
out his hand and peering up at her, he said, “You Blaze?”
“Yeah, Blaze,” she said, taking
it.
“You’re tall, Blaze,” he said,
still peering up at her. “You got a little Viking in your family, then?” As
if she hadn’t heard
that
a million times already in her life.
“Six-four,” she agreed, forcing a
smile. “You know how to fly one of these things?” She gestured at the
floatplane that was secured to the dock beside her.
“Oh sure,” Lance Rogers said,
peeling off his sunglasses and glancing at the Cessna 206, which was
approximately the size of a sardine can. “Been in those things since I was a
kid. Did my first solo at twelve, much to the consternation of my dad.” He
grinned at her, showing a perfect white smile, even further removing him from
the ‘Experienced Bush Pilot’ column in Blaze’s head. “Didn’t fly again until I
was sixteen, after that. Dad started locking the keys in his safe.” Rubbing
the little blue airplane beside him like an old friend, Lance said with a note
of wistful regret, “Never did figure out how to hotwire ‘em.”
“Uhhh,” Blaze said, glancing
quickly back at the weather-worn wooden sign of Bruce Rogers’ Flying Service,
and the little hut beside the aircraft hangar where Candy, Bruce’s wife, was
working on paperwork. “I don’t know, I can probably wait for Bruce to get
better…”
“Bah!” Lance said. “I fly STOL
Cubs and shit for air shows and do a little crop-dusting when I’m bored, which
is basically whenever I’m not behind the wheel of a 747.” He shrugged at her
widening eyes. “Copilot. Haven’t given me my own bird, yet. The chicken-shits
won’t come out and say it, but I’m not bald enough.” At Blaze’s flinch, Lance
grinned at her. “It’s okay. I get it a lot. Probably like you and being tall.”
He looked up at her expectantly.
“I do get it a lot,” Blaze
admitted.
“I’m sure.” What he left
unsaid—but what dangled uncomfortably in the air between them—was,
When you
look like you just crawled out of a spaceship from Planet Orangutan.
After
an awkward moment, Lance cleared his throat and patted the little blue airplane
again. “But yeah. Don’t worry, I won’t crash us. Brucey would kill me if I
dinged up his baby. Besides, I hear you just bought a nice place out on the
Yentna. Candy said ya had to wait through Breakup to get out there. Bet
you’re dyin’ ta see what ya got, right?”
“Yeah,” Blaze said, breaking into
a nervous smile. “Fishing lodge. The Sleeping Lady.”
Lance made a sound of
appreciation as he started unwrapping the two ropes holding the Cessna’s float
to the dock cleats. “Nice place. Landed on the lake for coffee a couple
times.” He gestured at his brother’s airplane. “Candy got ya all loaded up?”
“Yeah,” Blaze said, still a
little stunned by the fact she was standing beside a commercial airlines pilot.
“You fly 747s? Really?” He just didn’t look…
stuffy
enough.
Lance shrugged. “I fly anything
with wings.” He yanked open the door of the Cessna for her and motioned at the
blue leather seat beside that of the pilot. “Climb on in. Try not to bump
your head. Gonna be a tight fit for you, but nothing I can really do about
that. Just be glad it’s not a SuperCub. Man, you’d have trouble getting
inside
.”
Oh, thanks
, Blaze thought,
once more reminded of just how far from the Law of Averages that Mother Nature
had decided to throw her. She stepped on the convenient little foot-rest,
grabbed the inside of the door, and tried not to wince at how much her body
made the little plane sink on its floats as she heaved herself into the cockpit.
“How much you weigh, Blaze?”
Lance asked almost thoughtfully. Then, when Blaze cast an irritated look back
at him, his eyes widened and he held up both hands and quickly said, “Just
tryin’ ta judge how close we are to payload.” He gestured at the back of the
plane, which was completely packed full of groceries, luggage, and furniture,
so much that it was completely blocking out the back windows. “Candy packed
you in there pretty good. Everything but the kitchen sink, huh?”
And this was only the
first
load. Blaze had many more scheduled, to bring in groceries, lumber, and other
supplies.
“I’m one-eighty,” Blaze muttered,
estimating about twenty pounds low, just because the only people who needed to
know that information were her and God. She delicately climbed past the
pilot’s console, careful not to touch any of the controls, and sat down in the
tiny passenger seat allotted to her.
“Call it two hundred, then,”
Lance said, in consideration. “Hmm. I think we can do this thing.”
Blaze hesitated in buckling
herself in. “Wait…you
think
?”
But Lance was already lunging
into the pilot’s seat and pulling the door shut behind him. “Headset’s right
there,” he said, gesturing to the dash as he buckled himself in and tugged his
own headset on. “You ever been in a small plane before, Blaze?”
Blaze, who was still staring at
the exit, considering whether it was worth trying to crawl over a commercial
airlines pilot to get out of the little sardine Can ‘O Death before it exploded
into a ball of fire on the far end of the lake, didn’t really hear him.
Anyone
who had lived in Alaska for any amount of time heard of the dozens of planes
that went down every year. Most because they were overloaded, or because the
pilots got cocky.
“Jesus, you’re sheet-ass white,”
Lance laughed. “Come on, I already told ya I been in these things since I was
a toddler. Okay, look. See this little case behind my seat? That’s the
emergency survival kit. We go down, there’s flares, fire-making gear, some
rations, all that good stuff in there.”
The casual way he said ‘go down’
made Blaze’s stomach clench.
“But if we
do
go down,”
Lance said, “you’ll survive it a hell of a lot better than me. I mean, hell,
look at me. Brucey didn’t give me much warning. I’m wearing shorts and a
T-shirt. Didn’t even get a chance to dose myself with DEET. Mosquitoes will
eat my ass alive.” He flashed her a big white smile. “That should make you
feel better, right?”
It didn’t. But then Lance was
firing up the engine, and the entire Cessna shook as the prop rumbled to life.
“
Headset
!” Lance shouted
to her over the roar of the prop.
Oh my God
, Blaze thought,
reluctantly grabbing the headset and tugging it over her head,
I am so
totally going to die.
“So I got to talking with Brucey
on the way here,” Lance said conversationally as he increased the throttle and
the little plane lurched forward, out towards the open water. “In between
shitting himself and puking all over the phone, he was kind beatin’ around the
bush about tryin’ to con me into talking some sense into you.”
“Come to think of it,” Blaze said,
already feeling ill as the overloaded plane started idling towards the middle
of the lake, “I could probably stand another day or two in town.”
“
But
,” Lance said, as if
he hadn’t heard her, “I think it’s awesome you bought the place. You just have
to watch out for crazies, and make sure you have a baseball bat behind every
door.”
“Baseball bat?” Blaze asked,
swallowing hard. Very tentatively, because she couldn’t think of why she would
possibly need a baseball bat in the woods, she ventured, “Bears?”
“Nah,” Lance said, “To beat all
the lonely guys off of you, when they come knocking. There’s a
lot
of
single guys out there. Now shut up for a second. Gotta make a call to the
tower.” Then Blaze listened to him babble off a ritual-sounding string of
words to ‘Willow traffic’ about ‘north-northwest departure’ and ‘no traffic in
sight’ and waited until Lance had tucked the radio away again before she asked,
“Bruce wanted you to warn me about lonely guys?”
Lance laughed, “And other
things. Mostly the crazies. Now hold on, ‘cause here we go.”
And then the little plane’s
engine roared and Blaze was clinging to her seat in a panic as it started
rumbling across the lake like a locomotive.
“Huh,” Lance said, as the spruce
on the end of the lake loomed near, “looks like we’re a bit overloaded.” And
kept them barreling towards the line of trees. Then, just as Blaze was about
to scream “For God’s sake, shut it down!” and wrench the controls from him, the
plane came out of the water and they were soaring.
“So,” Lance said, once their floats
cleared the tree line and they were gaining altitude over the highway and
aiming out towards the mostly-uninhabited Lake Ebony on the Yentna River, “you
planning on running the Sleeping Lady as a fishing lodge? Got a guiding
license?”
But Blaze was
stunned
at
how wonderful it felt to fly. She had squished her face to the window and was
peering outward at the stands of birch and cottonwood below. “Oh wow,” she
said, watching the plane’s shadow slide across the ground below them. “This is
so
cool
!”
“Bah!” Lance snorted. “This
ain’t nothin. Should come check out the air show this summer.
That’s
cool. Oh, and you’re smearing up Brucey’s glass. He hates that.”
“Sorry,” Blaze said, quickly
tearing herself away.
“It’s no prob. Here.” Then
Lance ducked the right wingtip down, giving Blaze a better view of the ground.
Shrieking in glee, she plastered
herself to the window again.
When Lance put the aircraft back
onto a level plane, he was grinning at her. “You remind me of me, when I was a
kid. You ever wanna learn to fly? I also teach classes when I’m bored.”
“I would
love
to,” Blaze
blurted, ecstatic. Then winced as reality kicked in. “Well, I’ve gotta get
things at the Sleeping Lady under control first, but yeah. Maybe next year?”
“Sure, sure.” Lance glanced out
at the twisted array of silty gray rivers and hundreds upon thousands of lakes
and ponds that made up the Matanuska-Susitna Valley. “So my brother made me
promise to tell you about the kinds of guys that live out here. Most of ‘em
are out here for a reason, you know what I mean?”
Blaze tried not to groan. She
had heard this rant before, from Candy, from her mom, her Econ professor, and
just about every other woman who’d ever spent any amount of time out in the
Bush. “I’ll be fine,” she said. “Hell, any idiot decides to get frisky, I
could probably just bench-press him and he’ll back off.” Not exactly the
happiest truth of her existence, but by sheer luck of the draw, Blaze was more
‘manly’ than most of the nerdy men she’d shared her Business classes with.
Lance chuckled. “Okay, sure.
But just watch out for the crazies.”
“What kind of crazies?” Blaze
asked, frowning.
Lance shrugged. “I dunno. Bruce
wanted me to say that. Made me promise to say, ‘Just watch out for the
crazies.’ I think he was on NyQuil or something.” He yawned and checked his
watch. “Man, you never really appreciate how much sunlight Alaska’s got in the
summer ‘til you gotta fly to the Lower 48 a few times a week. Really puts
things into perspective.”
“Crazies?” Blaze insisted. “Have
there been burglaries or something?”
Lance laughed. “In the
Bush
?
Hell, they all leave their keys in their 4-wheelers out there. Most places
don’t even have locks. Who’s gonna burgle them? The
moose
?” he
chuckled, shaking his head. “Nah, I think he was talking more about one guy in
particular, but I’m not gonna name names.”
“Who is it?” Blaze demanded.
“Jack Thornton,” Lance said.
“But I heard you hired the guy as your handyman, so you’re kinda screwed.”
Blaze felt a spasm of panic,
since most of her long-term goals depended on Jack Thornton
not
being
crazy. “What’s wrong with Jack?”
Lance laughed again. “Oh, well,
you mean aside from a really bad attitude?” He turned and grinned at her,
paying absolutely no attention to the air in front of him. “Well, on one of
those stops for coffee at the Sleeping Lady, Jack swam out to our plane, grabbed
Brucey by the back of the head and dunked him under the lake a few times.
Called him a ‘prissy flyboy’ or something like that. Bruce kinda still
remembers it. Brucey’s big, but he said the guy’s got gorilla-strength.”
Blaze’s mouth fell open. All she
could say was, “What?”
Lance shrugged. “You want my
opinion, this was back when Bruce had just got his wings and was still being a
cocky asshole to everyone. Jack was out fishing and Bruce parked on his hole.
On purpose. Then demanded to know what Jack was gonna do about it. So yeah.
I think Brucey had it coming.”