Paradise Burning (41 page)

“
You wish to go to jail? Good!” Misha
spat at Karim. “Women are everywhere and pimps like you, Shirazi,
as well. You are no longer needed.” He gestured to Yuri. The two
men backed away, climbing into the Buick. Mandy heard several of
the girls wail, but Karim’s discipline held. The girls did not
move. Wheels spun. The big car with only two passengers plunged
forward into the smoke.

Mandy saw Karim’s gaze flick toward the
Buick’s trunk, toward his suitcase, the boxes with his papers, the
pillowcases stuffed with colorful bedding and fancy pillows. An
infinitesimal shrug. Another piece of his life, lost forever.

At the moment, survival was all. Here they
were, Mandy thought, twelve people on foot in the midst of an
almost solid ring of fire . . . with smoke searing their lungs,
stinging their eyes, obscuring their vision. Hot embers and
blackened cinders growing thicker, raining down, the roar of the
fire beast growing louder by the minute . . .

Okay, Amanda Armitage had a resilient
spirit—she’d proved that, hadn’t she? If she could survive what
life had already dealt her, she wasn’t about to be bested by Mother
Nature’s aberrant behavior.

Mandy turned her eyes south. To the
wonderfully, blessedly, beautifully pitch black south.

Peter shoved the AirLite into the side pocket
of his khakis. “Come on,” he urged, “the river’s our only
chance.”

Karim’s eyes lingered on Peter’s pants
pocket, then raised them to a leisurely examination of Mandy. “I
wish you joy of your wife, Mr. Pennington,” he pronounced. “She is
a most unusual woman.”

But not someone you’d ever want to meet
again, Mandy thought, irony flaring to anger as she intercepted
another one of those man-to-man looks as Karim handed Peter a
flashlight.

“
You okay, Mandy?” Peter asked. “I’m
afraid some of the girls are going to need help.”

“
Sure,” she asserted, chin jutting
forward.

“
Come!” Karim ordered. After an
assessing glance at Nadya, he grabbed the still-sobbing Anya by the
arm and started back down the road toward the house. Peter and
Grisha did the same for Belita and Mila who seemed to be frozen to
the road. Mandy, Nadya and the four remaining girls fell into a
fast-paced walk behind Karim and Peter. Grisha, hanging onto Mila
with one hand and the Mac-10 with the other, fell back in
traditional military style to cover the rear. Mandy couldn’t help
but wonder if the young Russian thought he could annihilate the
fire monster at their backs with a spray of bullets. At the
opposite end of the straggling line, Karim propelled Anya forward
with a combination of physical force aided by the fact she seemed
to be more frightened of him than she was of the fire. Once again,
she was hysterical, her cries soaring above the eerie sucking sound
of the fire.

The smoke grew worse. Glowing embers floated
menacingly among the cinders and ash that drifted down, almost as
thick as a Boston mist. Mandy coughed, eyes gritty, streaming with
tears. In front of her she could see the other girls rubbing at
their foreheads, cheeks and eyes, slapping at embers that touched
their clothes. Mandy wiped away a rivulet of sweat that dripped
into her right eye. Was the fire as close as the intense heat made
it feel? Or was what they were feeling nothing more than sheer
terror? Even with a person as soulless as Misha there might have
been a chance for reason . . . the possibility she and Peter could
plead for their lives. But with the incandescent monster raging
behind them there was no bargaining. No reasoning.

Their only hope was escape.

A terrifying roar split the night over their
heads. Karim and Peter hit the ground; several of the women
screamed and fell to their knees. Mandy and Grisha, who had no
combat experience, merely turned up their faces in surprise.

“
It’s the fire chopper,” Mandy shouted
over the receding noise. “The Bambi bucket was so close it nearly
hit that pine over there.”

“
Bambi bucket?
”
Karim echoed, scowling ferociously as he dusted himself up off.
Anya was sitting on the ground, heels kicking into the sand,
decibels rising.

“
A huge bucket suspended on a line
below the chopper,” Mandy explained. “Full of water. They’re
probably trying to save the homes north of here. That bucket looked
big enough to drown a whole house on one pass.”

“
Do you think . . ., ” Peter began,
then stopped, eagerness fading. “We can’t wait,” he said. “Even if
they had a chopper without a bucket attached all ready and waiting,
we can’t wait while they try to find us in all the smoke. The
river’s not more than a couple hundred yards away. We don’t have a
choice. We’ve got to go for it.”

“
Agreed.” Karim, His patience at an
end, dragged Anya to her feet, striding down the road at a pace
that tolerated no weakness. Several groans were heard as the weary
refugees tagged after him.

The old house sat dark and silent—even Anya
was momentarily quiet. But as they approached, one of the many
embers sparking the night air failed to flicker and die. A cluster
of dry pine needles littering the roof glowed briefly, then burst
into life, flames licking at the shingles, swiftly spreading down
into the resinous needles filling the rain gutters. Screams and
sobs from several others joined Anya’s piercing howl. Karim paused
just long enough to deliver a blow that snapped off the Russian
girl’s scream in mid-wail. The night fell abruptly silent. The only
sounds to be heard were the hiss and crackle of the fire taking
hold on the old house, and in the distance the dull roar of the
fires to the east and north, moving inexorably toward them.
Doggedly, the three men and nine women moved along the side of the
burning house and into the backyard.

By the time Karim found the head of the
footpath through the dense smoke, the growing flames eating at the
roof almost made the flashlights unnecessary. Ahead of them all was
dark with no sign of fire. As they entered the narrow trail, Peter
dropped back to anchor the middle of the single-file line. He
motioned Mandy to a place in front of him while keeping a tight
hold on Belita whom he dragged behind him. The Mexican girl
suddenly shrieked and jumped up and down, her cries echoing against
Anya’s renewed hysterical screams. A rustling shook the underbrush
around them. Gasps, yelps of fear wavered up and down the line,
which ground to a shuddering halt as they became aware the night
was alive around them. Creatures—large and small, four-footed or
slithering—were, like themselves, plunging toward the safety of the
river.

“
Hang on. Keep moving!” Peter ordered.
Mandy gave the girl in front of her a push, propelling her forward.
Nadya, Elena, Tama, Felicidad and Kai also came to life. Grisha and
Mila were still bringing up the rear. There wasn’t anyone, men
included, who didn’t gasp, swear, or cry out as some creature
brushed by their legs or, worse yet, something unidentifiable was
ground under foot.

A hundred feet to the river.

A hundred feet of raccoons, rabbits and
rattlesnakes. Scurrying lizards, waddling armadillos, squirrels,
possums, the snarl of a bobcat, the barreling crash of a wild boar.
When they reached the small clearing along the river, the only
light besides the two flashlights was from the stars overhead, yet
the grassy ground seemed to move beneath their feet. Ignoring the
parade of creatures heading full tilt toward the promising Ark of
the river, the twelve refugees broke into a run. A few of the girls
collapsed onto Nadya’s palm trunk, but most teetered on the river’s
edge staring in hope and fascination at the blessed darkness
directly across the river. And to the south toward Calusa
Campground.

But northwest, toward Amber Run . . . Peter’s
heart soared. Also darkness. Suddenly, a long narrow stream of
flame erupted on the far bank. A startled exclamation broke through
Karim Shirazi’s customary cool.

“
Flamethrower,” Peter told him.
“Firefighters here use them to create firebreaks.”

“
It looks like the fire’s out at Amber
Run,” Mandy commented hopefully.

Peter nodded, unwilling to voice what he was
thinking. If a house the size of his had burned, it would still be
blazing, the flames easily visible from where they were standing.
But somehow it seemed too much to hope, let alone say out loud.

“
So . . .,” Karim pronounced. “Any
suggestions, Pennington?”

Before them the dark waters of the Calusa
teemed with residents of the woods and pastureland to the east. It
took very little imagination to picture the alligators staging a
feeding frenzy with these unexpected additions to their menu. Not
to mention the danger from all the short-tempered snakes slithering
out of the woods, down the banks, and into the cooling waters of
the river.

Mandy slapped at something hitting her
jacket, realizing too late it was a particularly large ember, a red
hot spore eager for fresh fuel. Almost as one, the dozen refugees
turned and looked back toward the house. It was fully ablaze, the
woods around it beginning to flame up. To the east, the flames were
much closer, a fiery whirlwind moving fast. Not far away, the
reverberating roar of an explosion momentarily obliterated the
ominous crackle and hiss of the fire.

A fresh outbreak of screams and sobs. Peter’s
eyes met Karim’s. The Buick or the van?

“
Van,” Karim intoned. “The Buick should
be farther away by now.”

“
If there were no more trees
down.”

A curt nod. “Suggestions?” Karim
repeated.

Mandy took another look downriver. The only
light was from the trailers and RVs dotting the woods at Calusa
Campground. Obviously, no one would sleep tonight. But there was no
fire. To the south both sides of the river were clear. Mandy
jumped, sucking in her breath as an indigo snake whispered past her
toe, plunged into the water. There was no way . . . absolutely no
way she was going to swim the river.

She picked her way across the uneven
ground until she was standing where Karim could clearly see her
take her cell phone out of her jacket pocket.
Didn’t search me, ha! Though I was useless, ha!
For a moment Mandy glared into his dark eyes before selecting
the number she needed. “Glenda, this is Mandy. I need help.
Fast.”

“
The police will be waiting?” Grisha’s
round face, hovering above Mandy’s shoulder, was solemn.

“
I doubt it,” Mandy assured him.
“Glenda—the woman I called—knows nothing about the situation. Only
that we need help.” Immediate help. The FBI could wait. She could
have called the FBI, she realized, but retribution could wait.
Right now the important thing was staying alive. And that was
something Glenda could organize faster than the FBI, of that Mandy
had no doubt.

Grisha nodded and turned away, his
still-troubled face betraying his skepticism. Mandy didn’t blame
him. The young guard was facing reality better than she. If Glenda
called 911 . . .

If the FBI failed to be their usual secretive
selves and told the police what was going on . . .

Worst case.
Worst case?
Had the fire fried her brain? Why
should she care what happened to Karim and Grisha? They were the
enemy. Bad guys. Talk about Nadya! Now she was the one suffering
Stockholm Syndrome with a vengeance.

But Grisha was a young man who might learn
from this night of terror. Might consider another line of work . .
. And Karim? Karim wanted out. Of that Mandy no longer had any
doubts. So the phone call to Doug Chalmers would be later rather
than sooner, the fire ample excuse for her forgetfulness.

Karim and Grisha had moved slightly
apart from the group, two dark silhouettes behind an amorphous
curtain of smoke. No doubt discussing the
what next w
hen they moved from momentary heros
back to wanted men.

Suddenly, they broke apart, running to stamp
out a flame that flared at the edge of the clearing. The fire was
closer, the flames from the old cracker shack spreading to the
woods surrounding the footpath, forcing the three men to keep
constant watch, rushing to eradicate glowing embers before the
flames could spread into the clearing.

The helicopter was back, thrumming loudly,
the huge bucket dangling on a long line, as it once again rushed to
the defense of the small cluster of homes east of the river.

“
There!” Grisha’s sharp eyes were
focused downriver where a johnboat—two, no, three—were poking their
bows out from the pall of smoke that was beginning to obscure the
river, even to the south. The men in the center seats were pulling
at the oars as if on the final stretch of a sculling race. Tears
sprang to Mandy’s eyes. She doubted there was a man in Calusa
Campground under sixty, but in a matter of minutes Glenda had found
three willing to charge to the rescue. Mandy could only pray it
didn’t kill them.

She could almost hear Doug Chalmers
roaring: “You did what?”
Sorry, FBI, but
three seniors with rowboats are our best way out of this
mess
.

With only one tree providing a convenient
root system for a handhold, the boats had to be loaded one at a
time. Peter, Karim and Grisha formed a line down the slippery bank,
handing the girls—most still clutching their pillowcases—into the
boats. Mandy and Nadya hung back, determined not to leave until
their men did. It quickly became apparent there wasn’t room for all
of them in the three tiny aluminum boats. Either the boats would
have to make a second trip or those left behind were going to have
to swim the river after all.