Free Wildfire by Roxanne Rustand

while Josh made his way across the parking area.
    By the time he made it to the door, he knew the dog’s agitation was for real. And the second he stepped into cool shadows of the building, he knew way.
    Halfway down the aisle, Gus was sprawled on the concrete, face down.
    And he wasn’t moving.

     
    “I swear, she’s gone—and so’s the old lady. I saw them both leave. We gotta get movin’ while we can.” The man hung back in the shadows of the tall pines near the house. “You in, or are you out?”
    “What about the old guy? What if he’s in there?”
    “He don’t go in the big house ’cept to eat, and it ain’t dinnertime. He and the old lady live in the east end of the bunkhouse. He’s probably nappin’, with the boss gone.”
    The smaller man fidgeted. “But what if—”
    “Have I been wrong yet?”
    “And that new guy—the one on crutches. What if—”
    “You think I can’t take out someone on crutches? Anyways he hasn’t come outside in two days, far as I can tell.”
    “Maybe we oughta move to that side of the house—so we can keep an eye out for him.”
    “And risk being seen? What are you, stupid?” Swearing under his breath, the bigger man crouched down and reached behind him to adjust the gun and holster hidden at the small of his back. “We’ll be in and out in three minutes, tops. Now shut up .”
    Swiftly scanning the clearing, he ran to the back of the house, tested the screen door, then pulled out a knife and sliced the screen. He reached inside and unlocked the door.
    Listened.
    Then moved inside, with his companion right behind him. “You know what we gotta do. Right?”
    Without looking over his shoulder, the bigger man crept into the depths of the house until he found the first floor office. Signaling his buddy, he then tore into the desk. The file drawers. Checked behind the pictures on the wall.
    He found what he needed in the depths of a closet, behind a stack of boxes. “Got it,” he said. “Now let’s get outta here—”
    They both froze.
    The faint, discordant sound of sirens drifted through the house—and they were coming closer.
    “You said there wasn’t no security in this place,” the shorter man snarled. “Guess you ain’t so smart after all.”
    “Really?” Reaching for the holster at his back, the tall one debated. Then he dropped his hand and turned away. Later, my friend. Later.
    He took a last look around and savored a surge of victory. Of vindication.
    And then he followed his buddy out of the house at a dead run.

EIGHT
    J osh had trained as an EMT during college, something that had come in handy more than once during his years as a photojournalist in war-torn countries in the Middle East.
    But that training had been almost fifteen years ago, he’d only kept up on CPR since then, and he’d certainly never tried to provide emergency medical care with an awkward cast on his leg and thirty sutures on his own belly.
    By the time the ambulance and patrol cars arrived, Gus was still unconscious and his heart beat was erratic, but at least he was breathing.
    Now, in the starkly lit emergency room of the tiny Wolf Creek Hospital—a place that was becoming entirely too familiar—he looked up at the sound of hurried footsteps and saw Tessa come around the corner, followed by an older woman with short-cropped silver hair.
    Tessa’s eyes widened at the sight of him, and he could’ve sworn that he caught a flash of fear in her expression. She hesitated, then set her jaw and dropped into the seat next to him. “How is Gus? Is—is he all right?”
    “They can’t really tell me anything. I’m not family. But Sofia got here a few minutes ago, and she’s with him right now. If a nurse comes by, maybe you can send a message back there.”
    “How did you get here?”
    “I…” He ducked his head. “Sort of borrowed Gus’s truck.”
    “You drove? In that cast?”
    “Lucky for me, it’s on my left leg, and the truck has an automatic