Free High Desert Barbecue by J. D. Tuccille Page A

Probably. I have a strong feeling they’re a little ticked off about the visit we paid them.”
    H e shrugged.
    “ I just hope they’re not too much better prepared than we are for this little adventure.”
     

Chapter 23
     
     
    “ OK. So, does anybody else have a rain jacket?”
Nobody responded, leaving Terry as the only member of the group with his hand in the air. After a quick glance around his ring of teammates, he dropped it to his side.
    “ I think Tim has a poncho,” Terry finally offered.
    J ason just glared in response; the comment didn’t deserve anything else.
    “ Well, that’s a big help,” Ray barked. “Maybe he can use it to protect himself from the fire. You know, instead of the Nomex coats that somebody left back in the forest.”
    J ason flushed. He wasn’t entirely sure that leaving their fire-resistant gear in a neat pile near the spot where they’d encountered the stranger was entirely his fault, but he was in charge. Well, sort of. He was the one taking the blame anyway.
    R ay seemed to stare wistfully down the road in the direction Tim had disappeared to meet up with a truck and equipment sent by Van Kamp and Greenfield. Terry, Bob and Rena’s gaze followed. Jason was happy to note that Samantha’s eyes stayed on him.
    “ Well, what’s done is done. Tim is on his way to the mouth of Sycamore Canyon. He’ll head off the people ahead of us in case we can’t catch up with them.”
    A fter a pause, he added, “I’m sure he’ll be just fine.”
    R ay muttered something.
    “ What’s that?”
    “ I said we should have given him some barbecue sauce.”
    J ason’s lips tightened, but he didn’t bother answering. Instead, he hoisted his daypack to his back and made a show of buckling the sternum strap that kept the shoulder straps from slipping too far apart. The light pack settled into place easily—a testament to the small load he’d packed in anticipation of a casual day of pyromania. Then he lifted his rifle from the ground, feeling a little off-balance from the unaccustomed weight of the M-16 gripped in his right hand.
    “ All right people. The tracks go in this direction. So let’s get going.” He stepped toward the Kelsey trailhead.
    F ollowing his lead, the others donned their own packs and lifted the weapons they’d off-loaded from the trucks before abandoning the vehicles and their empty gas tanks to the advancing fire.
    H anging back so he could bring up the rear, Ray grabbed the rifle from Rena’s hands and gave it a quick inspection.
    “ You sure you know how to use this?”
    R ena glared at the crewcut park ranger, then abruptly grabbed at the rifle. Ray dug in his heels and pulled back. A silent tug-of-war ensued, punctuated by soft grunts. His boots leaving visible tracks in the dirt, the ranger lost ground inch by inch.
    “ Hey man,” Bob said, stepping between the antagonists. “Leave her alone.” The wispy beard dangling from his chin wagged as he spoke.
    R ay glared at the floral supremacist—a wasted gesture with his eyes hidden behind his shades.
    “ No, really. I think she can take you. And she’s good with that rifle.”
    R ay let go of the rifle, sending Rena sprawling in the dirt. He flexed his fingers to pump blood back into the strained digits.
    “ Good with a rifle? Where in hell did she learn to operate an M-16?”
    “ Everybody at the Center gets weapons training. It’s part of why we were assigned to the team.”
    “ No shit?”
    R ena rose from the ground with the gun in hand. She brushed dust from her breasts and shorts with her free hand.
    “ I practice all the time,” she said, spitting the words along with a few pine needles.
    “ On what?”
    “ Cattle mostly. Sometimes SUV dealerships or-“
    R ay tugged his sunglasses down his nose and peered at the squat environmentalist with unobstructed eyes.
    “ You shoot cows ?”
    R ena sniffed and turned away.
    “ Hey man,” Bob whispered. “They eat those beautiful desert