Page 70 of Burnin' For You
“Do you have a cell phone?” Reuben yelled.
“It doesn’t work up here. But we have a shortwave, handheld.”
“I’m with the forest service—can I use it to report the fire?”
They climbed up the steps as Reuben used the fire finder and the smoke from the Davis Canyon fire to line up his best guess of the crash site.
Then he pinpointed Gilly’s location.
The man reached the top, breathing easy. His dark hair curled out from his biking helmet, and with his lean, toned body, could probably bike for miles without stopping.
He looked at Reuben—bloody, filthy, sweaty—and stopped in the doorway. “You all right, man?”
“No,” Reuben snapped. “I’m a smokejumper, my plane went down yesterday, I have two team members dying, one already dead, and my girlfriend”—yes, he said it—“is in the path of that fire.” He pointed to the closest blaze.
The man just stared at him, then handed him his radio. “I’m not sure what range you’ll get—”
Then Reuben’s brain, for what seemed like the first time in his life, went blank. The emergency frequency simply slipped from his mind. Like butter, he couldn’t get a grip on it.
But, in the space came the sudden recollection of Brownie’s words—Patrick had a portable radio. And wasn’t it Brownie’s suggestion to use the emergency frequency?
Which meant if Patrick were smart, he’d be listening to the fire service line.
The only thing Reuben latched onto was a memory of the frequency listed on Conner’s box. He turned to that frequency, listened.
“CQ, this is an emergency call to WB6KHP from…” He paused, then decided to break a few rules. “Reuben. Conner, you there?”
He waited, listening. Then again. “This is an emergency call to WB6KHP. Conner, come in.”
He knew any legitimate ham operator out there would be cringing, but he didn’t have time—or inclination—to care. He moved to the window, watching the smoke.
“I have binoculars—”
“Marshall, this is WB6KHP.”
Conner’s response through the line made Reuben brace his hand on the table, his knees turning liquid.
“Where are you?” Conner said. “We lost you on radar after takeoff. Sent in two planes—we can’t find you.”
“We went down just southeast of Davis Canyon, about nine clicks from Pete Creek, between Mushroom and Black Top.” And this was why he’d called Conner. Because if Patrick were listening on the emergency frequency, he’d be heading exactly for his team’s position.
“Roger that.” Conner’s voice betrayed no shock, but he imagined his friend’s jaw tightening. “Sit rep?”
“Two injured, one casualty.” He paused and then added, “Cliff O’Dell. We need aerial extraction. Call in PEAK Rescue.”
“Roger.”
Static on the line, then. “What is your position?”
“Garver Mountain Lookout Tower. We—Gilly and I—hiked out. We need a pickup on Forest Road 338 near the Pete Creek crossing.”
“Roger that, on our way.”
Reuben closed his eyes, refrained from addinghurry.
He handed the radio back to the man.
“Jim Rudini,” the man said. “That’s my girlfriend, Darcy.”