Birthright

“I see which has your vote.”
    “Dolan and Bill were both alone. If whoever’s out there is looking to repeat the performance, he’ll have to deal with two of us.”
    “All right.” He reached down, pulled a knife out of his boot and had Callie’s eyes widening.
    “Jesus Christ, Graystone, when did you start carrying?”
    “Right after somebody shot at me. We stay together. Agreed?”
    “Absolutely.”
    He picked up a flashlight as they rose. “Got your cell phone on you?”
    “Yeah, in my pocket.”
    “Keep it handy. He’s moving east. Let’s give him something to think about.”
    Jake switched on the light, aimed it at the oncoming beam. As that beam turned fast and wide to the west, both he and Callie rushed forward. They swung around the edge of the dig, toward the bank of the pond where the trees began their stand.
    “He’s heading toward the road.” Instinctively Callie veered in the same direction. “We can cut him off.”
    They plunged into the trees, following the bounce of the beam. She leaped over a fallen log, pumped her legs to match Jake’s longer stride.
    Then cursed as he did as the beam they chased switched off.
    He held up a hand to signal silence.
    She closed her eyes, concentrated on sounds. And heard the fast slap of feet on ground. “He changed directions again.” She pointed.
    “We’ll never catch him. He’s got too much of a lead.”
    “So we just let him go?”
    “We made our point.” Still, Jake shone his light back and forth. “Stupid for him to be out here with a light to begin with. A moron could figure one of us would spot it.”
    Even as he said the words, the import of them struck both of them. “Oh shit,” was all Callie said as she spun on her heel and began to race back.
    Seconds later, the first explosion split the air.
    “The trailer.” Jake watched the tongue of flame shoot skyward. “Son of a bitch.”
    Callie came out of the trees at a dead run, thinking only of reaching the fire extinguisher in her car. Her body hit the ground with an impact that jarred bones as Jake fell on top of her.
    Even as she tried to lift her head, Jake shoved it down again, shielded it with his arms. “Propane!” he shouted.
    And the world exploded.
    Heat swooped over her, a burning hand that seared her skin and stole her breath. Through the ringing of her ears she heard something scream by and crash into the ground. Tiny points of flame showered down like rain.
    Debris followed, spraying the air like shrapnel, thudding to the ground in twisted, flaming balls.
    Her mind, gone numb, snapped back to alert when she felt Jake’s body jerk.
    “Get off, get off, get off!” She bucked, rolled, shoved, and still he kept her trapped under him.
    “Stay down. Just stay down.” His voice was raw and terrified her more than the explosion or the burning rain.
    When he finally rolled away, she shoved up to her knees. Smoldering wreckage lay scattered around them, and what was left of the trailer burned madly. She leaped toward Jake as he tore off his smoking shirt.
    “You’re bleeding. Let me see how bad. Are you burned? Jesus, are you burned?”
    “Not much.” Though he wasn’t entirely sure of that. But the searing pain in his arm was from a gash, not from burns. “Better call nine-one-one.”
    “You call.” She wrenched the phone out of her back pocket. Put it in his hand. “Where’s the flashlight? Where’s the fucking flashlight?”
    But by the red light of the fire, she could see the wound in his arm would need medical attention. She crawled around him to study his back, running her trembling fingers over it.
    Scratches, she told herself. Just some scratches andsome minor burns. “I’ll get the first-aid kit out of the Rover.”
    She scrambled up, tore off in a run. Calm, she ordered herself as she yanked the door open. She had to be calm, stop the bleeding, give the wound a field dressing, get him to the ER.
    She couldn’t afford to go into shock, so she wouldn’t.
    But she remembered how he’d shielded her head with his arms. Her body with his body.
    “Stupid, macho bastard.” She swallowed a sob, grabbed a bottle of water and ran back.
    He was sitting where she’d left him, the phone in his hand as he stared at the trailer.
    “Did you call?”
    “Yeah.” He said nothing more as she dumped water on the gash.
    “You’re going to need stitches,” she said briskly. “But we’ll get a field dressing on this. You’ve got some burns, but they