Firestorm: Book III of the Wildfire Saga (54 page)

The man strode into the cabin and headed straight for the stove, trailing bits of snow from his coat.
 
He grunted and dropped a large pack to the floor in a splatter of snow and ice.

“Freeze!” Denny shouted.
 
The figure whirled to face Denny’s corner and spat a string of obscenities.
 
“Anse?”
 

“Denny?
 
Jesus,” replied the bear.
 
“You scared the
hell
out of me.
 
What are you doing here?”

Denny exhaled the breath he hadn't realized he’d been holding and lowered the revolver to point at the floor.
 
“I almost
shot
you!
 
You could have knocked or something…Christ!”

Anse laughed, a sound more fit for a medieval banquet hall than a small cabin in the woods of Idaho.
 
“Hell, it’s my cabin…didn’t think I needed an invitation.
 
You set that?” he asked, moving to the stove to warm his hands.

Denny sighed and got to his feet.
 
He left the revolver in the corner.
 
“Yeah, just now.”

Anse’s eyes, glittering in the stove’s light, peered out from a tangle of black beard and snow.
 
“What're you doing here?”

Denny stepped up next to his friend and put his hands near the stove.
 
“I don’t know.
 
I needed to think some things through.
 
I just started walking…when I realized it was about to snow again—”

“Again?”

Denny ignored the question.
 
“I found myself here.”

Anse looked him over.
 
“How long you been out in the woods?”

Denny shrugged.
 
“Since last night.”

Anse laughed again.
 
“You sure you’re not Eskimo?
 
Shit, Denny—no wonder you look half-frozen.”

Denny grunted and dipped his finger into the can of warming chili on the stove.
 
It wasn’t hot, but wasn't frozen either.
 
His stomach reminded him it didn’t particularly care at the moment.
 
He ate, holding the scalding can in a glove.
 
Anse rummaged in his pack and produced a spoon.
 

“Here, this might help.”

Denny muttered his thanks around a mouthful of meat-filled chili, the source of which he didn’t want to know.
 
He offered the half-eaten can to Anse, who waved him off.
 

“Don’t worry about it, I got more,” he said, motioning to his pack.

“Why are
you
here?” asked Denny after a few minutes.
 
He scraped the bottom of the can with his spoon.

Anse sighed.
 
“Well, with me being public enemy
numero uno,
it was past time to leave Salmon Falls.
 
Figured the storm would give me a little cover so I grabbed my go bag and high-tailed it.”
 
He took in Denny’s look and shrugged.
 
“Not much left at home anyway—I had some shit squirreled away so when Townsen’s boys raided my house they didn’t get
everything..
."
 
He sighed.
 
"Only option left was to up and leave.
 
So here I am.”

Denny looked had around the cabin.
 
The interior appeared decorated by a shipload of drunken sailors.
 
The battle had done Anse no favors.
 
“I can help you clean up…”

“You think I’m going to stay here?" Anse asked.
 
"No way in hell—Townsen knows this is my place and even though he thinks
you
killed his boy, he knows
I
gathered everyone here."
 
Anse shook his head, sending drops of melted snow flying everywhere.
 
"He won’t take long to figure out he’s going to want my head on a plate right next to yours.
 
I’ll stay here tonight, but come first light, I’m gone.”

“Where will you go?” asked Denny, suddenly very thirsty.
 
He looked at the empty can.
 
It would make a fine cup, so long as he didn’t put his lips too close to the rim.

“South, I think.
 
Anywhere, really—I just need to get the hell out of Salmon Falls.
 
This place is too messed up.
 
Maybe the whole world is too, but I figure there’s got to be somewhere that hasn’t just…you know, fallen apart.”

Denny walked over to the door, took a brief glimpse outside, then scooped up a can of snow and set it on the stove to melt.
 
"You can come back with me to the old ranger station tomorrow, if you want."

“That where you've been?”
 

Denny nodded.
 
“Next to U.P. Lake.
 
No one knows about it except me.”

“You sure there’s enough room?” asked Anse.

Denny watched the snow melt as the can heated.
 
“It’s fine.
 
I won’t be staying long.”

“Where are
you
going?” asked Anse, rubbing his hands before the stove.
 
He stomped his feet, shedding fresh clumps of slush on the floor.

“Back into town."
 
Denny stared at the stove.
 
"I have some unfinished business with Townsen.”

“You’re not going to surrender, are you?”

Denny looked at Anse and blinked.
 
“What are you talking about?”

“You haven’t heard, have you?”
 
Anse shook his head. “Townsen’s been on every frequency I can get.
 
He’s saying he’ll stop harassing everyone who refused to swear loyalty to Barron if you give yourself up.
 
He said he’d pardon everyone involved at the cabin, too.
 
Sounds like he wants to end this mess.
 
If you—”

"If I surrender."
 
Denny frowned, staring at the floor.
 
Surrender.
 
Ending the conflict.
 
Peace.
 
Denny let his thoughts float away from the cabin.
 
Could he really give himself up?
 
That was certainly something he hadn’t thought about before.
 
Townsen believed Denny shot Jeb and he wasn’t the kind of man to forgive and forget.
 

“Townsen was nothing but a redneck troublemaker before all this," Denny whispered.
 
"Irritating but mostly harmless.
 
Now though, he thinks he's some kind dictator—you think he’s really going to hand all that power over?”
 

“Yeah, I think it’s a trap, too,” muttered Anse.
 
He shrugged.
 
"If he asked
me
to give up a month or two from now, when I'm low on supplies…maybe.
 
But for now, I’ll take my chances out here.”

Denny frowned.
 
It would be so easy.
 
Just turn himself in, hope for mercy—failing that, a quick death.
 
At least he wouldn’t have to suffer a torn soul anymore or wake up screaming from nightmares about the men he'd killed and what kind of a monster he’d become.
 
Could become…
will
become.
 
Denny closed his eyes.
 

No
.
 
It was his thought, but he knew Red Eagle would agree.
 
To give up would be to insult the memory of John and Ruth Anderton, who’d given their lives trying to protect him.
 
To give up would shame everyone who’d suffered and died at the hands of John Townsen and his enforcers.
 
He looked down at his hands, the skin warm and coppery, glowing in the light of the stove.
 
His hands clenched into fists.
 

“I’ll go back into town…” muttered Denny.
 
“But I’m not going to surrender."

I am Shawnee.
 

C
HAPTER
43

Skye, Scotland.

Dunkeith Castle.

S
O
ALL
THIS
LAND
belongs to your family?”

Reginald smiled, exuding confidence. He regarded the delicate flower before him—Anna-Maria Brunner really was quite lovely, from the graceful curve of her porcelain neck to her marvelously toned bottom.
 
Of her legs, he could see little, just a hint of snow white skin around her ankles under the shimmering purple dress she wore.

“It’s a remarkable estate,” she said in her slightly accented English.

“I’m quite proud of it, yes,” said Reginald as he stepped up next to her and handed over a crystal tumbler.
 
"Drambuie.
 
The recipe was given to my family from the Bonnie Prince himself."

She nodded a gracious thanks.
 
"I had no idea your clan was so well connected with the Bloodline."
 
She peered closer at the map on the wall.
 
It was huge—a little ostentatious, even for him—in a gilded oak frame and hand drawn in 1907 for his 3rd great-grandfather.

He reached out to touch the southernmost border of the earldom.
 
“Right here, just across the Sound of Sleat—all this used to belong to us.
 
The MacDonalds sadly took it from us in a moment of weakness during the 18th century.
 
Clan warfare used to be quite vicious, you see.”
 
He took a sip of the honeyed whiskey and savored the warmth in his throat.
 
"I mean to take it back very soon."
 

Now that the Korean Flu had a strong foothold in Edinburgh, it would only be a matter of time before all of southern Scotland became infected.
 
The nearby MacDonald laird would be very willing to part with the annexed land for some vaccines.

The intercom buzzed.
 
"
My lord?
"

Reginald smiled at Anna-Maria and made his way to the panel.
 
"What is it, Stefan?
 
I thought I made myself clear we were not to be disturbed?"

"Apologies, my lord—but our scouts report several lorries approaching Keith from the south."

"Ah!" said Anna-Maria, "My men have arrived."

"Your men?" asked Reginald, hand still on the intercom button.

"Yes," she replied, "I brought my security detail with me—I hope you don't mind."

"Not at all," he replied.
 
"More the merrier, I say.
 
Stefan?"

"I shall pass word to the gatehouse to speed their arrival, my lady."

He hadn’t originally planned on that little acquisition, but Reginald never passed up golden opportunities.

“I noticed—and I hope you’ll forgive me if I’m a little forward—”

Reginald flashed a smile.
 
“Done—though I daresay I’d find King Tut strolling the streets of Inverness before I found fault with you, Anna-Maria.”

She smiled, a devilish glint in her eye, yet looked innocently on.
 
Reginald was impressed—the more he got to know Anna-Maria, the more he realized she could be the perfect match for him.
 

“It’s just I couldn’t help but notice parts of your estate are…rather…how shall I put it…?”

“Rough around the edges?” suggested Reginald.

“Yes!
 
Some rooms—like this one—are full of paintings, yet others appear almost…medieval.”

Reginald nodded as he led her over to a tapestry depicting a knight and hounds chasing a woman into the trees.
 
“Do you see the knight there, pursuing his lady?”

“Yes…she appears to have lost her gown…”

Reginald noted the slight color at the base of Anna-Maria’s neck and smiled.
 
“Indeed.
 
I keep this here to remind me of my quest to restore this modest estate to its former glory.
 
Sadly, like the rather immodest lady here,” he said gesturing with his glass, “my goal is always slightly out of reach.”

She turned to the left and spotted the next tapestry in the series where the knight, surrounded by trees and crude-looking fish at his feet, embraced the naked woman tenderly.
 
She cleared her throat politely and nodded at the weaving.
 
“And this?
 
What does this represent?”

“That is the opportunity that has presented itself.
 
The realization of my goal—my life’s work, you might say.”

She watched him with the most amazing green eyes flecked with cinnamon over the rim of her glass.
 

Reginald cleared his throat.
 
"Of course, there are other challenges I'm pursuing at the moment as well…"