The pressure wave from the explosion pushed John’s head painfully into the rough dirt and sent a spray of loose dirt down the wall. He could feel Lia’s fingernails digging into the flesh of his wrists.

A scream from above stopped any form of protest he could aim at Lia. He spun his head, scrapping his chin on the dirt, and craned to look up.

Carol was falling, a look of horror on her face as she watched the flames where she would land, her hands wildly scrabbling for purchase on the loose dirt.

Without thinking, John launched himself at Carol, the feel of Lia’s fingernails tracing furrows in his skin, lost in the surge of adrenaline.

He tackled Carol as she flew past; pinning her to the slope and wrapping an arm around her waist, the momentum of her fall swung them down to hang below the bush.

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Once more, John could feel the heat of the fire through his clothes. They had to move fast or Carol overcome by the heat and smoke. “Come on, crawl up my arm.” He shouted and for a second thought, Carol knocked unconscious by the abrupt halt.

With agonizing slowness, the woman reached back and grasped John’s shoulder for leverage, then turned to face uphill.

Her mouth set in a tight grimace, Carol worked her way up the slope using John as a rope.

Helicopters clattered overhead in a rush of sound, their rotor wash disturbing the smoke in the ravine.

John looked at Jim’s diminishing body and wondered briefly if Casey had been right. They would have taken an incredible risk and paid a heavy price if those men in the helicopters turned out to be murderers, not rescuers.

The fire flared again from the gust of fresh air; the heat hitting John a physical blow. He closed his eyes and tried to think of winter. “Hurry, Carol.”