Scorched to Ash Beneath the Blazing Sun novel · Chapter 1 of 24
Chapter 1: The Radio
Left on the sand while the team mocks her on the radio, Lorena refuses the system's offer to leave this world and crawls toward the road; the ranger who counted eight permits finds her.
At 2:10 the radio app on my phone started talking about me, and I could not reach it.
The phone was in my backpack, ten feet away, playing the group channel into the sand.
I was on my side with my cheek in the dirt and my braid stuck to my neck.
I had stopped sweating an hour ago.
"Lorena, babe, you're fine," Lance said.
His voice was easy and friendly, the one he used on the whole team.
"Callie is so upset she won't even drink anything now."
"You wore a hoodie in July, so you were never going to love the heat. Sit tight, you'll bounce back."
"I haven't had a sick day in three years. You catch everything. You always come through it."
At noon Lance had pulled the last electrolyte bottle out of my shaking hand and given it to Callie, because she said she felt faint.
Callie had drunk all of it.
Now she sniffled into the channel.
"Lance, don't be hard on her. This is my fault. I should have said no."
"Let me go back," she said. "I'll sit with her until she feels better."
"Your heel is raw," Lance said. "You're not walking anywhere."
"She'll catch up when she's finished sulking."
Somebody else laughed.
"She does this every time we go out."
I tried to say I was not pretending.
Only a dry click came out of my throat.
Then the voice spoke inside my head.
I had heard it twice before, three years ago, and never since.
[Host vitals critical. Departure command confirmed. World transfer in 30 minutes.]
Over the phone speaker, an engine rumbled up to the group.
Callie cried out in happy relief.
"It's a truck! It's the rescue rangers!"
A man's voice came through, deep and tired.
"Raptor Expedition Team? Ground temperature is a hundred and twenty-two out here. Why are you this far in?"
"We misjudged the forecast, sir," Lance said, in his respectful voice. "One of our women hurt her heel and she's overheating. Could you take her back first?"
"You registered eight hikers," the ranger said. "I count seven."
I stopped breathing.
"Oh, her," Lance said easily. "She dropped out this morning. Family thing."
Nobody else said a word.
Seven people stood in the sun and let him say it.
"All right," the ranger said slowly. "Ma'am with the heel, climb in."
Lance's voice dropped to a murmur, close to his phone.
"Lorena. I know you can hear this."
"Don't get on the channel while the ranger is here. You'll embarrass yourself."
"Walk back at your own speed. I'll buy you a steak tonight."
The truck doors shut.
The engine faded.
The channel went quiet except for a hiss.
I lay still and looked at the white sky.
It would be easy to go.
The pain would stop, and I would be out of this world and out of this body.
The voice spoke again.
[Departure may be cancelled by the host. Cancelling ends your contract. Target Lance Lyle will lose your protection.]
I knew what that meant.
I had known for three years.
I thought of Lance's easy voice saying seven.
I thought of his hand taking the bottle from mine.
He would be fine without me, and I wanted him to find out how.
So I said it inside my head, as clearly as I could.
Cancel.
Nothing changed in the sky.
My body still hurt.
But I was not leaving.
The road was a dirt service track just past the rise, maybe two hundred yards away.
I got my elbows under me.
I dug my fingers into the sand and dragged myself an arm's length.
Then another.
My nails tore and the sand stuck to the blood.
Lance had laughed at me when I bought the whistle.
It hung on a cord around my neck, under my hoodie.
I got it into my mouth at the top of the rise.
I blew three times.
The sound was thin and cracked.
I blew three more.
Far away, a truck door slammed.
Boots came crunching over the gravel, fast.
A man dropped down beside me with a canteen already open.
He had a ranger's khaki shirt and a sunburned neck.
"Don't talk," he said. "Small sips. I've got you."
He tipped the water to my mouth and poured a cold packet of salts into it.
"Brice Slade, county rescue," he said, and keyed his radio. "Medevac to mile marker nine, one female, heatstroke, conscious."
He wrapped a wet towel around my neck.
His hands were shaking a little.
"Ma'am, I was at the trailhead gate before I turned around," he said. "Eight permits signed, eight cars in the lot, and one of them is still parked."
"The man who said seven looked me in the eye while he said it."
"I count heads. It's the only thing I'm good for."
My lips cracked when I tried to speak.
"Lance Lyle," I whispered. "My boyfriend. He said I went home."
Brice's jaw tightened.
Then the voice spoke inside my head one last time.
[Departure cancelled. Contract ended. Target Lance Lyle is unprotected.]
I held on to Brice's sleeve.
"File your report," I told him. "But don't tell them I'm alive."
He looked at me for a long moment.
"Where are they now?" he asked.
"On their way to barbecue," I said. "They think I'm walking back to apologize."
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