Carlos’s heart clenched. The north draw was a box canyon. If the fire was circling, it meant the oxygen was being sucked out. They had maybe ninety seconds.
“The rest of you, deploy your shelters here,” Carlos ordered. “Diego and I are going back.” double trouble hotshots
“Double Trouble, fall back to the black!” Incident Commander Reyes—Carlos, the older by seven minutes—barked into the radio. His voice was calm, the calm of a man who had stared down infernos for a decade. Carlos’s heart clenched
“Negative, Sasha,” Carlos replied. “That’s a suicide stand.” They had maybe ninety seconds
They slammed the metallic tents into the scorched soil. Four bodies, two sets of twins, huddled inside the shimmering heat-reflective fabric as the firestorm passed over them. The sound was apocalyptic—a freight train of rage. The air grew thin. The heat was a living thing, trying to pry the shelters open.