Bleeding Green by Anne James

awning of the RV.
    Staying on the E Z-Go, Bill turned the key to off. “Hey, Rick, how’s it going?”
    Rick grinned at the young ranger. He liked this particular guy. Compared to some of the staff, Bill was easygoing, quiet and polite. “Not bad! Yourself?”
    The expected smile didn’t appear on Bill’s face. Instead he appeared worried. “Hey! Did you see Laurel today?”
    Rick leaned on his broom. He scratched his head of thick gray hair. “Yup, I did. Saw her walking to the bathhouse around lunch or maybe it was later. Figured she was just lookin’ things over. Why?”
    Bill looked through the pine trees to the restroom. He didn’t answer. After a few seconds passed, he drove over to the bathhouse. Shutting off the engine, he sat waiting and looking. He pushed the button on his radio. “Laurel, this is Bill.”
    Nothing. He felt a bit foolish. He got out of the vehicle and sauntered toward the building. He heard the faint jingle of a song. At first it didn’t register, but it kept repeating. When the thought penetrated his mind he stopped walking—a cell phone. He looked around and tried to locate the tinkling notes. He stared at the empty woods and picked up his pace toward the sound. It stopped. Bill continued forward. In the brown pine needles, he saw two black objects. One was the park’s Nextel phone that only the manager, assistant park manager, biologist and the park services specialist carried. His heart beat quickened as he picked up the black hard case with a Blackberry in it. Laurel’s phones!
    He turned in a 360-degree pivot. Everything seemed quiet and calm. As he reached for the radio that was hooked on his shoulder lapel, he froze. Bending over he picked up some pine needles. Blood. Dried blood. He ought to know what dried blood looked like as he had three small children of his own that were always banging their knees or some other part of their anatomy.
    He grabbed the radio off his shoulder as the hairs on his neck stood on end.
    “Boyd?” The urgent tone of his voice strangled the word.
    “Go ahead, Bill”
    Bill rolled his shoulders trying to loosen up. Why in the heck was his voice shaking! “Can you meet me at the high loop in the campground?”
    “Be right there.” Boyd’s deep voice eased Bill’s apprehension somewhat.
    “Bill copies.”
     
     

Chapter 11
     
     
    H is feet rooted to the earth, Bill Olson tipped his head back and stared at the blue November sky. The pine trees swayed as a soft blowing wind sighed through the needles. Good God! Where should he start? The pounding of his heart squeezed his throat. Breathe, dammit. Just breathe.
    Sweat beaded on his upper lip. Assess the situation. Part of his Fire Academy training jumped into his mind. The Briefing Checklist was on the back page. Risk Management—identify known hazards and risks. Identify control measures to mitigate hazards/reduce risk. He could see the black letters on the white page of the little yellow book: Incident Response Pocket Guide, small notebooks that all firefighters trained under the National Wildfire Coordinating Group (NWCG) were supposed to carry on their person while burning, whether a wildfire or a prescribed burn. His heart slowed. He wiped the sweat off his lip with the back of his hand. He scanned the area gathering information.
    About two hundred yards away, he saw the gray door of the chase. Looking behind him, he took a cautious step back. This gave him a better view through the pine trees. What was it about the door that kept pulling his gaze?
    Once more, he stared at the dark, bloody pine needles. Bending over he could see some darker spots a few feet away. He began following this faint trail. The blood droplets continued to the sidewalk outside the door.
    Opening the door to the chase, he flipped on the light switch by his left hand. At first the macabre scene made no sense. The horrific sight of Laurel lying on her left side bent backwards in an impossible position paralyzed him