“Let’s get out of here,” he said, herding Sam and Mrs. Sam out ahead of him like stubborn steers. As they went down the hallway he slammed his fist on every door and wished he knew which ones were occupied and which ones were empty, but at each one he yelled, “Get the hell out now! The place is on fire!”

The three of them descended the stairs and were suddenly joined by guests from the other wing and Cody realized that the ringing in his head was from the fire alarms. The alarms bleated and emergency lights flashed in staccato everywhere. Overhead sprinklers suddenly hissed to life making flower-shaped showers that streamed down the walls and pattered on the carpets. The guests covered their heads against the water, and one woman said she was going back for her umbrella but her husband put a quick stop to that.

Cody was impressed by the lack of shouting or panic as barely clothed people of all ages streamed across the lobby. There were several sharp shouted curses, but most delivered by him.

As the people were herded toward the massive front doors, the hotel staff shouted and gestured for them to keep moving. From outside, sirens were whooping and Cody thought, Man, that was fast. Too fast. And he guessed whoever had lit up his room had called it in so there would be only one fatality.

In the river of guests headed toward the doors, under the interior lights that strobed in rhythm with the honking fire alarms, he searched for anyone who looked out of place. He didn’t remember kicking or seeing an empty can of lighter fluid in the hallway, so he searched the throng for anyone who might be holding a can or trying to hide one or someone fully clothed booking it toward a side exit. He saw no one that made his alarm bells go off.

He was outside in the instant chill before he thought to check out the hotel staff and emergency responders to see if one of them might be the guy who did it. There was already a fire truck in front of the hotel with firefighters pouring off it, and another coming down the drive.

When he turned to go back inside, a firefighter in heavy gear blocked his path and shooed him away. He dumped his pile of clothing and the remaining saddlebag.

“Let me back in,” Cody shouted at him, “I can help get people out.”

The firefighter, who had a wispy blond mustache and pale blue eyes under his helmet, said, “Now why would you want to do that? Now turn back around and go with the others. You’re blocking the door.”

“Let me by,” Cody said.

The firefighter shook his head. “Get back, sir. We’ve got this under control.”

Cody thought about guests who might have slept through the alarms who were now unable or unwilling to get out, and he thought of the burning bag of gear in his room.

“Let me in,” he said, trying to squeeze by the fireman in the doorway. “Look, I’m a cop. I can help in there.”

“Get with the others, now,” the fireman barked, inadvertently whacking Cody on his injured ear. The blow stunned him, froze him, the pain sharp and furious. His eyes teared again.

“Sorry,” the fireman said, “but I mean it. Get back with the others.”

The door filled with two other firefighters and a staggering night manager. Cody assumed they’d entered through the rear entrance, meaning there was another truck back there. The firemen were quizzing the manager: “Is that everyone? We need a count. We need to know if anyone’s still inside.”

The manager said, “I think so, I think so…”

“You better be right,” one of the firemen said.

The man who’d hit Cody gestured toward him, telling his colleagues, “This guy is a problem. He says he wants back in.”

Cody backed off.

He’d fought against his instinct to badge the guy and demand his way back in, but he remembered it had been taken away. And now that he was outside, he knew why his butt had felt the heat so much when he reached back and found the basketball-sized burned hole in his robe. He melded into the crowd, sidling around them so they wouldn’t look at his singed butt, and the more he thought about it the more he realized he was glad he hadn’t had access to his badge. He retrieved his clothing and the saddlebag and melded into the night.

20

“The water levels,” Jed said quickly in response to Tristan’s question. “I’ve been noticing every stream we’ve crossed is quite a bit higher than normal, almost like May or early June flows. The lake is higher than I’ve ever seen it this time of year as well. So if the water is high where we’re at, it’ll be a hell of a lot higher lower down in the Thorofare valley.”

Rachel Mina said, “Have you ever taken this new route before, Jed?”