Minutes to Burn

The door down the corridor opened and two guards approached, flanking a young, clean-shaven law officer. Savage noticed the khaki uniform as the officer drew nearer and realized he was a Montana Park Ranger. The three men paused outside Savage's cell.

"William Savage?" the park ranger asked. Savage stared back at him.

"Yup, that's him," Fin shouted. "That's him I bet."

"I'm Ranger Walters. You're coming with me."

Savage studied the stains on the ceiling. "Where to?"

"You let me worry about that." Walters signaled one of the guards to unlock the door. He started to slide it open, but Savage pulled it shut with a bang.

"Thanks," Savage said. "But I prefer to do my own worrying."

"Oh man, buddy!" Fin groaned. "You gonna take that? You gonna take that from this shitty-ass bastard?"

Walters tried to appear calm, but Savage saw the corners of his jaw flex out. "All right, fine. We can just leave you in there." He stepped back and crossed his arms, evidently quite pleased with himself.

Savage raised his hand, formed a gun, and aimed it at the empty air of his cell. "Bam!" he said. "I just killed your hostage." He spread his arms and turned around once, slowly. "I like it in here. Got my three squares a day, john in the corner, view of the sky. You gonna threaten me with something, you'd better make it something good. And until then…" Savage sat on the floor, Indian-style. He raised his eyebrows until they almost disappeared beneath the line of his bandanna.

Walters opened his mouth, then closed it. He uncrossed his arms.

Fin burst into a wheezing laugh, spraying the floor with saliva. "Oh fuck, buddy. Oh man, this guy's askin' for it. For a good beatin', like the kind-"

"Shut up!" Walters barked.

Fin covered his mouth with a hand, his face turning red as he theatrically held in his laughter.

Walters turned to one of the guards. "Shut him up. Now."

The guard banged his baton against the bars of Fin's cell, and Fin held out his arms, spreading his hands. "Hey buddy, no problem. You want quiet, all you gotta do is-"

The guard drew back his baton again as if to strike, and Fin shut up. He pretended to zip up his mouth. He crossed his cell and threw the imaginary key in the toilet. He flushed the toilet. He busted a fat grin like this was the funniest thing he'd ever seen.

Walters turned back to Savage, a pulse beating in his temple.

"Now," Savage said calmly. "Like I said. Where to?"

No sound save the dripping water somewhere down the dim moldy corridor. Walters pulled his head to one side, as if to relieve a kink in his neck. "Sacramento."

Savage still refused to rise. "Why?"

Walters's jaw flexed again. Savage leaned back on his hands, kicking his legs out in front of him. With effort, Walters relaxed his face. He didn't raise his voice, but he still conveyed anger by shaping his words into hard, compact syllables. "Briefing on a mission. The details are confidential."

"There now," Savage said, standing up. "That wasn't so hard."

The guard slid the door open, and Savage stepped into the corridor, brushing the dirt from his sleeves.

"That's it?" Fin shrieked. "You're gonna let him go? Whaddaya mean a mission? I could fight a mission. I could fight a mission better than this weasel. You should hear him moan during push-ups. Like a bitch. Just like a-"

As Savage passed Fin's cell, he reached through the bars, bunching Fin's shirt in his fist. With a sudden sharp movement, he recoiled his arm, jerking Fin's head forward into the bars. Fin buckled and went limp in his grasp. Savage released him and stood facing both guards and Walters obediently before the clang had finished echoing up the corridor. Fin slumped to the ground, bent awkwardly over his legs. The two guards glanced at each other, then back at Savage, but Savage remained perfectly still, his arms at his sides, wearing an expression of total compliance.

Behind him, Fin's body shifted, his torso tilting over onto the floor. He began to draw air in slow, rasping breaths.

"Well," Savage said, gesturing down the narrow corridor. "Shall we?"

"Confidential, huh?" Savage rolled a cigarette from one side of his mouth to the other, leaning back out of the open door of the camouflage Blackhawk so he could feel the cold wind whipping across his face.

His foot rested on one of the skids, still covered only with a sock. "Must be important for them to pull me out of the clink."

Walters snickered. "Yeah, they only use felons on missions of the utmost importance."

"I can imagine I'm probably a distant second to someone with real military training. Like, say, a park ranger."

Walters didn't reply.

Savage toed the small mound of supplies Walters had loaded in the back of the helicopter-rope, canteens, climbing gear. "We've been heading northwest for a while now. Last I remembered, Sacramento was due south of Billings."

"Your briefing's not until tomorrow A.M. I'm just in charge of picking you up and dropping you off. I have a mission of my own here in the meantime."

"Helo shortage?"