8
Every inch of Taz’s body ached.
Because the only other “rested” aircraft presently on the fire had been a spotter plane, it was left to the hotshots to scout for survivors. The spotter had pinpointed the GPS coordinates of the wreckage. The helo had passed over the fire and crashed in the Black—the burned-over area behind any forest fire.
In her typical role as team scout, Taz had been sent looking.
No one else could cover rough terrain as fast as she could. Twice now, her life had depended upon her ability to cross hard desert. In DC, her one solace had been to run. In the Pentagon’s gym, in marathons, even ultramarathons. She rarely won—her career just hadn’t allowed her to train at the very top level—but she was rarely out of the top ten.
Most people thought her size was a disadv
