Fire

by Cadle, Lou

  “What’s she drive, a Toyota?”

  “Honda. Sedan. Five years old, one of those colors that’s not quite beige or gold. Somewhere in between.”

  “As far as I know, I didn’t see her. I was so focused on getting out, it’s possible my own mother could have been standing right next to me, and I’d have missed knowing she was there.”

  “I can imagine.”

  “Hell, the truth is, I might have run my mother down to get the eff out of there.” His mouth quirked. “Good thing she’s already dead. I don’t have to feel guilty knowing that’s probably true.”

  “We never know until we have to live through it ourselves. I wouldn’t judge you.”

  “No, you wouldn’t. And I probably wouldn’t have run her down. Might not have stopped for her, but would have swerved. Once we finally got moving, I wasn’t slowing down for anything or anyone. I had to get out of there.” He grimaced. “And then I realized I didn’t know where to go next.”

  They talked a few more minutes, but there were other people to talk to, so James begged off. “Thanks. I hope everything turns out for you.” James stood.

  “You going to rebuild?”

  “Not without Sylvia. Are you?”

  “Yeah. I like it up here. Despite everything. I like it.”

  “The trees are mostly still there,” James said. “Only the little crap burned, bushes and grass. And the houses.”

  “Are the trees still okay? That’s good to know.” He offered his hand to shake. Only then did James see it was bandaged. A burn, no doubt.

  Chapter 23

  James wandered around the shelter, looking for familiar faces. A surprising number of people were here. He’d think most people had relatives or friends to go to. But of course it wasn’t just the population of Pinedrops here, it was all the individual houses remotely located, the ones along the highway that were gone, others along various minor roads. A toddler ran into his leg, and James steadied him and made sure someone was looking after the kid, making eye contact with that person before moving on.

  Deputy Venita finished with whatever she’d been doing and made her way over to him. “Any luck yet?”

  “No. I’m running out of ideas too.”

  “You should get some sleep.”

  “I did, today.”

  “Oh, you’re wearing the same clothes and you smell like smoke.”

  “I put these clothes back on. Figured I’d just get smoky again, so....” He shrugged. “It might be too late to go out looking tonight. I guess tomorrow I can start hiking the area. Maybe she hiked out. Abandoned the car and just started walking.”

  “Take someone with you if you do that,” she said.

  “Okay,” James said, knowing he would not. “You holding up okay? You’ve been working a lot of overtime?”

  “Overtime is fine. It’s listening to people’s grief that’s hard.”

  “I apologize then, for adding to that burden.” He wasn’t being snarky. He meant it.

  She flushed. “Sorry for dumping on you. You’re the last person I should complain to.”

  “No, it’s okay. It means you’re human, that you get sad listening to upset people. That’s a good thing. I can tell that you actually care, and I imagine everyone else can who speaks with you.”

  “Has the sheriff called you about any unidentified victims?”

  “Just one. Sylvia didn’t have tattoos, so I didn’t have to look. I really don’t want to look.”

  “No, of course not.”

  “I really don’t want to look and have it be her.”

  “I know, I know.”

  James caught sight of a woman he knew. “Excuse me, I see someone I need to talk to.”

  “Good luck. I’m really praying for you.”

  “Thanks.” He moved off, trying to come up with the woman’s name. Daisey, that was it. Spelled oddly, he remembered.

  “Hi,” he said when he reached her. She had a number of bandages on her arms, and her face was dotted with some white ointment. “Looks like you had a close call.”

  She looked at him in confusion, and then her face cleared. “You’re Sylvia’s husband. Did she make it out okay?”

  He shook his head.

  “Oh no. I saw her turn around.” Her eyes were filling with tears.

  James realized what he’d said and how she’d taken it. “Wait. No, I don’t mean she is dead. But no one can find her. When did you see her last?”

  “In line to get out. We talked just after the tree came down blocking the road. She was a few cars behind me in the line out when we tried going the other way. The cars weren’t moving. She went up to see what the holdup was, and then came back to tell me. That’s the last I saw her.”

  It struck him that this might be the last person Sylvia had spoken to, ever. He hated her a little for that. But he was hungry for whatever she could tell him.

  “She was in her Honda?”

  “Her regular car, whatever that is.”

  “Dressed how?”

  “I didn’t notice. Normally, I think. Not dressed up. I did see she had her car packed with things. The back seat was full. Most of us had done the same.”

  “That’s good. Do you know for sure she was behind you? When you got out, did you see her on the highway? Which way she turned?”

  “No. The last time I saw her was when she stopped at my car window to explain what the holdup was. I saw her walking in my rearview mirror, but she was like a half-dozen cars behind me at that point, so I couldn’t see her car. I didn’t see her driving out on the highway, but I didn’t notice much by that point. I was so anxious to get out, and everything was on fire. It was dark too. Not night, but the smoke made it really dim. We all had headlights on. And at times, there was smoke down around me, and visibility wasn’t good.”

  “Ahh,” James said. He hadn’t really understood that. “Dark like now?” He pointed to the front windows. It was twilight.

  “Darker. Like it’ll be in fifteen or twenty minutes. It was crazy, the craziest thing I ever did see. And I don’t want to ever see it again.”

  “No. Who would?”

  “So you haven’t heard from her? Did you check her family, her friends, hotels?”

  “And hospitals and sheriffs. She’s on the official missing list. When you hear the number of missing, Sylvia’s one of them.”

  Either she’d just understood that, or just registered what it implied. “Oh. Oh.” Her eyes filled with tears. “I’m so, so sorry.” She began to sob, loudly. “So sorry,” she said and she bent her head and cried.

  People glanced over at her. One man caught James’s gaze and rolled his eyes. James looked away. It wasn’t right to judge how people handled this. And if the guy had been through it, you’d think he might have more sympathy.

  James doubted Daisey was crying entirely about Sylvia. She’d been through a lot, and she was letting out some of it. That was all. He stayed by her until she’d worn herself out, trying to think of something more to ask her.

  He couldn’t think of a thing.

  Once her sobs had stopped, she wiped her eyes on her forearms, and then hunted around the small pile of things. She pulled out a T-shirt that had a Smokey Bear cartoon on it, and blew her nose on it. “I’m sorry. Sorry I fell apart.”

  “It’s okay, really,” James said.

  “She was such a nice person.”

  That was a stab to his heart. “Is a nice person. Is.” He said it gently, but he was insistent.

  She flushed. “Of course, is. She might still be out there somewhere.”

  “Thanks for telling me about seeing her, and I hope everything comes out okay for you.”

  “Can I have your number? Or no, take mine. And let me know when you know, okay?”

  “Okay. Is cell service working up here yet?”

  “No! I had to get these people”—she pointed at a Red Cross volunteer—“to get a message out for me. They have a radio and a sat phone, and both are busy all the t
ime. I’m in line to get a second message out.”

  “Okay. I’ll let you know when I know something.” Though he wouldn’t be calling her very quickly. He already had a dozen people to communicate with, people closer to Sylvia. And if Sylvia was a “was” rather than an “is,” he imagined he wouldn’t want to talk to any of them that he didn’t absolutely have to.

  For another hour he went through the shelter and spoke to strangers who were willing to talk, showing them a photo of Sylvia on his phone. A few knew her by sight but hadn’t seen her in the fire. One old man knew her by name. “Nice lady,” he said. “I’m sorry, but no. I didn’t see her in the evacuation.”

  James stopped again at the receptionist and made sure she had all his and Sylvia’s information. “If she shows up, please, please, make sure you call me first. I’m frantic.”

  “You must be. I will call. I promise. Any of the missing who get brought here or find their way here, we’ll contact anyone they ask us to, first thing.”

  “Thank you,” he said.

  Outside, the skies were clear of smoke. He could see the stars shining. It was a great thing about living up here. No light pollution. Gorgeous night skies. Pasquale was pretty good with the constellations and even had helped them find the Andromeda Galaxy with binoculars one night.

  They had been camping, the four of them, just an overnight. About a year ago. Sylvia hadn’t been quite as busy then. It had been a great weekend. They’d hiked up to an elevation of over 6,000 and camped in a meadow. No campfire—none were allowed, but they didn’t need one anyway. They’d set up before dark, had eaten a cold meal, and all of them had ended up lying in sleeping bags and staring up at the sky, talking about nothing and everything. Funny stories—Pasquale always had some of those—and quiet moments and wondering aloud over the size of the universe and the distance of the stars. It was the reason he loved hiking, for moments like that, lying back among such beauty, your thighs still pounding pleasantly from a day of hard hiking. More than the exercise itself, or even the beauty, it was sharing that sense with other people of shaking off the busy modern world and coming back to what was really important. It made him feel small, in a good way.

  He felt small right now, looking up at those same stars, but it wasn’t in a good way. The forces of nature had diminished him the past thirty-six hours, made him feel things he’d have rather lived a lifetime without feeling. Feeling awe when you’re safe and comfortable in your sleeping bag is one thing. Feeling awe and horror about a wildfire is quite another. And he didn’t even have to suffer what all these survivors in the shelter had.

  What Sylvia had.

  If she’s gone, let her last moments have not been of fear. Let them have been of awe and joy.

  He was fighting off tears again. He forced them back. Not until he had completed his task, not until she was found, one way or another, would he indulge himself in tears.

  Deputy Venita was still there in the parking lot, having been waylaid by someone else, a woman. He watched the two of them talk, the woman with animated gestures, Venita standing still and listening intently. He waited until they were done and approached the deputy. “Sorry to bother you again.”

  “No problem.”

  “I’m out of ideas. Until it’s light, I can’t hunt for myself, and I can’t imagine even your people can. I brought a flashlight, but now that seems stupid, blundering about in the woods and tripping over things in the hope I might find her.”

  “It’s a big forest,” she said. “And no, you shouldn’t go wandering around on your own at night.”

  “But I can’t do nothing,” he said. “I can’t only sit and wait.”

  “I don’t know what to tell you. Can you go spend time with family or friends? You need them at times like these.”

  “I’m only keeping my mother at bay by telling her there’s nowhere to stay up here.”

  “Where is she?”

  “San Francisco, with my father. It’s too far to drive to them and get back here tomorrow morning. I mean, of course I could, but then I’d be spending too much time driving. And I’d risk having a wreck or something, distracted as I am.”

  “That’s smart thinking. Have you been eating and sleeping?”

  “Some. Less than normal.”

  “Why don’t you catch up on your sleep tonight? You said you had a hotel room?”

  “Yeah.”

  “So go back to it, get a sandwich, call whoever you need to call, and come back at dawn.”

  James didn’t want to, but he truly was out of better ideas. “Can I get back to my house now?”

  “It’s still blocked off. Nighttime would mean more looters. So we keep people out at night.”

  “Yeah, makes sense.” He blew out an exasperated breath. He’d started the evening with such determination. But talking to Kevin and Daisey, even seeing the rest of the refugees and their haunted faces, their bandages and donated mismatched clothes, had taken the wind out of his sails. And now with night having fallen, it seemed impossible to decide where to begin. “I guess I need to find her car first. And then I can go out from there and look.”

  “That’s a good search strategy. We had a few volunteer search and rescue teams driving every forest road and remote lane this afternoon, and we’ll complete that tomorrow when the recovery efforts in town are done. Until then, getting through a thorough search of Pinedrops is our priority.”

  “Makes sense.” So at dawn, James could start hunting for her car. And then hike around the area where he or someone else found the car, hoping she’d gotten out and taken to her feet. She was fit. She could have hiked out of danger but gotten lost. “She’d have taken water,” he said, trying to feed his dwindling hope. “And it’s only been a day and a half anyway.” A person could survive that long without water, even in the warm season. But she’d have taken bottles of water with her, probably even if she had been running panicked. If her back seat had been packed with stuff, as Daisey said, it would have been logical stuff; some of it would have been water and food and clothes.

  But if she took a trail, she’d only have had a gallon of water at most. He didn’t have forever to find her. If she was still alive, lost, hurt, they had a day more, and then… then… well, things would be bad for her when she ran out of water.

  He came to his surroundings again to see the deputy watching him. “You must think I’m crazy to believe she might still be alive.”

  “No, not crazy.”

  “I can’t give up all hope yet.”

  “No. In training, we’re always told the story of that big quake in San Francisco, back in ’89. They were clearing bodies out of that collapsed freeway and found a guy still alive after three days. I mean, everything was smashed flat. And he was hurt. But not too badly, and he had made it, pinned in his car, waiting for rescue. We’re told that story to remind us why we don’t quit looking for people. We haven’t given up on the missing twelve either.”

  “I thought it was thirteen.”

  “Twelve. One was found.” She didn’t sound happy about it.

  So he didn’t ask for more details. “I guess I’ll go back to the hotel. I should talk longer with her mother anyway, and I need cell service for that.”

  “I hear that’ll be on again up here soon. I’m surprised it isn’t already. Tomorrow morning at the latest, I’d think.”

  “Good. I hate missing calls when I’m up here, but I’d rather be up here than down there.”

  “And you probably need time to just….” She shrugged. “Think. Make lists of what to do. Like contact your insurance.”

  “Haven’t done that.”

  “Did you get in touch with your dentist? Your wife’s dentist?”

  “Don’t want to do that.”

  “I know,” she said, “but you should. Just in case. Sign the release, get the info to the sheriff, get it over with, and then forget about it.”

  “I used to be such a privacy freak. Now I’m willing to let total strangers have m
y family’s medical records.”

  “They won’t be shared. Or uploaded.”

  “I know.” He didn’t know, but he wasn’t sure what X-rays of Sylvia’s fillings might do to help someone with criminal intent anyway. “I’ll do that.” It’d have to wait until tomorrow as well. “I feel like I’m giving in by going back to the hotel.”

  “You’re not.”

  He was, and he felt awful about it, but he was out of ideas and running out of energy. “Thanks again,” he said, and went back to his car. He sat it in for five minutes, trying to get his brain to work. Was there anything he was forgetting to do, anything that might help? Was there anyplace else she might have gone that he was forgetting? He knew he’d been all over it before in his mind, and with the officials, with her mom and with his own mother. He knew that her friends in San Francisco were wondering the same thing. If, by some wild stretch of the imagination, Sylvia had been having an affair and went to a lover, her friends would know who that was.

  But she hadn’t been. He’d stake everything he owned on that. Then he remembered. Okay, everything he owned was in this car, but still. He’d bet two flashlights and a suitcase full of clothes and a banana and two apples that Sylvia hadn’t cheated on him ever. Plus whatever was in the bank.

  He went back to the hotel room, ate some melted chocolate and fruit, and spent the evening having phone conversations that exhausted him. He knew they were necessary. Knew that the other people needed to talk. He just didn’t want to be their damned therapist right now. Even with his own mother, even with Sylvia’s mother, he resented their need to talk. He didn’t want to talk, or to guess, or to worry, or to cry with anyone. He only wanted Sylvia back.

  Sylvia’s mom was taking the red-eye flight. She said she’d rent a car and get the nearest hotel room to him that she could find. She’d call him at 8:00 a.m. sharp tomorrow to discuss what to do next. He didn’t envy her figuring out for herself how little there was to do.

  The final call he made was to the dentist’s. He preferred an answering machine, not a person. He got an answering service. He asked if there was a way to record a message. He didn’t want it fumbled before it got to the dentist. The man on the service said no, that he’d take a message, or James could call back the next day.