by Toni Draper
PRAISE FOR WILDFIRE
“Those who think there are no women on the front lines fighting the devastating fires that annually scourge our forests should by all means take a look at Toni Draper’s debut novel WILDFIRE. The nuts and bolts of fighting killer blazes and the camaraderie of those who battle them are both given Draper’s knowledgeable attention, but WILDFIRE does not neglect the passionate hot spots in the human heart that are just as explosive but often more difficult to extinguish. Fire in the forests, bonfires in the heart: a fascinating read.”
—Ann Wadsworth, author of Light, Coming Back
“It is my pleasure to recommend this beautifully written book. I was completely hooked from the very first words and could not wait to read more. Having been a Wildland firefighter and Wildland Fire Operations Specialist for over 30 years, primarily in the Southwest, I commend Toni Draper on her efforts to tell this story so well. She does an amazing job of truly capturing the essence of Wildland Fire as if she had spent years on the Fireline herself. It’s a story of courage and love that will warm the wildfire in your heart.”
—Bequi Livingston, Retired US Forest Service, Southwestern Region, Fire Operations Health and Safety Specialist, and creator of Fireline Fitness and Women in Wildland Fire Boot Camp
Copyright © 2021 Toni Draper
All Rights Reserved
ISBN 13: 978-1-951954-07-9 (trade)
ISBN 13: 978-1-951954-08-6 (ebook)
Library of Congress Control Number: 2020946278
Published by Interlude Press
http://interludepress.com
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, and places are either a product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to real persons, either living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
All trademarks and registered trademarks are the property of their respective owners.
Book and Cover Design by CB Messer
Base Photography for Cover ©Depositphotos.com/PiLens
10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1
Interlude Press, New York
For Cyndi,
without whose love and support
this Wildfire would never have ignited.
Contents
Author’s Note
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Epilogue
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Author’s Note
I wrote Wildfire’s first draft more than ten years ago. I always believed it had potential, but couldn’t quite get it right, so I put it away where it collected dust and got on with life.
While I know many can and do teach and write simultaneously, when I was in the classroom, I never mastered that balancing act. Being an educator took all of my energy. I couldn’t and didn’t even think about writing again until I resigned my teaching position—coincidentally, right before the pandemic rocked our world with a seismic shift. Although I had secured a position in the regional office of another school district, the start date was pushed back, leaving me stuck at home with more time than I knew what to do with—or did I? The silver lining became evident.
I picked up my manuscript and finally saw what it was I didn’t like about it. I re-wrote the ending along with a few other scenes and passages before sending my baby out into the publishing world where, thankfully, she was well-received and is now in your hands.
I hope you enjoy this, my debut novel, and welcome any words for me you might have. For feel-good phrases, I thank you from the bottom of my heart and in advance. With all the many choices out there in the book world readers have, I’m grateful to you for giving me and Wildfire a chance. Happy reading!
~ Toni
Some readers may find some of the scenes in this book difficult to read. We have compiled a list of content warnings which you can access at www.interludepress.com/content-warnings.
Prologue
Barely visible against the camouflaging cones and decomposing needles of the fragrant forest floor, the small rodent sat back on its furry haunches and sniffed frantically at the thick unmoving air, its tiny whiskers twitching in the direction of the crackling of a nearby ponderosa pine—the burning sap, its agitation’s source. A lightning strike had ignited a spark in the dehydrated branches of the towering evergreen, from which a growing flame now unfurled. Quietly and quickly the smoke spiraled upward from the top of the tree as the fire spread to the limbs of first one and then another, in a macabre and menacing dance, on its way to becoming nature’s deadliest threat to the surrounding wilderness and its unsuspecting and unspoiled fauna and flora.
Chapter 1
Jimena “Mena” Mendoza, her face blackened and streaked by soot and sweat, sat back on the heels of her Timberlands as she pulled up, ripped out and cut away small brush, plants, grass, and weeds. They had all turned brown and brittle due to a severe and early summer drought. One of a crew of fifteen, all men except for herself and another native Yuman, she had been called in to help clear a break up the ridge from the ravine, well in front of the fire. For the time being, beneath windless skies, it burned under control.
The raggedy red bandanna she used to cover and protect her mouth and nose from the choking smoke hung loosely around her neck, in contrast to a shiny, woven chain of gold. With a flick of her wrist, she yanked the cloth up and wiped away the perspiration that had beaded on her brow. Using the other hand, she swept aside onyx bangs that had been plastered flat against her forehead, from which sweat now trickled down. With a sigh and a groan, she stood to stretch her cramped legs and aching back.
No one knew a lot about Mendoza, other than the obvious to all. Although short in stature, what she lacked in height, she more than made up for in depth and strength of character and body. A quick thinker and quiet speaker, she preferred solitude to camaraderie and a book to a beer. Given the opportunity, she kept to herself, even amid a boisterous crowd. A very private person, she was a mystery to all. No one at the firehouse had ever seen her out and about with anyone else, so many let their imaginations spark and run wild, like the fires they fought to put out.
Rumor had it Mendoza didn’t like men, and some said she didn’t like people at all. She’d always gotten the impression the guys felt uneasy around her, like they didn’t know how to be with her. She imagined she was different than many of the women they were used to, the one-night stands they often picked up in dive bars and honky-tonks. She’d heard the talk. Word had it that she related to the thrill and danger of nature’s unpredictable, untamable dark side, perhaps because it reminded her of herself. Let them wonder. A woman’s gotta have a little mystery. She smiled at the thought.
This season, which was just beginning, the crew hadn’t seen much active fire, but that was all about to change now that they’d been called and moved north to the towering ponderosa pine forests. They were digging line, trying to stay ahead of the game. The clink of shovels as they were pushed into the forest’s floor, striking small rocks along the way, took on the sound of a natural symphony of sorts. The men and women sunk, filled, and lifted their blades, scraping everything down to mineral soil in attempts to rid the earth of a
ny and everything, including roots that could otherwise become fueling vegetation as the fire advanced. Their goal was to stop it in the three-foot wide dirt track they were creating.
Mena placed her palm on the characteristic rust-orange bark of the nearest stalwart pine. It stood so tall and straight. She then leaned forward and placed her nose along the protective outer surface of its mighty trunk and took a deep breath in. No one knew for sure why the tree gave off such a sweet aroma that many likened to vanilla, baking cookies, or even butterscotch. Backing her face away, she ran her hand over the bark that was split into big sections, much like the desert when it was deprived of water. She gave the evergreen one last pat and returned to the work at hand.
It took the rest of the morning for her crew to finish connecting their dirt track to an outcropping of large rocks that jutted out from the forest’s floor and created a natural break in the landscape for a good thirty feet or so. On the other side of that divide, she resumed her work, along with the others. As they moved deeper into the thick of the stand, they mostly encountered needles, cones, and other fallen debris. They moved, scraped, and threw forward, always facing the way in which the fire would eventually come, just in case it surprised them and got there sooner than expected.
By sundown, they were all ready to call it a day.
Gonzalez, one of her fellow firefighters, said, “I don’t know about you guys, but I am beat-down tired. All the bending and lifting and the stretching, first this way before twisting that… I guess I’m just getting too old for this type of work. I might have to call it quits after this season.”
Mena commiserated with his pain.
After gathering their equipment, they headed back to the camp they’d earlier created and hurriedly grabbed a bite to eat so they could get some shut-eye. They were all too aware the sun would shine and call them forth again before they were physically well-rested enough to rise.
Mena had barely unrolled her bag and slid into place before her exhausted body demanded rest, urging her mind to follow. It was her stubborn heart that refused to give in, insisting in defiance that she be made aware of the date and its undying significance. She had always believed there was no such thing as coincidence, that everything that happened was, no matter how small, a part of her life’s plan. She let the lull of her waking dream pull her like a slow-moving current into the past: from the day she’d stumbled upon Sydney’s novel and the inexplicably burning impulsivity that had completely engulfed her to when she’d opened its cover to discover a link between the reader and writer that defied ignoring. No, the choice had not been hers. Nor, she believed, did Sydney have any say in responding as she had. Their paths had been meant to cross, and so they had. Such were her thoughts as they morphed into memories and then into dreams, deep in the dark of the forest.
Mena was startled from sleep as one vision crossed over and collided with another, culminating in a physical move that had her roll over and illuminate the dial on her watch. It was three in the morning. Since she was already wide-awake, she decided to start the day early. She grabbed her Maglite, quietly unzipped the flap of her tent, and walked out into the woods.
By the light of a nearly full moon, Mena steered her Jeep north, enjoying the crisp, cool air on her face, so unlike what she’d find this time of year at home. Because she hadn’t had much, if any, sleep, she turned the radio on to help keep her from nodding off.
Although most of the crew was centered far to the south, in the Red Rock State Park and Stoneman Lake areas, instinct told her to veer north. Maybe as far as Antelope Hill on the western side of her designated turf and toward Humphrey’s Peak, the northernmost boundary of the Coconino National Forest. As she headed up Highway 180 out of Flagstaff and turned onto Schultz Pass Road, on what she thought would be a leisurely early morning drive, she was hoping to clear her thoughts. But she was quickly snatched from that fantasy and slowed the Jeep to a crawl. The air, which only moments before had been so refreshingly pure and pristine, was polluted by the unmistakable smell of wood burning.
Pulling over to the side of the road, Mena clicked on her light and checked the maps folded on the passenger seat. Once she’d found the right one and oriented herself to her location, she couldn’t believe it! She was miles north of where the fires had started, where the crews were working, in an area they’d checked out, cleared, and considered safe days ago. How could fire this far up have eluded detection? And for how long? She continued onto Forest Road 557, Mt. Elden Lookout Tower Road, where the asphalt gave way to dirt, switchbacks, and hairpin turns. The dust plumes added to the already hazy sky made visibility tough, but she finally had the structure in her sight, or at least she thought so.
“Shit, shit, shit!” She slammed her hand against the steering wheel after realizing she’d mistaken the rise of a nearby radio communications tower for the lookout and taken a wrong turn. With no time to spare, she left her Jeep there, grabbed her binoculars and flashlight off the seat, and scrambled upward through the waist-high undergrowth.
Although the sun would soon rise, the night sky remained dark for the moment, except for a weakening moon’s waning light. No stars could be seen above. Whether due to the time of day or the ever-thickening clouds of smoke, Mena couldn’t tell and didn’t know. Her lungs coughed in protest and her nostrils stung as she slipped on loose dirt and tiny stones, sliding two steps down for every three she took up. She cursed in frustration and forced herself to pick up her heels.
Finally, as she rounded a bend in the trail, the tower came into sight. At only the base of the steel high rise, she still had four sets of metal stairs left to reach the platform above. As she climbed, from her ever-increasing vantage point, she felt the shifting winds pick up and heard the newly energized breeze as it whistled through the tops of the bending trees below, giving way to the northerly flow.
Although the worst of the smoke had yet to reach the peak, there was no mistaking the stronger smell of a burning forest, but where was it coming from? Seeing no evidence the tower’s engulfing was imminent, she quickly scrambled to the top.
Once there, she looked around and was amazed by what she saw. Visible to the naked eye, an army of angry, orange flames shook their fists from spots on all sides. In some places, far-reaching tendrils swirled and spiraled on their way from the earth’s natural kindling upward, toward the wide expanse of sky.
She turned the small, circular wheel of the high-powered binoculars’ lenses to bring the scene into its sharpest focus. Slowly scanning the distance, amidst the haze of blue-green branches, she saw the disaster’s source. Sparks and embers raced to break away from a larger swath of burning woodland. Catching airwaves, the embers rode them north like a skilled surfer. Hot spots had jumped the zone, but why so many? Why so fast and so far?
Mena reached for her radio, only to find that in her haste to climb the hill to the tower, she’d forgotten it in her Jeep below.
Frantically, she hurried back down to the ground and ran as fast as she could go. It seemed like it was taking her forever to get back to where she’d started out. She wondered whether it was possible she’d lost her bearings and was headed in the wrong direction when the ground beneath her, as if itself in retreat from the advancing fire, gave way, causing her to lose her footing. She slid, then tumbled headfirst down the steep slope and into the concealing brush, where some unknown object reached up and abruptly stopped her momentum.
Less than twenty minutes later, Mike Davila, the assigned lookout and fire behavior analyst on loan from Missoula, Montana, unknowingly drove past her slackened body lying unconscious nearby, though far off the road. His sense of smell, too, was the first of the five alerted to the surprise that awaited him. He rounded the last bend and parked his truck at the base of the tower. Fearing what he would find, he stopped and radioed in before he even climbed up.
“Base camp. This is Davila reporting from Elden Mountain Lookout Tower, about fo
ur miles north of mile marker 16, just to the west of Highway 89. There is definitely something on fire here. I’m going up to check it out. Over.”
He’d no sooner reached the top when his mouth fell open in awe.
“I have numerous spots on all sides. I repeat. Numerous spots on all sides.”
After calling in the necessary coordinates, so those unfamiliar with the area could plot the site’s location, Davila hurried down from the tower and prepared to join the rest of the men who would soon arrive in their efforts to tame the beast breathing fire from all fronts.
As he sat on the bottom step of the lookout, putting on his boots and protective outer gear, the sleepy but slowly rising sun managed to break through the particle-flecked clouds on the horizon and was strong enough to reflect a glint his eyes couldn’t readily identify. Davila, always alert and curious by nature, made his way down the other side of the hill through the brush toward the source of the light, and he was surprised for the second time that morning by what he found. The sun had singled out and bounced off either the windshield or a mirror of a Jeep Wrangler that had been parked on the other side of the maintenance road, but there was no one inside nor anywhere around.
He again pushed his two-way button. “Base Camp. Peña, come in. This is Davila again. About one hundred yards to the west of the tower’s base, at the bottom of the slope…there’s a vehicle here, a Jeep, with no one inside. Over.”
Isabel Salas, hearing this, nearly spilled her hot coffee all over herself as she frantically reached for her mobile unit and responded, “Davila. Come in. It’s Isa.”
“Davila here.”
“Mike, what’s the model and color? Over.”
“It’s a black Wrangler.”
Isa’s heart skipped a beat as she sent out a silent plea, Oh my God, no! Please let her be alright. As the only other woman firefighter on the crew, Mena was a friend.
