by Karina Halle
He clears his throat. “Sometimes I close my eyes and all I see are flames. We lost one house up there, a farmhouse, no different than the one we grew up in. We thought we had it under control but then the wind changed and someone fucked up and then the flames were on the roof, spreading down and I swear I saw faces in the window. Faces screaming for me to save them. I almost started running in until a buddy pulled me back. When I looked again, there was nothing there. The house had been evacuated days earlier.”
I’m watching him, listening, a bit stunned. Fox rarely opens up about his job and he certainly doesn’t do it here at the bar. Though the place is busy, no one is in earshot of us but even so, it’s unlike him.
That said, I want him to continue. I want him to open up to me like this, it doesn’t matter where we are.
“I can’t imagine what you must go through,” I tell him softly, afraid I might break the spell.
He shrugs and raises his head, his eyes meeting mine. They look pained and for the first time I’m noticing they aren’t clear. They’re glazed, rimmed with red. The poor guy must be exhausted, even though he’s been home for a few days now. “You’d think it would get easier with time. It never does.”
Why don’t you quit? I want to ask. But every time I’ve broached the subject with him before, he ignores it. And I don’t blame him. Sometimes we do a job despite the hardships, because what we get out of it is worth the risks in the end.
He slugs back the rest of his beer in one go and then taps the bottle with his fingers, his eyes fixed on mine. “Del, darling, I think I need another.”
I turn around to get another beer out of the fridge.
“Listen,” he goes on while my back is turned to him, “I have something I need your help with.”
“Yeah what’s that?” I ask, rummaging past a few bottles of Corona before I find a pale ale.
When I turn back to him about to give him his beer though, he’s on his feet and waving at the door.
Maverick and Riley just walked in.
And a short woman with high cheekbones and a pixie-blonde haircut who is beaming over at us. Or should I say, beaming right at Fox.
My heart sinks.
Julie.
This must be fucking Julie.
And when Riley’s eyes meet mine across the bar and she winces apologetically, then I know it’s definitely her.
“Del,” Fox says, clearing his throat as he looks back at me. “I want you to meet someone.”
Oh fuck.
I’m frozen, wide-eyed, even as I see someone else at the end of the bar trying to signal for my attention. I can’t tear my eyes away from Julie as she comes forward with Mav and Riley.
Traitors.
Not only is Julie especially petite but she’s built like a bird, all delicate and dainty, wearing a white sundress, lacy sandals and bright pink lipstick. With my height and muscles thanks to my competitive swimming background, the P90X programs I work out to in the living room, and my early morning runs, she makes me look like positively Amazonian.
“This is Julie,” Fox says to me and I’m noticing that now he’s not meeting my eyes, though he doesn’t sound like he’s ashamed either.
“Hi,” Julie says to me, giving me a small wave that makes the silver bracelets on her wrist rattle. “I’m Fox’s girlfriend.”
Girlfriend.
There. She said it.
To quote Friends, well isn’t this kick-you-in-the-crotch, spit-on-your-neck fantastic?
“You must be Delilah,” she goes on. “I’ve heard so much about you.”
“Oh really, that’s great,” I say slowly, trying hard to blink. I don’t think I’m blinking. I’m certainly not breathing.
“I just moved to North Ridge a few weeks ago,” Julie goes on and she smiles sweetly at Riley over her shoulder. “Thank god for meeting Riley though, it’s nice to not be the only newbie in town.”
Riley’s avoiding my eyes now too, which means only Maverick is staring at me with a strained expression on his face.
Julie goes on about where she moved from and what she’s doing here but honestly I’m not listening at all. I’m just trying to pretend that none of this is affecting me, none of it hurts like a knife to the heart. I’ve been in this position before. I’ve done fine.
You and Fox are just friends.
You’ve always been just friends.
This is normal.
But then Fox puts his arm around Julie.
Leans in close.
And I quickly turn around, fixing my attention on the customer at the end of the bar, avoiding what I’m sure is Fox kissing her, something I don’t think I’m ready to handle today.
I don’t see how I can handle it any day.
This is my reality now.
Forget love being wildfire.
Love is a fucking bitch.
2
Fox
Fire has its own language.
It’s only heard by those that have witnessed its beauty, only understood by those who have seen its destruction.
I speak it fluently.
I listen.
It listens.
It invades my dreams.
Like now.
I know I’m asleep. I’m a lucid dreamer more often than not, always aware that I’m sleeping, that this isn’t real, always trying to be in control of the situation.
I rarely am.
Right now I’m standing at the edge of a forest, right along a freshly dug fireline. An axe and hoe lie beside me, the tips of my worn boots pressed against the earth of the line. This line is the lifesaver, the land saver, the fire stopper. The fire will race and rage, consuming all brush and life in its path until it reaches this dirt. Then it will stop.
But here, now, in this dream, I’m staring deep into the forest and I’m waiting. The trees are close together and thick, a hybrid of pine and fir, and they’re already dead. Each tree is charred, spindly-limbed, and interlocked with each other like blackened figures forming a chain.
I’m waiting and I’m listening.
The fire is speaking.
I can’t see it but I can feel the heat, the glow, as it gets closer and closer, coming from somewhere behind the black curtain of trees. The hiss and whine and crackle and roar of the flames all sing the same song in a different pitch. They all say the same thing.
I am coming for you.
I hear malevolence in the tone even though I know that fire doesn’t take sides. It isn’t evil, just as the air or any other element isn’t evil. It’s apathetic in its destruction, it’s humble in the way it renews. It may roar like a tornado and rumble the ground like a 747, but its intentions are always neutral.
But here, now, in this dark shadowy place, it tells me it is coming for me.
It will not bring about my rebirth.
It will only destroy.
The fire roars louder, like I’m surrounded by a busy interstate highway.
I start to see light through the trees, a warm orange glow that spreads and spreads until suddenly the fire has legs, galloping toward me like a herd of wild horses made of flames.
It rushes at me and I’m hit with a wall of heat that makes my eyelashes burn off, my nostrils singe.
The line holds it back, the fire licking the dirt but unable to go forward. There’s nothing left to burn.
I stare into the flames like I’ve done so many times before, often hypnotized. I see faces. Mouths open, screaming. I see animals fleeing, lit on fire. Deer, bears, rabbits. I see a woman, the same woman I always see. She never runs. She just stands still and watches me with unseen eyes until she is burned alive.
I have a feeling she’s dead to begin with.
I have a feeling she’s my mother.
A flame reaches forward like a hand, fingers outstretched toward the dirt line.
It jumps across in an arc of flames.
Wraps right around my throat, squeezes me with a pain I’ve never known.
And in that moment, t
he moment of my death, I realize there’s nothing to fear.
It’s just relief.
That it’s all over.
That I don’t have to worry anymore.
That I don’t have to live in pain anymore.
That I don’t have to hate anymore.
The world burns away and somewhere in the dark skeleton forest, I know there is peace.
Just out of reach.
I wake up with a gasp, my throat and lungs feeling like they’ve been burned from the inside. This isn’t because of any dream though. After being on the job, it’s only natural. Even though we often wear masks when we fight the fires, the damage still takes place.
I roll over, trying to breathe, my eyes lazily focusing on the glass of water and the pills beside me on the nightstand, then on the light streaming in through the blinds behind it.
I clear my throat as I sit up, coughing, then take three pills from the vial and slam them back in my mouth, swallowing them down with the water.
A rustle sounds from the corner of the room and despite myself, I’m smiling. I get to my feet and walk over to the wire cage I had got from the pet store the other day and crouch down until I’m at eye level with the shoebox I had placed inside it.
I wait and watch, seeing the box twitch until finally a bunch of wood shavings spill out of the hole I had cut in the side, followed by a tiny head with big eyes.
I still don’t have a name for him. I still think I’m a bit insane for doing this in the first place.
The day our team was sent home, after the biggest blazes had been contained and the replacement crew had been trucked in, I was walking just outside the perimeter of the fireline where the fire didn’t touch the forest and saw a small creature wriggling beside some leaves. It was a baby squirrel, just past the stage of opening its eyes, skinny, small, with a thin coat of fur.
I don’t know why I did what I did. I’ve seen so many horrible things in this line of work, usually I’m numb to it. Or maybe I did it because of all the death. Sometimes, after the fire has burned through an area and you’re in there, looking for any flare-ups, you’ll find wild animals frozen in spot, encased in ash. So many of them never escape the fires and are torched along with the landscape, sometimes a shade of nuclear white.
But this time, I felt hope. Like this was something I needed to do. I was tired of seeing so many things burn and die. So I searched the squirrel’s nest and found it abandoned. The mother may have already fled from the fires, leaving the baby behind.
That settled it. I picked up the baby squirrel and brought it back to camp inside the pocket of my jacket. I went into the mess hall and took a Tupperware container that I lined with fabric, then went to the medics and asked them for anything that could help. They armed me with Pedialyte and a medicinal syringe.
Now that I’m back home, I’m wondering if I’ve made some mistake. I’m not the type of person to have a pet of any kind and I know the right thing to do would be to get the squirrel to a wildlife rehabber because who knows when I’ll be called out again.
And because of that, I need help.
I watch as the squirrel ducks its head back in the box and know I have to feed it soon since I gave it applesauce and water just before I went to sleep last night. But I don’t want to do it alone.
I pick up my cell and text Delilah, even though it’s early.
You up?
I wait for her response and when I don’t see one right away, I go into the kitchen and make myself a pot of coffee. Like I’ve been noticing ever since Maverick moved out a few months ago, the house feels too big, too empty. There’s a loneliness in these walls that was never there before, something ominous and dark that presses around me.
I try to shake it off and take a moment to turn my face into the sun coming in through the kitchen window, trying to remember what feeling safe feels like. Then I take a bottle of whisky out from the cupboard and pour a large splash in my cup.
I’ve gone through two cups of coffee by the time Del responds.
I am up now, what’s up?
I text: I meant to ask you at the bar last night but I need your help with something. Come over?
The three dots appear and disappear.
Finally: When?
Now, I text back.
Why?
For some reason I feel a sharpness in my chest. Normally Del wouldn’t hesitate or question. Maybe she’s just in an off mood, although that’s rare with her. Even on my darkest days, she’s always been the sun.
I need your help. Come over.
I’ll be bossy if I need to.
A few moments pass before I see that she’s typing.
K, give me a few
I smile in relief and then get out the honey from the cupboard, knowing exactly how Del likes her coffee and that she’ll want one as soon as she steps inside.
She lives on the other side of town, but it’s a small town, so twenty minutes later Del is knocking on my front door.
Which, again, is odd because normally she walks right in like she owns the place.
I open the door and give her a puzzled look.
“Why did you knock? Did you forget I live here?”
She gives me a quick smile, not as broad as it usually is, and still doesn’t come in. “I thought maybe you had company over.”
Oh. Right. That.
Julie.
I had wondered if it was going to be weird between us when I started seeing her. I don’t know why it had even crossed my mind, I guess because the last time I was seriously dating someone was a long time ago. About the same time Del was engaged to that douchebag, Bobby Barrett.
And Del and I are just friends. Hell, she’s practically my sister, the girl who grew up next door to me on the ranch, her mother my nanny. This sort of shit shouldn’t matter at all. I’m just going to blame Maverick for this, he’s always hinting at something going on between the two of us, even though there isn’t.
Not that I haven’t thought about it. I mean, that’s only natural, isn’t it? Del is a beautiful girl, always has been. Even now as she stands in the morning sunshine, wearing just a grey tank top and black leggings, her face free of makeup, hair pulled back into the usual ponytail, she looks like she could be a runway model. Her face is both angular and round, with the brightest smile I’ve ever seen. She has a sweet, unassuming beauty that stirs something in your soul.
It doesn’t help that she’s not wearing a bra. I have to avert my eyes, lest I start leering at her. That’s something that definitely does my head in and I have to remind myself that she’s family and it’s just so fucking wrong to even think of her that way.
“No, it’s just me,” I tell her. Kinda. I open the door even wider. “You coming in or what?”
She gingerly comes inside and looks around. “So how long are you going to keep me in suspense for?”
“Huh?”
“Why am I here?”
Do you have somewhere else to be? I frown. “Are you okay? PMSing?”
She rolls her eyes and punches me in the shoulder. Now that’s more like it. “Shut up. And no. I’m just tired…it was a late night last night.” She seems to think what she says over, rubbing her lips together. “Anyway.”
Without thinking, I reach out and grab her hand for a moment, leading her toward the stairs that lead up to the rest of the house. It’s a ski-lodge style chalet which means that the first floor is basically a basement and garage, with the second-floor housing the bedrooms, bathrooms, kitchen and living room. I bought it about five years ago and Mav was my roommate until he fell in love with Riley and they found a place together.
I don’t know if it’s my imagination that Del seems to snatch her hand away pretty fast when we reach the main level and I start to let go. I ignore it and usher her into my bedroom.
She stops in her tracks, noticing the cage before anything else and points at it. “What is that?”
“That’s what I need your help with,” I tell her.
/> She steps back as I open the cage and take out the box, placing it on the dresser before lifting the lid.
“Oh my god,” she says breathlessly, hand at her chest. “Is that a…a baby squirrel?”
I can’t help but grin. The squirrel is sitting up, or attempting to, and looking at us with wide-eyes, nestled deep in its bedding. “That’s exactly what it is.”
“And why do you have a squirrel?” she asks, her voice still high and breathy and I watch as she wiggles her fingers at it, a wide awestruck smile on her face. She looks positively radiant, causing my chest to feel hot. It’s amazing the affect she has on people and she doesn’t even know it.
“It was orphaned. I found it beside a nest, right near the fireline. On the side that wasn’t burned. The mother must have fled from the fire but ended up leaving this one behind.”
“Oh poor thing,” she coos at it and I swear it cocks its head and looks at her. Then Del glances at me with a soft look in her eyes. “I can’t believe you did that.”
I shrug. “I can’t either. I guess I was just tired of everything dying all the time. I couldn’t let this little guy go.”
She stares at me for a moment and I hold her eyes and wonder what she’s thinking. Sometimes she looks at me with an admiration that I don’t deserve. I often think it’s because of my job—it’s amazing the amount of respect you get when people find out you’re a wildland firefighter. But when I think about it, Del was looking at me that way even when we were growing up. God knows why. I never did a thing to deserve it.
I clear my throat. “Anyway, I need your help. I don’t know what the hell I’m doing.”
She shakes her head, looking back to the squirrel. “And you think I do?”
“I don’t know, you’re a woman. You seem maternal,” I tell her.
Her eyes roll. “And apparently so do you since you’ve kept this little thing alive so far. You mean to tell me you’ve had a baby squirrel since you got back?”
I nod. “I know I should give it to a wildlife rehabber, which is where I thought you’d come in.”
She straightens up and gives me a wry grin. “Fox, I am many things but I am not a wildlife rehabber nor a baby squirrel mama.”
