When a Fire Burns Hot

by Corey Richard

  Frank stopped working momentarily and took another few gulps of water. He made the mistake of glancing at his watch. Two o’clock. It would be a long, miserable day, he feared. Even Fast Horse wouldn’t push them today unless it became necessary, and that was unlikely. How did they expect the crew to make it in such conditions? He tried to convince himself of his happiness at having finally received the call, and at being out there working and earning money. He then thought back on the previous week, when he had been naked and swimming through the cold, clear river water that tumbled out of the mountains to run deep and calm just outside the city. He quickly wished he hadn’t thought of that experience, so fresh in his memory. He knew his mind was still too undisciplined to cope with the work he would be performing in the coming days. He would change, of that he was certain.

  “Like an oven, huh?” Frank said to Scott.

  “Yeah, your hardhat looks like it’s meltin’ ‘round the edges there, College Boy.”

  Frank laughed at the comment, glad to have had some of his anxiety lifted. He thought back on the last fire of the previous year. Seven out of nine days spent mopping up in heat like this. Sometimes firefighting seemed like the worst job in the world, he admitted, but it did toughen you, testing limits and abilities. And that made it better than most jobs grunts like him could get. He was lucky, he reminded himself.

  “Need some help?” Alice asked, startling both men with both her and her cheerfulness.

  “Yeah, sure.”

  “Of course.”

  “Fearless leader over there said I should bump over here and get some training.”

  Frank registered the fact that Alaska thought them competent enough to serve as examples to Alice.

  “So, what should I do now that I’ve finished bumping?”

  Frank laughed at her improper use of firefighting slang and then said, “Well, it’s fairly obvious. You can just use your shovel and dig the coals out of one of these smoking root holes.”

  The two men resumed working at a slightly increased pace, as a demonstration to Alice, who was working nearby as instructed.

  “You guys work pretty fast.” Alice commented, smiling at the ground.

  Both men silently allowed the compliment to sink in.

  “Swinging!” Frank called out with enthusiasm, signaling to the other two that he would be raising his Pulaski over his head to chop at something. Frank felt the oppressiveness of the situation lift after the rapidly moving blade struck its target, shooting chips of smoldering wood into the air in all directions. It gave him satisfaction to release the raw strength held in his muscles.

  “So, why are we bothering to put this out?” Alice asked. “I mean, we’re so far from the edge here that an ember isn’t likely to drift that far. Not from this pit, anyway.”

  “Because Fast Horse said so,” Scott answered, as if nothing more needed to be said.

  “Does he realize this is a waste of time?”

  “If it’s a waste of time, he realizes it, you can count on that,” Scott said.

  “So, if he does think it’s futile, then why would we still be doing it?”

  “Orders are given to him by people above. They don’t always know what’s going on out here,” Frank explained.

  “Yeah but if we do know, then why bother?”

  “Don’ nobody second guess Fast Horse. He knows what he’s doin’. If he says do it, then we do it till we know more’n he does. Ain’ nobody out here can say that, though, and not be foolin’ themselves,” Scott said.

  Frank nodded stoically in agreement.

  “All right, I won’t worry about stuff like that, then,” Alice said, finishing the exchange.

  After several minutes of silence, Scott began to sing a love song in a slow, deep voice. Both Alice and Frank were glad to have the accompaniment to their work. Frank was particularly relieved, as he could now avoid having to talk to Alice. He was still slightly intimidated by her after the backpack episode and, as was often the case, he feared sounding foolish.

  Alice looked warmly at Frank as he struggled to wrest a piece of smoldering wood from its hole. “So, Frank, you think this’ll be a long fire?” she asked over the roll of Scott’s voice.

  Frank, as Alice had anticipated, was pleased to be given a chance to appear knowledgeable on a subject, though he tried not to sound too eager in his answer. “I think this’ll be a quick one, too many resources... But I figure with the low humidity and high temperatures all over the state, we’ll be sent to another fire pretty soon.” Frank’s voice was deeper and more hollow-sounding than usual.

  “Oh? Does that happen often?”

  “Yeah, this time of year it starts to.”

  Alice couldn’t resist temptation. With a tone that passed for being genuinely inquisitive, she asked, “And how many years have you fought fires?”

  Frank’s face might have reddened had it not already been affected by heat and physical exertion. “This is only my second year,” he told the dirt under him. Frank quickly recovered and resolved to be more genuine. “Actually, Fast Horse is the one to ask if you want to learn a lot out here.”

  “Yeah, I kinda felt like he knew what he was doing.”

  “He does. He knows more about firefighting than probably anyone on the whole fire today... and he said that he thought we’d be out here for a while, anyway. I think it’s more about keeping crews mobilized in case another fire starts.”

  “I hope so. I thought that fire call would never come. They get you all pumped up after a week at that guard school.”

  “Yeah, I remember. But that’s firefighting: hurry up and wait.” Frank felt Alice look at him and again was slightly embarrassed. The conversation halted. Each remained eager to talk and sensed the other’s eagerness, making the silence more tangible.

  “Well, you guys done yet?” Frank asked.

  The three stepped back to stare at the site for a moment, expecting no more puffs of smoke to appear but monitoring it just to be certain.

  “Move out!” Scott yelled to the rest of the crew with a sense of importance, as they turned away. “Thanks for the help, Alice,” Scott said.

  “Anytime.”

  “Yeah, thanks Alice,” Frank said, and felt deserted as Alice separated from them. He watched her walk away and thought about wearing his hardhat backwards as he had seen men from other crews do. But he immediately felt foolish for considering it.

  Frank drifted away from Scott and back into position in line near Squad Two. The line soon halted for another smoke to be put out by two firefighters from Squad Two, and he listened as the rest of that squad, Randy, Jim, and a large man named George, resumed their banter.

  “Yeah, fuck this... I mean, if our old crew hadn’t been axed -- fuckin’ Forest Circus - we’d be in the shit right now instead of sittin’ on our asses moppin’ up.” George, as usual, spoke in a deep, slow voice, heavy in decibels but light in content.

  “Remember Dave?” Jim asked Randy, and blew a laugh through his nose.

  “Yeah.” Randy curled his upper lip in a snarl of a smile. “Dave. What a fucking genius.”

  Jim quickly placed his hand on Randy’s shoulder and leaned into him. “’Member the time he put the hose in the Army fuckers’ truck thing?”

  “Deuceandahalf?”

  “Yeah, that’s what they called that thing.” Jim began laughing on his words. “Pump started up an’ those fuckers jumped outta there thinkin’ there was some kinda fuckin’ war on!”

  The three men shared their laughter.

  “Remember that little southern shit squawkin’ at us?” Jim assumed a hunched, apelike stance of aggression and said in imitation, “’Y’all better not mess with us again!’ Fuck... even Al was laughin’ at that one.”

  The men let their piqued laughter subside. Randy and Jim both looked wistfully into the distance. “Yea
h, I know what you mean, George,” Jim broadcasted, shaking his head. “This crew just don’t have it, man.”

  “Fuckin’ spics smell like shit. Squad One? More like hundred an’ one,” said George.

  “Squad Juan,” Randy said, and examined the end of his Pulaski, trying to stay the straight man. It pleased him to hear the gurgling sound of his friends’ laughter fill the air, and a boyish smile slipped out anyway.

  “And Crazy Horse over there... He probably doesn’t know his fire and water from his firewater,” George said. He was pleased he could contribute another joke, and laughed so long and loud that others in the immobile line turned their heads in his direction. He stopped when Jim patted him on the back condescendingly.

  Jim left a fatherly arm around George and said, “We’re the last of the fucking Mohicans. Too smart to do anything else... and too stupid to do anything else,” Jim continued, staring straight ahead in shallow reflection. “Still, I’d say it was worth it if we got some action. Like the Yellowjacket Fire, remember?”

  “Initial Attack. On top of that motherfucker,” George announced with stomping pride.

  “This crew would melt in a second, like a goddamn chocolate bar,” Jim sneered.

  “Yeah,” Randy said slowly, staring blankly into the distance.

  Jim thought he sensed hesitation in Randy’s voice. He dropped his arm from George’s shoulder and wondered if Randy might have some doubt as to whether or not he was in agreement. But Randy had always been a leader of sorts, and Jim couldn’t imagine him thinking they weren’t all well above the rest of this new crew. With certainty, Jim dismissed the idea that he knew the reason behind the signs of irresolution in Randy’s answer.

  “Chief on the warpath, spread out,” Jim said, eyeing Fast Horse’s approach. He too was pleased to hear the laughter of his friends.

  Frank sat down, disconsolate after being subjected to Squad Two’s conversation. He was experiencing the horror a carpenter might experience upon finding that some of the posts in the foundation of a house he’d just built were infested with termites. He was intimidated and a little uneasy. He didn’t feel equipped to deal with the type of hatred these men exhibited. He thought about his parents, who had both been so passive, facing aggression by putting faith in love’s conquering abilities. They had been the ones hugging policemen in the ‘60s, he had long ago decided. He sure as hell couldn’t go hug Squad Two. But what could he do?

  Frank wandered deeper into reflection. He cringed at the thought of the uncompromising forces that hatred from such simple comments and attitudes could unleash. His revulsion came from deep within. He felt men like those of Squad Two had the power to fuel acts of barbarism with their attitudes. But he refused to believe that the neighboring men were wholly intent on being evil, and he almost put faith in the notion that they were not capable of evil beyond their rhetoric. He had no proof. No graffiti on a wall, no pledge of Nazism, no broken skulls. But even with such proof, then what? His mother might have gone on to tell him that if he recognized the good, he could help it overcome the bad in people. If his mother was right, he figured he was uniquely fit for the job.

  Meanwhile, far from the place where the Willamette crewmembers toiled and rested, weather systems were at work setting the stage upon which a significant part of the firefighters’ future would be enacted. An atmospheric low pressure system was moving menacingly toward a high pressure system, and the experts thought them likely to collide somewhere over the eastern side of the Oregon section of the Cascade mountain range, which ran like a spine down most of the state. Some predicted an electrical storm; some did not. As usual, agreement eluded those involved in the predictions, but most hoped for the best in these hot, dry conditions.

  Some, however, secretly hoped for what was deemed by many to be the worst.

  Chapter 4

  As the red sun sank into the horizon, the Willamette crew arrived at a road a few miles from where they had begun the day’s work. The bus was there waiting, the driver, Christine, reading a romance novel. She stared up at the whooping figures as they stomped down the embankment towards her, a sootier shade of yellow than when she had seen them last. She wished she could disguise her big yellow bus and steal a few extra moments of peace, but her bus and her solitude were not hers to cordon off. The back doors were soon yanked open, triggering the loud buzzing of the emergency alarm. The ensuing medley of clanking tools being returned to their boxes was welcome sound to all but her.

  Jim bounded up the steps of the bus and announced with loud sarcasm, “Honey, we’re hooome!”

  “I can see that, thank you, son,” Christine replied with tired eyes. She then managed a small giggle at the sight of the firefighters as they streamed in. Their blackened faces and clothes conjured up movie images of chimney sweeps.

  After thudding noisily down the aisle, each firefighter flopped onto the seat of their choice, many moaning with satisfaction. Squad Two migrated towards the back of the bus, with the other two squads mixing together in the front and middle. After everyone had settled, Fast Horse stood up and faced the reclined crew. “All right, you did pretty good today. A lot of you still got that winter fat, though. You all gotta get more exercise in the off season. I can tell you don’t have a sex life like mine to keep you in shape.” Fast Horse’s eyes twinkled, and the crew groaned playfully back at him.

  “Too many fat fillies turns a Fast Horse into a slow pony,” Jim commented from the back, prompting bursts of laughter. Several of his cohorts lazily slapped the palm of his raised hand.

  Fast Horse tilted his head back and let out a high-pitched laugh familiar to many on the crew. He then performed his distinguishing act of tugging on the imaginary reins of a horse, his eyes twinkling brightly. “Not yet there, young buck. I’m still a mighty stallion!”

  When the laughter died down, the leader continued in a more serious tone, “There’s a few things I want to bring up before I forget. No buryin’ smokes. It might not smoke anymore, but it’s not out, and you’re not foolin’ anyone, either. Those planes go over and they’ll still pick up heat on their sensors, or whatever the hell they use. And remember to keep an eye out for the division soop. I don’t want us to get caught with our pants down before we get another assignment.” Fast Horse paused. “So anyway, I don’t expect we’ll be on this fire that long. There’s a lotta resources out here, and unless the wind picks up or somethin’ I don’t think much’ll be happening. One thing we gotta think about is that we got low humidity and high temperatures all over the state. You greenhorns know ‘bout humidity?”

  No reply was voiced.

  “Nobody learns nothin’ at guard school since I stopped teachin’.” Fast Horse grinned. “Well, if you got high humidity there’s lots of water in the air and your fuels, the wood and all, has more water in it too. So now, low humidity for some days in a row does what...?”

  “Dries the wood out,” someone offered.

  “Thaz right, give that firefighter a kiss. Some wood does it quicker, depending on the size and where it’s sittin’.” Fast Horse paused again. “So it looks like this’ll be a good crew. We’ve got a lot of experienced firefighters and they’re gonna be wantin’ us for a while, I expect.” Fast Horse then gave an exaggerated salute and promptly sat down, his lecture over. Surprise quickly registered on his face as Shroeder rose next to him, evidently preparing to address the crew himself.

  “All right, you did good today. Let’s get some good ratings,” Shroeder said, and clapped his hands together. Shroeder sat back down as quickly as he had stood up, not entirely registering the fact that he had just appeared quite ridiculous in the critical eyes of the crew.

  A few crewmembers displayed looks of amusement at Shroeder’s cheerleading. No one cared much about ratings. The officers doing the rating appeared in the field at random, so ratings were largely left to chance. Usually things were in order, but occasionally the safety offic
er happened to come by when you had your shoe off and were getting ready to tape up a blistered foot that was making your day miserable.

  At fast Horse’s signal, Christine put her bus in gear and rocked it out of the ruts until it shook down the rough gravel road toward camp. She turned off the interior lights after a few minutes, and the low murmur of voices died out in the darkness. Paul got to his feet and approached Fast Horse in a stooped position. “Could I get a vegetarian lunch tomorrow?” he asked quietly.

  “Yeah, sometimes they do that,” Fast Horse replied. “If they do, remind me the night before to tell whoever is gettin’ the lunches in the morning, or tell ‘em yourself if I forget. If they don’t make ‘em, pack somethin’ you find at the breakfast table, or just ask ‘em for stuff they might have around.”

  “Cool, thanks,” Paul said, and returned to his seat.

  Todd, sitting across from Paul, was the only other member of his squad not presently lying down. He was like a sentinel forever on guard, expecting trouble and trusting none. “Hey, Earth Boy, why don’t you eat meat?” Todd asked, sounding as if he was asking why Paul didn’t wear shoes in the winter.

  Paul was immediately defensive but, convinced of the superiority of his practice, he addressed Todd almost haughtily, “Well, eating lower on the food chain takes up less resources. It’s called entropy, man. Every time you use something it, like, goes from one usable form of energy to a less usable form. So, like, a cow uses the energy of the grains and stores it in its body, but a lot of energy is used up supporting that cow and the cow’s shit has a lot less energy in it. So if we just ate the grain, there’d be more energy to feed people. Each acre could be more productive and we could save more land for forests and animals and stuff like that. The world would last a little while longer, at least.”