Alice and Julio paused in their conversation.
“Well, I’d better get to bed. Goodnight,” Frank said, rose abruptly, and started to walk away.
“Wait, I’m heading back too.”
It was Alice’s voice. Frank’s breath shortened slightly. He stopped, and turned around to wait for her, hoping that Julio would join them as well.
“I have an important meeting over there,” Julio said, and pointed toward the outhouses. “See you guys tomorrow.”
“Good night, Julio,” Alice said.
“Good night.”
As Alice approached, Frank began to feel slightly nauseated, as if something had taken flight within him. As she stepped up beside him, he raised his eyebrows and smiled awkwardly at her, without showing his teeth.
Alice smiled innocently back, slightly perplexed by Frank’s odd expression.
As the two walked down the center of the tent, the members of Squad Two looked up from their catalogues and inspected Alice’s form without reservation, their cold eyes traveling her length in an objective appraisal. Frank wondered if Alice felt uncomfortable. He expected she might be looking down and ignoring their gaze, but when he looked at her out of the corner of his eyes he saw her eyes open wide at the men, mocking their stares. Her face quickly returned to normal, and she faced straight ahead again as if nothing had happened. The expressions on a few of the men’s faces did not disappear, however. They were now openly viewing her as if she were from another, disagreeable planet.
Frank felt proud to be walking next to such a beautiful creature.
When Frank and Alice were out of earshot of the tent, Alice exclaimed, “I hate those bastards!”
Frank looked at her and saw anger flash in her eyes, a hint of the rage that had suddenly flared within. “They think they have the right to just stare you down,” Alice said.
“Yeah, really.”
“They make me uneasy.”
“They do the same to me,” Frank said, and replayed for Alice some of the men’s conversation he had overheard earlier in the day.
“So we’ve established they’re no good, then,” Alice said, and smiled. “Then what’re we gonna do about it, Franklin?”
Frank thrilled at the level of familiarity with which Alice had addressed him. Had she actually implied that they were together in facing this problem? The small parade of emotions he had been trying to hold back suddenly broke free. “Shoot ‘em, I guess,” Frank said, jokingly, but hoping to sound bold and fearless.
“Yes, shoot ‘em,” Alice said quickly and with resolve, and then laughed.
The two stopped talking as they approached the camp. “’Night Alice,” Frank whispered.
“Good night, Frank. See you tomorrow.”
After their abrupt parting, Alice and Frank slipped into their sleeping bags. Frank drifted off to sleep uncharacteristically fast, and found himself standing in a burned-out area behind a fire’s rapidly advancing front. He watched in fascination as the flames, affected by a gust of wind, jumped to a stand of gnarled, rotten old trees. With satisfaction, he watched the twisted knots in the trees catch fire, the sap within bubbling to the surface and burning to emit a thick black smoke. The entire stand soon became engulfed and, finally, even the insides of these partially rotten trees were being scoured by flames. Then, the victims fell into a churning pile of fire. The few leaning on each other were the last to stand, but crashed to the ground together, forced to succumb to the ravenous flames.
By willing the wind to blow at different angles and speeds, Frank found that he could control the direction in which the flames traveled. He noticed with alarm that the fire was now heading towards a stand of young, straight, wellspaced trees. He feared that too much dead wood had accumulated on the ground for them to have a chance of surviving. He put a considerable amount of effort into deflecting the flames away from these productive young trees, and his efforts finally met with success as fire spread instead to a stand of small, vulnerable, malnourished trees, incinerating them in a matter of seconds.
The fire then rolled easily to a stand of larger trees, which, like the first stand, were bunched together and unhealthy, robbing each other of nutrients and sunlight. Frank told himself that the flames should be stopped from entering the grove, realizing that it was a bad time for fire to burn through the area. But he soon realized that lack of certitude was helping to accomplish the opposite as a gust of wind pushed the flames inside. To Frank’s fascination, the fire began to burn more furiously, the wind’s power steadily increasing.
In the corner of the enflamed stand there stood a unique tree, much taller than the rest. It had drawn more nourishment over the years by growing atop another, long-dead tree laying upon the forest floor. The living tree’s large roots gripped the pulpy dead wood of the deceased like a fist, firm with determination, squeezing out all the nutrients within its grasp. Frank noticed the tree and held his breath. The wind stopped. But fire still danced around the big tree’s base, trying, as if in sport, to climb the thick bark. The flames seemed to demonstrate intelligence when they backed away so as to concentrate their efforts on the old brittle tree limbs that had accumulated on the ground. Then, after growing large enough, they scaled the branches of the smaller trees standing around the large tree’s base. Finally, they were able to stretch far enough to touch the big tree’s lower branches. They tried frantically to clamber higher up the tree, as if the top was their rightful domain. Soon, however, they seemed perceive the futility of their efforts, slinking away to finish devouring the rest of the stand of weak trees in one fiery, spiteful gulp. The big tree was left largely unharmed. Enough of its top branches remained green to sustain it, and its roots, sunk deeply in the damp, rich earth, had escaped damage from the heat. Frank let out a triumphant scream that echoed across an entire mountain range.
Frank’s struggle then came to an abrupt end. He stared in disbelief as the fire’s advance was checked by an urban sidewalk. No forest fire could penetrate a place where nothing grew. Stunned, his eyes moved from the sidewalk to a city street clogged with cars, where unseen drivers passed by the flames, either unaware or indifferent. Frank tilted his head up at the skyscrapers overhead and powerlessness descended upon him. He scanned the horizon in a panic and guessed the land was again forested beyond the city’s confines, but he knew that neither he nor the fire would ever make it to that place. His selfconfidence rushed out of him like water through a broken dam. He tried to cross the street to get out of the smoke, which now stung his eyes, but the drivers honked repeatedly from deep inside their cars.
He leapt through the door of a bus stopped in front of him, deposited a handful of little pine cones into the gaping mouth of the coin box, wobbled to his seat, and looked out of the window as the bus rolled down the street. For miles, the scenery never seemed to change, and he began to feel as if he was getting nowhere, running in place. He broke out in a sweat, and a new dream began.
Elsewhere in central Oregon, far from Frank’s dreams but not far from where he and the rest of Willamette crew slept, the high- and low-pressure systems finally collided as predicted. The collision slowly pushed up a huge thunderhead, which grew in size until it took on the appearance of a large black anvil, hovering menacingly over the quiet forest floor. First to emerge from this dark, voluminous apparition were tentative drops of rain, many evaporating before they reached the ground.
Then it began. Positive electric charges finally separated from the negative charges and a brilliant zigzagging bolt emerged out of the blackness. It shot down to a rocky bluff, crooked and angry, chased by the loud crash of thunder. From its point of impact, rock shards were sent clattering down the steep hill through the darkness. A second bolt pulverized a bush atop a neighboring cliff, instantaneously launching leaves and twigs in all directions. A small fire was born and began to feed on small leaves at the bush’s shattered base. Soon, after tens
of strikes, a few more fires dotted the landscape. These fires immediately began growing in size. They, with so much power to destroy, grew much faster than any living thing.
The thunderhead continued on its destructive path until it hovered over a section of the forest lower in elevation, and dryer, being in the rain shadow on the lee side of the mountains. The last lightning strikes of the storm were to be in an area called Devil’s Gulch, buried deep in a rarely referred-to place named Judgment Valley. The first strike traveled furiously on its path to make contact with an old, diseased, and partially dead tree that stood apart from the others. The searing current shattered the tree’s trunk near its top as if it were a match stick, and split the thick bark in a deep spiral along its entire length. The severed section of the tree fell slowly and gracefully from the trunk, like an eagle leaving its perch. But it landed abruptly, upsidedown, with a cracking thud, spearing the earth, its splintered end left poking straight up into the air.
The air then fell silent as wood splinters showered down around the decapitated tree. Amongst the falling debris, there drifted a few small glowing embers. Most darkened quickly; one, however, managed to keep glowing as it fell and landed safely in a dry bed of dead pine needles that had been shaken loose from the damaged tree. In this protective womb the tiny ember smoldered, fighting the nearly overwhelming odds against its survival.
Chapter 6
Frank’s eyes opened to the bristly face of Alaska glowering down at him. He felt a boot kick the side of his sleeping bag as Alaska’s fierce blue eyes scoured for confirmation that Frank was awake. “Get up!” Alaska barked, and waited for a reaction.
“Okay... I’m up.”
Alaska grunted in partial satisfaction and stomped over to where Alice lay. “Get up!” he barked again.
Alice voiced no response but sat up quickly, shaking her head, hurriedly forcing herself out of her morning lethargy.
There was a sense of urgency as the crewmembers quickly slipped on their clothes, many doing so while still partially contained in the warmth of their sleeping bags, momentarily delaying their immersion in the cold mountain air. They already knew that Fast Horse wanted them in the breakfast line early, to show off to those who might hold the crew’s fate in their hands. They had already been convinced that a good impression could mean the difference between going home and getting an exciting assignment on the front lines.
Soon all were standing at attention, few speaking. Fast Horse took the lead, and each firefighter fell into place behind him as he marched forward. The long breakfast line soon came into view, meandering past the tents and the kitchen, where each person was to be handed a plate of warm food, and then past a table where cold cereal, fruit, yogurt, and milk had been laid in large, disorderly piles.
As the Willamette crew moved through the open field in full view of the line they were to join, Frank felt uneasy. Except for a couple of women, the line was composed of men, and most of their droopy, tired eyes were aimed at Alice. He imagined she must feel like she was surrounded by wolves, ready to devour her if ever she let down her guard. He couldn’t blame them much; she was beautiful.
Frank picked up his pace until he reached Alice’s side, positioning himself between her and the line of gawking men, risking a reprimand from Fast Horse for being out of place. Trying to make her feel more at ease, he commented sarcastically, “Pretty nice group, huh?”
“Yeah, a great bunch of guys.” A more malignant strain of sarcasm could easily be detected in Alice’s voice.
The two stepped together into line.
“Yeah, I know how it must feel being a woman in this camp an’ all,” Frank said, offering a salve for her supposed wound.
Alice’s upper lip tightened. She addressed Frank slowly and carefully. “No, Frank, you don’t know. You can’t know.” Alice turned away from Frank and mechanically lit a cigarette. “But I did sign up for it.”
Frank eventually dropped behind Alice as the line advanced, feeling like a dog that had been scolded for bringing home the neighbor’s paper. He had been shocked that he had offended her, and was mortified that her opinion of him might have suffered. He expected his own benevolence towards women, coupled with his intellectual openness, to be all that was needed for acceptance. He didn’t understand Alice’s spite, or rage, or whatever it was that seemed to lurk in her depths. He certainly didn’t believe that men were incapable of understanding women, and found himself resenting her for coming close to evidencing such an opinion.
When it came time to find a table at which to eat, Frank chose an empty one.
***
The bus jolted to a stop in a section of the forest different from the day before’s. “Woke ‘em up for ya there, Fast Horse,” Christine said, giggling good-naturedly.
“Well, thank you! Sure ya don’t want to come help me out on the line? I could use someone like you out there to get ‘em all riled up now and then...”
“Fast Horse, the only way you could get me out there was if a fire was comin’ to burn ma babies.”
Fast Horse smiled and tossed his chin at the woman in appreciation.
The waking crew moaned and stretched. Immediately the stench of cigarettes filled the air. and the thickness of the smoke inside the bus soon exceeded that was outside. “Everyone just kick back for a bit,” Fast Horse ordered.
The crew laid back down in their seats, seeking no explanation. Most had quickly learned that fighting forest fires involved setting aside most of your tendency to speculate on others’ decisions regarding your immediate future. Otherwise, you would only drive yourself, and possibly others, crazy.
After an hour passed, a green truck finally arrived and led the yellow bus down a small side road. When both vehicles came to a stop at a pullout, Fast Horse left the bus to converse with the driver of the truck. He soon bounded back up the steps and yelled, “Wake up, everyone!” He waited until the entire crew sat at attention. “We got a hose lay today... they finally got it all set up. Should be heading out there in a bit.”
Many in the crew expressed their satisfaction. Using water from hoses was a much easier and more satisfying method of extinguishing hot spots.
Fast Horse continued, “It’ll be a good chance for some of you to get familiar with hoses so that if we’re ever in a hot situation, and water’s nearby, we can take care of it... So remember, no straight streamin’. Keep the nozzle on fog when you’re workin’ out there, ‘cause if we use up this water too soon, we’ll be back to dry moppin’. They’re probably not gonna send the water tender out for more, ‘cause it’s a long way to go.” Fast Horse paused. “So when you’re out there, keep your heads up for snags. A lotta trees’ll be burnin’ at the base still, and some might be hung up on something. If you find a bad one, put some flaggin’ around it and remember to bump the word around.” Fast Horse paused again. “Any questions?”
“The fire do anything last night, with the wind and all?” Randy asked.
“Not really. They said in the briefing this morning that it burned in some spots in the middle, but that was all inside the line. I figure they’ll probably call it contained in a few days unless something strange happens. Don’t you think so, Shroeder?”
“Yeah, I’d say so.” Shroeder said proudly.
“Any other fires out there?” George asked.
“Idaho’s got one... Only a few thousand acres, though,” Fast Horse answered. “California’s got a few, but they’re real small. Smokejumpers already dropped in there and hit ‘em pretty good. Don’t worry, we’ll be on some more real soon, I expect. One day at a time... But we still got a lot of work to do here, so we’re moppin’ up from the cat line in about two hundred feet.” Fast Horse looked out the window at uniformed man who motioned to him. “Any more questions?... Looks like they’re ready then. Dominos!”
Everyone rose from their seats nearly in unison, gathered their gear, and stomped
loudly out of the bus. Outside they collected around the tools, which had been yanked out of the bus’s rear.
Frank turned to Scott. “You want a shovel or a Pulaski?”
“Don’ care, my man.” Scott responded.
“Let’s switch from yesterday,” Frank proposed pleasantly.
“Sounds good, partner.”
Scott’s words were pleasing to Frank’s ears. Scott seemed happy to be working with him. He had been lucky.
The crew lined out and marched down the cat line, which more closely resembled a one-lane road than any sort of line. Like the line off of which they had worked the previous day, this one marked the large, violently constructed path a huge bulldozer had taken to clear a firebreak in advance of the oncoming flames. Entire trees, some over a hundred feet in length, lay uprooted along its side, their roots clawing emptily at the air.
The crew traveled fifteen minutes before they came to a fork, where their line intersected with another of equal size. This new track ran along the edge of the burned area in both directions, having been effective in stopping the fire’s advance. On one side, the forest remained a rich green and brown, completely untouched by fire, while on the other side, the forest had been stripped nearly bare and what remained was coated in black and gray. On the ground were charred outlines of grass, sticks, plants, and pine needles, temporary effigies of what was once lying or growing there. In a few places, flames could still be seen inside downed logs and hollow, standing trees.
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