Frank was left with a sinking, empty feeling as he studied Alice’s departing form. He was angered by her flippant exit and wanted to tell her so, but he knew that seeing her continue to exhibit an air of indifference would only exasperate him further. He was tempted to wash his hands of her as she apparently could do of him, but he couldn’t find the means to motivate himself. He thought of ignoring her until they were no longer friends, but giving up the idea of being with her made him a little panicky. She was more his than anyone else’s, and he had to keep it that way.
No, he wouldn’t let her push him away, if that was what she was trying to do. Her methods of communication were only limiting the depth of their closeness; they shouldn’t be seen as impenetrable defenses. Why did she put up any barriers to begin with? Was she just hiding her vulnerability? Could she really lower her defenses and be his at some point, or was he doomed to always agonize in her presence? But even if she could be his someday, he couldn’t picture a serene, trusting type of relationship blooming between them. He had pictured love to be blissful, the shade of a protective old oak tree at the center of the field. Love probably took a lot of work like everything else, he told himself in perturbation. Another fucking struggle.
Frank walked back to his squad and heard the ridiculous laugh of George. “Lover’s spat,” George said sardonically.
“Naw, Frank -- he’s a thenthitive guy,” Jim said with a lisp. “Which means he ain’t gettin’ none a that poosay.”
Frank tried to tell himself that he didn’t care what these men said or thought, but hostility managed to creep into him. He forced himself to walk away and pack up his gear. He was angry that the respect due him had not come automatically with his new title. Frank wanted to be above these men in their own arena for once, and felt he deserved it. They would have to be made to see that. No one should be able to talk about him and Alice like that. He was in a new setting with new weapons; he had earned his right to be there, and he’d fight for his place if he had to.
Randy, meanwhile, approached his men, who were gathered together and waiting for orders. “So... you guys need to leave Alice alone,” he said. “The fun is over, and Alaska got screwed by it. Unless you want it to happen to you, just let her be, okay?.... Jim?”
Jim didn’t respond.
“It’s fucked up the way we’ve all been giving her shit just ‘cause there’s no other women around we can give shit to. What if your sisters or girlfriends were in Alice’s boots?” Randy asked
“They aren’t, and who fucking cares about Alice!” Jim, defiant after his earlier confrontation with Frank, had heard all he was going to hear on the subject of Alice. “She can just suck my dick for all I care!”
A couple in the squad laughed.
“I mean it, man! Just lay off her!” Randy barked.
Jim was silent as he tightened the straps of the pack lying beside him. His silence was a tacit acknowledgement that he would obey Randy. The squad leader had maintained his tenuous supremacy.
“All right, everybody,” the I.C. continued, and pointed to an area of the map outlined in red. The briefing tent fell silent. “I need one crew for now to go to this new area.” He circled a section of the map. “We want to keep this fire from getting out of this canyon before the inversion lifts. It’s pretty rough country, so I’d like a Type One crew. Who’s fresh?”
No one in the group of crew bosses and liaisons answered immediately. Most crews had been out a few weeks already, and were due for a mandatory period of R and R. Fast Horse, with a Type Two crew, grew increasingly anxious.
“We’ve been out two and a half weeks, but we can do it if you want,” the crew boss of the Wilson Hot Shots said dutifully.
“I don’t know... anyone else have a fresh crew? Trillium, how ‘bout you?”
“Been out three weeks.”
“I have a fresh crew who can handle it,” Fast Horse boldly announced, with certainty.
“You got a Type Two don’t you, Fast Horse?”
“These men, men and uh... one woman, are all pretty capable. We’ve got the experience, and we’ve been out for less than a week.”
The I.C. pulled his lip in deliberation. “Still have the Willamette crew, don’t you?”
“Yep,” Fast Horse answered pridefully.
“Sounds okay to me.”
Fast Horse leaned back in his chair as the I.C. continued doling out assignments. He’d done what he’d set out to do. His success brought with it a familiar feeling. Yet something still gnawed at him, made him doubt the wisdom of his action. He did believe his crew to be capable, as he had claimed. When he ran an inventory in his head of the characteristics and skills of the individual crewmembers, he found that the raw ingredients were there. He told himself that he’d work it all out. He always did.
“Everybody listen up! Squad bosses got your people?” Fast Horse yelled.
“Yep.”
“Yeah.”
“Got ‘em all.”
Everyone gathered in the center of the camp expectantly.
“We’re goin’ down the mountain a ways from here. There’s a fire burnin’ down there that they haven’t even had a chance to get a line around yet, an’ we’ll be on our own.”
Many in the crew murmured their apprehensive excitement at the news.
“There’s a serious inversion right now, so the fire isn’t doin’ too much, but if some wind comes into that canyon down there, it’s bound to be pretty squirrelly -- and I have a feeling we’ll be seeing some action. Everyone’s got to keep on their toes at all times. It’s steep terrain like around here. Judgin’ from the topo map, there could be lots of chutes and funnels on the side of the canyon, so be careful if we get in a spot where flames are below us. Fire could start rippin’ uphill pretty quick. Somethin’ to think about, anyway, on the way there.” Fast Horse’s eyes rested on Alaska. “Just remember to listen to your squad bosses.” His eyes traveled next to Derrick. “And stick with the rest of the crew at all times.
“Now... there’s something I’ve been meaning to talk to you guys about. There’s been a lot of hostility on this crew, and its gotta stop. This isn’t the time or place for all those attitudes an’ shit you brought with you, so leave it behind. We’re all firefighters now, and nothing else... and your job as a firefighter depends on cooperation, as you all know. So I don’ wanna hear no more tough guy remarks, or threats of any kind. That includes all types of harassing.” Fast Horse’s eyes rested on Jim momentarily. “You got a problem you can’t solve, you come to me. Everyone gets angry from time to time, and people aren’t supposed to agree on everything. That’s okay, but let’s try to keep from blowing up so often and making people even angrier. You can bet that if there’s problems now, it’ll really get bad if the shit ever hits us out there. Part of doin’ your job is gettin’ along with people on the crew... So, I don’t want to have to deal with this anymore. Everyone got that?”
A majority of the heads nodded, and some firefighters mumbled affirmations in reply.
“I think we’re clear on that... So, there hasn’t been a fire in this area since I can remember, and that’s a long time. It’s got a lot of potential. There’s even some stands of dead trees here and there that they say died from some Asian beetle infestation. They think the inversion is gonna hold down there, but I’ve heard that more times than I should’ve over the years.” Fast Horse paused. “Anyway, I’m just fillin’ you in ‘cause I want you to know what I’m thinkin’ when I go into this area... Oh yeah, and we may end up spending some nights out there. It’s a long hike in, and they may want us to stay to mop up or finish something we didn’t get a chance to finish - so pack a change of clothes and whatever else you need in your yellow pack. Any questions?” Fast Horse paused and then smiled as he made the slow motion of tugging on reins. “I told ‘em Willamette could handle it... Okay, Dominos!”
“Dom
inos!” many echoed.
The crew lined out and began marching toward the bus.
As she walked, Alice was the most contented she’d been since the fire call had come. She imagined all her struggles on the crew were behind her, and she could finally begin to concentrate on what it meant to be a firefighter. She knew that it would take a lot for her feel as desperate as she had the day before. In order to keep her place out there, perhaps small actions like the one she had taken with Alaska would always be needed, she mused. If that was true, she’d have to get used to it. A small skirmish is always better than a war of desperation.
She congratulated herself for having let reason rule. It had led her down the correct path.
Alaska too appeared calm, for the first time since the start of the campaign. To watch him was like watching a newly-tamed tiger follow its master into the circus ring. The heavy shame weighed his head down as he marched at the end of the line, slightly out of step with the others. He had lost his job, the thing that had mattered most to him, the thing that had helped him fight the meaninglessness that threatened to swallow him whole. It had been explained to him why he had been removed, but he still didn’t understand. There weren’t many words in his vocabulary that could have been used to make him understand, but there were some.
After boarding the bus, the crew talked of little else but their chances of seeing a big fire up close. Most were captivated by the idea of seeing walls of voracious flames devour trees whole. They were supposed to fear for their safety in the proximity of an enormous conflagration, regret the extent of the destruction it wrought. Instead, it excited them viscerally.
Frank was solidly among those who looked forward, although with some apprehension, to the prospect of meeting large flames. He felt as if he were buckling his seat belt before the plunging down a steep incline. He didn’t worry about safety, trusting that to others, he only thrilled at the unknown nature of the ride and forced himself to set his insecurities aside.
But soon Jim broke the spell. He leaned over to Frank and said, “Hey Franklin, you think your squad can handle it?” Jim’s voice sounded pleasant and if one didn’t know the man behind the words, one might swear that he was speaking kindly.
Frank, however, guessed the comment was an attempt to rub a nerve till it became raw. Frank sensed he was being tested, and managed to convince himself that he was above the level of Jim’s remarks. “Hell yes,” he said, evidencing little emotion.
Randy, sitting behind Frank, and as close to the middle of the bus as he could be and still remain in the company of his squad, looked back at Jim gravely.
Jim made a comical expression that said that Randy should stop being so serious, that he was only playing around. Randy cast a warning look and turned back around, unamused. Jim then looked around him with youthful hyperactivity. He needed something to take his mind off the fact that they had an hour bus ride ahead of them. There were plenty of itches he could scratch to pass the time.
“So I hear they got some of those good-tastin’ owls in these parts. What’s that endangered one we used to eat when it fell out of the old growth we’d cut down?” he asked aloud. “Member? It’d go ‘splat and we’d pick it up an’ cook it right where it fell? Hey, George, remember? You even used to be pretty good at knockin’ ‘em outta the tree with a rock. C’mon, somebody remembers the name...”
“Splatted owl,” George said, provoking laughter even from Randy.
Frank was sickened. He quickly filled with loathing for Jim in particular, and for George and the rest of Squad Two to a lesser degree for having laughed at such a joke. He figured the men could easily kill, and possibly had killed, such a creature. Not only did they seem to care nothing for the environment, but they appeared proud of their contempt for environmental protection, in general, and endangered species, sacred to Frank, in particular. Jim had succeeded. Frank, who usually leaned towards education and away from retaliation, and whose resolve to end antagonism between opposing sides was rarely absent, was now like a compressed spring. A squad boss and yearning to flex his new muscles, he decided he wasn’t going to take Jim’ treatment anymore. He deserved respect. Jim never dared treat Fast Horse like that.
“Hey Frank, join me in some splatted owl later on?”
“FUCK YOU!” Frank snapped. His ire began to burn where it had never burned before. Those within hearing range turned their heads. But before continuing, Frank waited for most of the firefighters in front to turn back around, with the notable exception of Alice and Scott, who were not about to miss anything that might be said next. Knowing which eyes and ears were pointed in his direction Frank said, “I’ve had enough of your shit!... All you ever sound like is a fucking ignorant hick.” He spat the words vehemently in Jim’s face, where their impact stung slightly.
Jim’s features tightened. Again, he had meant to provoke, and had received an emotionally charged retaliatory response, as anticipated. But now his pride was under attack, and he was surprised to find himself in the middle of a battle with such high stakes. He let a thin anger permeate him, lightly shielding his vulnerability. He looked at Frank and slowly shook his head. “Don’t ever FUCK with me, man!” he rumbled, forced to leave the battle unfinished but far from over.
Frank didn’t care to continue the exchange with Jim, though for the first time he could remember he didn’t fear an escalation of such a confrontation. He was pleased to have told Jim off, and was willing to leave it at that. He had done the right thing, he figured, and sat back, letting himself sink to the point of total immersion in his pride; a pride that was partially born of his prejudice. He told himself that he was right to have stood up and fired back at the kind of man who scoffed at his ideals. Drawing a line had felt good, he realized; almost natural. He let out a sigh and leaned back in his seat. He had come on the crew as yielding as wet clay, but now things were different.
Frank looked up, and was pleased to see Scott’s huge, knowing grin directed at him. Then he delightedly discovered that Alice was smiling, too, as if to say that she was impressed, and a little surprised, at what he had in him.
Meanwhile, back at the camp, a slight breeze shook the flaps of the I.C.’s canvas tent. He knew it was nothing to worry about, but the breeze did automatically start him thinking about fire behavior. Hours earlier, he had heard that a high-pressure front might be headed their way. Nothing was certain yet, but he thought about how its arrival might affect various aspects of the suppression efforts underway, the logistics of which ran through his head without interruption. The Devil’s Gulch fire, to which he had sent a crew that morning, stood out in his mind. Though small in size, it was now the least contained of the fires, and he knew that the valley it was in could funnel the wind and spread the fire quickly. Yet if the front really did come and the inversion lifted, aircraft could be sent in, providing the winds weren’t too strong. Then, finally, the pilots could see well enough to fly safely and hit their marks.
The I.C. relaxed more than he had since lightning had struck in the District. Whatever happened, he could handle it, he told himself, and decided that an end to the campaign was near.
Chapter 19
The bus plunged down the mountainside into the depths of a valley flanking the east side of the range. A thick layer of smoke met the firefighters like a harbinger of doom, quickly engulfing the bus in blackness and forcing the driver to turn on her headlights. The darkness became increasingly oppressive to the silent crew, who yearned subconsciously for the light of day. The mood was decidedly somber, and even Fast Horse wasn’t up to rallying the crew and rejuvenating its spirit just then. No one felt in their element; the surroundings didn’t seem natural.
Before long, the bus neared a thin line of fire, perpendicular to the road, illuminating the charred landscape immediately adjacent to it. At present, the small flames could be credited with opening areas to sunlight, making room for some species to grow that had been squee
zed out previously, destroying growth-inhibiting toxins in the soil, and freeing nutrients contained in the plants and debris for use by growing root systems. As the bus rumbled slowly by on the back of the flat, bare road, immune to fire, the crew felt safe. But fire was a volatile tool of change. Days before, with speed and violence not characteristic of typical wildfires, flames had torn mercilessly through parts of this same area.
“Dead cows!” someone on the left side of the bus yelled. Everyone positioned themselves to catch a glimpse of the two large, brown bloated forms.
“Whoa, how’d they die? They don’t look burnt,” John said.
“Smoke inhal...”
“Hey Fast Horse, how did they die?” Frank asked, cutting Alaska off.
“Smoke probably got ‘em,” Fast Horse yelled back, “Could also be that a blast of hot air burned their lungs, or they got carbon monoxide poisoning. The same things that can kill firefighters in the field. You all remember that movie in guard school about how to protect your breathing space?”
No one claimed to remember the details of the dry government film.
“It’s important you know that stuff. If we deploy our fire shelters, remember to dig a little hole in the ground to bury your face, it’ll help you breathe.” Fast Horse continued his lecture, disregarding the members of Squad Two who were making faces of boredom at each other. “You don’t have to even touch fire to die from it, so don’t feel like that shake ‘n bake bag is gonna save you and that you ain’t got nothin’ to worry about... And those cows lyin’ there can run a hell of a lot faster than you. Remember that.” Fast Horse hoped that the silence meant that the information he’d imparted was sinking in.
The bus passed by the body of another downed animal. Frank saw that it, too, was bloated, and almost as large as the cows they had just passed; a large set of antlers protruding from the animal’s head came into view.
When a Fire Burns Hot Page 27
