With the crew lined out and standing at attention, Fast Horse relayed the I.C’s change in plans. Many expressed dismay on their faces. One expressed it verbally: “So we aren’t working our way back to the bus?” Jim asked.
“Probably not. We’ll have to see what they want us to do. Might have to spend the night out here again and mop up tomorrow, or start backburning tomorrow if we don’t get to it today.” Fast Horse cast a challenging eye at his crew that warned against complaining. “Any questions?... Okay, let’s line out!”
Some of the firefighters of Squad Two exchanged looks but said nothing. Shroeder took notice of this, before reaffirming his decision that there was cause to doubt Fast Horse.
“Dominos!” Fast Horse yelled, and the column of firefighters began their descent into the fire’s smoky lair. For the next half hour they walked, slid, and sometimes jumped down the long, steep hillside until they came to a skittering stop at the edge of the creek. Here they turned and headed downstream, occasionally looking over their shoulders in vain, hoping to catching a glimpse of a smoke column, some sign of the fire, the face of the enemy.
As he walked, Fast Horse searched for a place where a snag or a tree could be dropped across the creek as had been done the day before. But after they had covered the distance of half of a mile and were at the approximate location of the new line’s planned starting point, he had not yet seen anything that would satisfy his needs. Not even the opposite side had a tree anywhere near the edge. He figured the creek was only likely to get bigger as they descended, and that traveling much further wouldn’t be likely to do them any good. He picked his place and told the crew they were going to cross.
“How the fuck we gonna get across that?” Roy said aloud to no one in particular.
“It’s up to you.” Fast Horse quickly responded. “Me, I’m gonna take my boots and pants off, impress the hell outta Alice here, and walk across. I suggest you do the same, unless you want to work in wet clothes all morning and get some sort of crotch fungus down there or somethin’.”
Then, suddenly, the thrill of adventure took everyone in its grip. They followed Fast Horse’s lead and eagerly removed their boots, socks and pants, and stepped into the frigid creek. With solid determination, they faced the shock of the cold rushing water. The enraged creek suddenly seemed a force to be conquered; and many imagined, when they looked downstream, that there was an element of danger present, that they could be picked up by the current and slammed repeatedly into the rocks.
Fast Horse, with boots and pants slung over his shoulder, was first to step out of the creek and onto the far bank, the water having never gone higher than his thighs. He looked back and was pleased to see the straggling group stepping boldly and surely as they crossed, resembling a herd of young elk. He laughed.
“0oh, this water is fuckin’ cold!” Roy yelled.
“No shit! My balls are numb, and they ain’t even in this fuckin’ glacier water!” Jim exclaimed.
Randy playfully pushed Jim, who crossed beside him. Jim lost his footing and stumbled, nearly dropping the chainsaw resting on his shoulder. The creek rushed up to the level of his waist before he regained his footing. “Aaahh! Motherfucker!” he cried. He looked up to see Randy laughing down at him.
Jim wasted no time in getting even. With a smile of his own, he removed his hard hat, dipped it in the creek, and threw the water at Randy, all in one motion. Randy turned and ducked, but still felt the icy chill of creek water trickling down his back.
The two men then looked at each other warily, with slanted eyes. The game had begun, and there was almost no limit to where it would end. Each stood waiting for the other to make his move.
“That’s enough there, men!” Fast Horse bellowed over the noise of the rushing current. He knew that as soon as a certain level of playfulness was tolerated, those involved would be beyond his control and a type of hysteria could then take hold.
Neither opponent liked their game being stopped, but they were unwilling to disobey Fast Horse. The men reluctantly turned away from each other and continued across the creek.
“I’ll get your ass next time!” Randy chided.
“In your wet dreams!” Jim tossed back.
Fast Horse saw that Alice was the only one left on the bank. She had removed her boots and was hesitantly stepping into the creek. Her pants were rolled up past her knees and she looked quite dissatisfied with what she was about to do. Fast Horse was doubtful that she would be able keep her pants dry in the crossing. “All right, I don’t want anyone to turn around for a minute while Alice crosses.”
The crew reluctantly obeyed.
Alice waited until everyone’s backs were turned toward her and smiled gratefully. “Thanks!” she yelled, and then stepped out of the water, removed her pants, and selfassuredly resumed her journey.
All the men wished they had eyes in backs of their heads, but only Frank actually considered turning around. He felt like it was almost his right, after she had so clearly expressed a physical affection for him the night before. So strong became his desire to turn around that it aggrieved him not to do so. And he probably should make sure she was crossing all right. She was in his care now. Finally, when he heard the clanking of her belt, his head snapped quickly around, surprising him, and he caught a glimpse of light blue underwear before her pants were hoisted up, eclipsing the view.
Instinctively, Alice raised her head, and was just in time to see Frank turn his head back around.
After calculating that Alice was fully clothed, Frank turned back around, trying to hide his shame, to judge her reaction. Alice pasted an obviously fraudulent smile on her face and looked him as if to say, “Well, did you get to see what you were hoping to see?”
Frank looked away sheepishly, but was thrilled by the new knowledge, obtained from what was and wasn’t contained in her expression, that he had a chance of one day seeing more of her than just a fleeting glimpse of those beautiful blue underwear. And those white thighs, that were so smooth right before the place where they joined. His desires taunted him madly, until he again felt a tingling in his groin.
“So we’re going to make this line a bit wider than usual,” Fast Horse announced to the crew when he had their attention. “We’ve got the time, and I think it’s necessary. I want to see it a foot and a half wide. And sawyers... I want you to cut the lodgepoles back five feet on either side, making the perimeter at least ten feet wide. Take your time. That’s a hell of a lot of cutting, I know, with the way they’re so thick in there. Also, watch out for any that are leaning over the line up above. There’s all kinds of stuff in there.”
The sawyers nodded to Fast Horse. They knew what he meant by “stuff”.
“Okay, sawyers, whenever you’re ready!” Fast Horse yelled with rallying enthusiasm.
Almost immediately the familiar whine of chainsaws filled the forest. The small trees proved to be no match for the sawyers who sliced through them, usually in one motion, as if they were made of wax. The men advanced steadily while unnoticed sticks, dry and brittle like old bones, were crushed under their feet as they worked.
The rest of the crew followed the sawyers as they left the green comfort of the creekside and cut a neat, light brown dirt trail down the middle of the stump-studded path of destruction. For many, it felt strange to have gone from the wide-open creekside to the dense, eerie forest of scraggly pines that offered only a view of trees.
Fast Horse was pleased with the work, and the fact that the crew finally appeared welladjusted to the job. He shouted words of encouragement, “Looking good there, people! We’ll get this in in no time if we keep it up like this!”
The sawyers worked fast and fierce for over two hours, pausing only to refill their saws with gas and oil. When the sawyers arrived at a slightly open area, where collections of rocks had prevented the growth of all but a few trees, Fast Horse called a halt to the
work. Here the crew scanned the sky for a hint of fire activity, but saw only a thin haze above the treetops.
Fast Horse walked into the middle of the opening and decided that it would be adequate. “All right, sawyers and swampers, I want you to enlarge this area here for a safety zone,” he said. “Alaska, I want a humidity reading, and everyone else get back in the trees there till the sawyers are done.”
Again the sawyers fired up their saws, while the rest of the crew stood back and watched and rested. The sawyers started with the few trees that stood in the middle and dropped and bucked them into sections for the swampers to drag well clear of the safety zone. The periphery was then slowly enlarged as small trees and bushes were cut and removed. When the cleared space seemed large enough, Fast Horse dragged a finger across his throat and the sawyers shut off their saws and stood at attention.
“All right, looks good! Now let’s keep goin’ on that line,” Fast Horse said, and pointed in the direction the line was to go. “Alaska, you got a humidity reading for me?”
“It was at nineteen three minutes ago.”
“Thanks,” Fast Horse said, and factored a new piece of information into the overall safety equation.
The crew had covered almost a third of the distance to their designated endpoint when George’s saw suddenly quit. It wasn’t the sound of a saw running out of gas, but that of a saw losing its ability to function. George sat down to take it apart and troubleshoot. Fast Horse called an early lunch break.
Most of the crewmembers sat where they had been working last. Jim and the two swampers left George to fix his saw, and joined Randy in the middle of the line. Almost everyone was silent as they ate, and the sound of George cursing at his machine rolled through the forest like distant thunder. After exhausting his store of repair tactics, George abandoned his job, carried his saw back to his squad, and threw it on the ground in a display of disgust. “Fuckin’ couldn’t get the piece of shit runnin’,” he grumbled. The others remained silent as a requiem to the saw, which would be missed.
Frank felt uncomfortable sitting only feet from Squad Two. After the events of the previous day, no member of Squad Two had even as much as acknowledged his presence. He looked over at George and asked, “What happened to your saw?”
Assuming that the comment had been of an insolent nature, George glared at Frank. “Fuck, what do you think? Broke down,” he said, staring Frank down as long as his empty courage lasted.
Frank knew his question had been taken the wrong way, and started to search for something to say that would dispel the misunderstanding. But he stopped himself and left the words to die a premature death. Wasn’t it George’s problem if he took something the wrong way? Why should he waste his time with such a pigheaded man? “Yeah, thanks, George, I figured it broke down by all your bitching at it,” Frank said, and returned to his illsmelling packet of meatballs and gravy.
Fast Horse, meanwhile, strolled over to Alaska, who had just finished spinning his set of thermometers. “What’s it at?” he asked.
Alaska looked up, eyes wide with disbelief. “You won’t believe it if I tell you.”
“Try me, I’m used to low readings on the east side.”
“Are you used to twelve?”
“That is low,” Fast Horse said pensively. He hid the fact that he was almost as surprised by the plummeting readings as was Alaska. He strode over to Squad Two. “Hey George, how’s the saw? Any hope?” he asked.
“I think the carburetor’s fucked up. Can’t do anything about it out here.”
Fast Horse nodded. “We’ll just have you two sawyers trade off when one gets tired... and go with one saw and two swampers. I don’t want this to hold us back much. I’d like to be backburning by late this afternoon.”
“All right, we can do that.”
“Do you mind if I take a look? I’ve got one of these at home.”
“Sure,” George said with reticence, before handing Fast Horse the tool bag.
Fast Horse knelt over the saw and took only seconds to remove the outer cover. He used a screwdriver to make some adjustments before putting the saw back together. He yanked on the pullcord, and the saw sputtered but didn’t start. He made another slight adjustment to the idle and again tried to start the saw. It again sputtered, but this time finally sustained itself, kicking out thick puffs of white smoke. When he pulled on the throttle a few times, the saw revved up to full power and the smoke cleared. He then shut it off and returned it to George.
“Just have to adjust the jets in a certain way sometimes. Happens to those saws all the time when they get too hot. Remind me to show you later tonight,” he said, and smoothly walked away, hoping to find a good vantage point to scout the fire.
George watched Fast Horse depart, shook his head, and said, “Fuuuck!”
After a few minutes of searching, Fast Horse found himself standing atop a rocky pinnacle that afforded him a view of a good portion of the valley. An expansive, uninterrupted cover of unburnt forest stretched out in front of him and covered most of the hillside to his right. In the distance, to his left, a black, jagged swath marked the still-smoking path the fire had initially taken in its infancy. The area it had consumed the day before, and that which it was currently consuming, remained partially obscured by smoke. He took out a small pair of binoculars from his pack and scrutinized the closest edge of the fire on the valley floor, on the same side of the creek as his crew. Most of the near side of the perimeter appeared to be calm, judging by the wispy nature of the smoke, yet there were a few isolated pockets of activity, marked by small columns of black smoke. Probably only a couple of individual stands torching up, he figured. He was glad they had put a lot of ground between themselves and the fire by angling slightly away from the burn as they descended. Its nearest edge now looked at least a mile from where he stood. He scanned the other parts of the forest for any signs of spot fires but, as expected, he saw none; the wind hadn’t blown that direction from the fire at any time since the blowup yesterday. He then noticed a couple of helicopters working the edges of the burn. He had hoped to see or hear a retardant plane, which could help protect his crew in an emergency, but the presence of helicopters still offered some reassurance. They could get a crew out fast if things ever went bad.
Fast Horse looked at his watch: 12:30. He figured the temperature was about eighty to eightyfive degrees where he was standing. The consequences of a long, hot day ran through his head automatically. He wondered if he had thought of everything, but he decided that, as usual, he had.
Frank sensed that some of Squad Two’s attention was focused in his direction, and he turned to Alice. “Hey, Alice, got anything good for me to eat?” He was pleased when she offered him a large red apple. A bond was there for all to see. He grasped the round fruit.
“Now you give me something, Frank.” Alice giggled youthfully when she realized that her words and Frank’s could have held ulterior meanings. Frank laughed with her, and then they smiled at each other coyly for a brief moment.
After witnessing the exchange between Frank and Alice, the firefighters of Squad Two looked at each other as if to say, “What the fuck?” The rules of the game seemed to have changed, and they didn’t know what to think anymore.
Frank found a candy bar in his bag and, with a smile, handed it to Alice. She smiled and accepted the gift happily.
“That the best you can give her? She expects a lot out of a man,” Jim said, carelessly reaching for a familiar ploy to enliven the spirits of his squad.
Frank looked at Jim and formed an expression of violent loathing. Frank’s face then went blank as cackling began to spew from the mouths of most of Squad Two.
“That’s fuckin’ it, man!” Frank snapped.
“Easy does it there, big guy,” Jim said a little unsteadily.
Frank surged to his feet without a moment of hesitation or deliberation. Intoxicating
adrenaline surged through him. He easily pushed his anxiety aside, and convinced himself that he appeared powerful in his valiant stance. His courage was there for all to see, particularly Alice. With his boots firmly planted on the ground, he yelled, “I’ve had enough of your shit! All of you!” he bellowed, with a voice that didn’t crackle with fear but, at last, boomed in triumph. Alice grabbed his shirt to pull him down, but he stood firm and stepped away from her. “Shut the fuck up! I’m warning you!”
Everyone had been astonished by Frank’s action, but none more than Jim. His sneering smile finally dropped from his face and a stony look of seriousness fell to replace it. He knew he had to get up in return. He also knew that he had to appear formidable to effectively counter the challenge. Slowly he rose to his feet, convincingly confident in his actions. He then locked eyes with Frank and said, “Listen, motherfucker! Don’t be standing up on me unless you’re ready to go down fast! You got a new bitch and a new job and you think you’re hot shit now, huh?” Jim took a slow step in Frank’s direction and Frank, in turn, stepped decisively towards him.
Alice sat stunned, too horrified to move. She was still reaching for the familiar weapon of anger, but remained unsure as to how it could be used in this situation.
When a Fire Burns Hot Page 33
