by Karen Foley
He’d grown up exploring the park’s interior, hiking the mountain peaks, and swimming in the cold, pristine lakes. Logically, he understood wildfires happened and they weren’t always a bad thing. But this one was like a ferocious dragon, consuming everything in its path and leaving nothing but a wake of destruction and charred earth behind. The dry conditions, fueled by strong winds and warm temperatures, were a recipe for disaster. The fire seemed to have a mind of its own, shifting directions and leaping across fire lines at will.
The crew had been working line construction for several hours now, and for the entire day the winds had worked to their advantage, blowing the fire back onto itself. The aerial crews had been dumping water onto the flames as fast as they could scoop it out of the nearby lake, but the heat was so incredibly intense that even the massive dousing wasn’t enough to completely suppress the flames.
They’d made some good progress, but Tyler knew the precise moment when the wind changed, reversed direction, and began blowing ash and embers down the slope, directly on top of their position. The entire crew watched in silent horror as a fiery trail of hot cinders drifted over their heads and landed in the dry grasses below them, bursting into flames wherever they touched down.
“Jesus Christ.” Sam breathed beside him, and then yanked out his radio. “Crew 1-Glacier Creek to base, come in!” There was no reply. He tried again, “Crew 1-Glacier Creek to base! Do you copy? Answer, goddamn it!”
Tyler could see the danger. There was no way they could extinguish the dozens of grass fires popping up all over the slope, but if they didn’t move, they’d be trapped between two walls of flame. It didn’t matter now which way the wind blew, they were screwed.
Sam was hollering down the line for the men to haul ass to the west, beyond the line of burning trees to where the most recent water drop had soaked the forest. If they could get beyond the trees that were fully engulfed, before the grass fires closed off that route, they might have a chance. But it was more than a hundred yards, uphill, and they’d been busting their asses for more than twenty-four hours.
They began running.
Tyler had been working the end of the construction line, and consequently found himself at the back of the retreating men. He hung onto his pulaski and forced his legs to move, his breath coming in hard pants as he sprinted hard, keeping one eye on the trees, and watching as fireballs shot over their heads. Ahead of him, someone tripped and went down, and Tyler reacted instinctively, grabbing the man’s jacket and hauling him back to his feet, and then pushing him ahead. The air wavered with the intensity of the heat, and Tyler’s head was filled with the roaring of the flames that raced toward them.
Grassfire was the fastest kind of wildfire. No man could outrun it, and Tyler could see their escape route was rapidly closing. In another ten seconds, they’d be running through the fire itself. He could almost feel the flames licking at his feet. In all the years he’d been fighting fires, he’d never had to deploy his fire shelter, but sensed that was about to change.
Sam had stopped running, and was shouting into his radio while simultaneously waving the men past him, and directing them toward a section of trees that still gave off damp steam from the recent water drop. The men at the front of the line had just reached the tree line, but there was no way the guys at the back would make it before the fire trapped them.
As the crew foreman, Tyler was getting ready to give the order to deploy the fire shelters, when he heard the unmistakable drone of a low-flying airplane overhead. He didn’t even look up, but instead took a knee and covered his face, just seconds before the slurry hit him.
The impact might have driven him to his knees if he wasn’t already down. As he felt the thick, cold gel coat his body and begin to slide beneath the edge of his jacket, he lifted his head. The plane had made a direct hit, covering both the men and the meadow with the fire retardant, effectively dousing the fire and saving their lives.
A whoop went up from the men, and Tyler pushed himself to his feet, swiping the emollient from his shoulders and arms. The once flaming grass was now nothing more than a blackened, smoking wasteland. As Tyler made his way toward the other men, a second helicopter made a pass over the still-burning trees, and emptied the bucket over the canopy, preventing additional embers from escaping.
“Okay, boys,” Sam called, “we’re not done here yet! Shake it off, and let’s finish this.”
Tyler bent forward, bracing his hands on his knees as he sucked in deep breaths. The air was filled with ash, and the heat was still incredible, but it was nowhere near what it had been just scant seconds ago. If not for the two aerial drops, he’d likely be nothing more than a charred lump. He still couldn’t comprehend how quickly the situation had changed, when they thought they’d had control, and then it was gone. In all his years of battling wildfires, this was the closest he’d ever come to thinking he might not make it home.
Hefting his pickaxe, he turned back to the line of trees and began working the fire line once again. He threw himself into the work, glad for the distraction. Later, he would have time to go over what had just happened. He’d never been a man to waste time over regrets, but he suddenly regretted that aside from his mother, there wasn’t anyone who would miss him if he didn’t return from a call.
He thought again of the pretty girl at the sanctuary. His passing would have no more impact on her life than that of a passing breeze. With that sobering thought, he bent to his work, deciding it might be time to make some changes in his life.
*
Callie bent to inspect the wound more closely, making soothing noises that did little to calm the frightened dog that lay squirming on the makeshift examination table. She’d spent most of the last several days at the animal rescue center that had been hastily set up near St. Mary Lake. Local volunteers had erected two large tents, and had built several wire enclosures for the larger animals that were coming in. Smaller animals were kept in crates under the first tent, while three plywood tables served as crude examination and operating tables.
Already, they had quite an assortment of animals, from cats and dogs to deer, and even a badger. Not all of the animals were injured. Some of them were merely displaced as a result of the fire, and the rescue center became their temporary home. Volunteers were kept busy looking for foster homes in the area, but Callie could see it wouldn’t be long before they would need additional crates and enclosures.
“Hold him still, please.” She instructed the two women who assisted her.
The dog, a large mixed-breed, had been found wandering, dazed and limping, along the stretch of road that led into town. He had no collar, and as far as Callie could tell, no identifying tattoo or microchip with which to trace him. He’d been burned, and the fur on his face, chest, legs, and tail had been scorched completely off. From what she could see, most of his burns were superficial, but there was a wound on his leg that concerned her.
“This guy was in some sort of a fight.” She gently probed the injury. “It looks like a bite, and it’s become badly infected.” She glanced up. “Hand me that saline, would you, Kim?”
One of the women handed her a squirt bottle, and Callie flushed the wound. “Okay, I’ll need to stitch this, but let’s make him a little more comfortable first.”
Selecting several vials from her medical kit, she prepared an injection to help with the pain, and administered it deftly, before giving the dog several shots of local anesthetic around the bite wound. When he finally relaxed under the effects of the sedative, she cleaned the wound and then closed it with a dozen stitches, before wrapping the leg with gauze. When that was done, she liberally applied a soothing gel to the burned areas of his face and body, wrapping those as well, until he looked more like a mummy than a dog.
“He’s badly dehydrated,” she said, lifting the dog’s lip to examine his gums. “Let’s get a fluid line into him, and start him on antibiotics.”
Together, the three women lifted the sheet under the dog, a
nd carried him into one of the wire enclosures nearby, setting him carefully down on the blankets. Callie inserted the IV drip, and satisfied that he was resting comfortably, closed the pen and stepped back.
“When he comes around, offer him some water, but just a little at a time,” Callie said. “Keep the fluids going for the next six hours, and keep him quiet. Drape a blanket over the top of the pen to keep the sun off him, and I’ll check on him in a couple of hours.”
She glanced at her watch. It was past noon. She’d been at the rescue site for nearly four hours, and had taken care of the worst of the injured animals. There were six volunteers, and they’d set up a rotating schedule so that there were always three people on duty. One of the older volunteers had some veterinary experience, although she’d been retired for almost ten years, but Callie knew the animals were in good hands. She needed to see her father. He’d been heavily sedated when she’d visited him earlier, which was almost a relief.
Since escaping the fire, Callie hadn’t been able to return to the sanctuary to check on the wolves, and consequently she had no idea if they had survived. So far, she’d been able to avoid answering his questions about the wolves, but she knew that would be the first thing he would ask about, and she dreaded not having an answer for him.
Randy had driven the five wolves to Missoula, and had returned the day before with the empty kennel truck. Callie was relieved to know the five wolves were safely settled into their new home. Climbing into the truck, she made the drive from St. Mary to Browning. The road took her past the emergency command post, where the firefighters and rescue personnel had set up their camps. There were units from all over the state of Montana, and even from other states. They had spread out along the shore of the lake, occupying a field that was normally a campground for tourists. Peering through her windshield, Callie could see the dull haze of smoke in the distance, spreading out over the mountains.
On impulse, she pulled her truck into the field, and parked next to a St. Mary rescue vehicle. She sat for a moment, considering. Was she crazy to make inquiries about the men who had tried to save her father’s property? She had no idea which unit they were from, and there were literally dozens of units encamped by the lake, with more than three hundred men involved in the fire suppression. There was no way she’d be able to find three men—okay, one man, if she was being honest with herself. And what would she say, anyway?
With a self-deprecating groan, she started the truck and was about to reverse out of the field, when she saw the St. Mary Fire Chief walking with two other men, their heads bent over a map. Before she could change her mind, Callie climbed out of the truck and hurried across the field to intercept them.
“Chief Olsen, do you have a minute?”
The men stopped, and after a quick word with his companions, the fire chief approached Callie. “Can I help you?”
“Yes, I’m Frank McLain’s daughter, Callie. He operates the wildlife sanctuary off the access road.”
The fire chief nodded. “I know Frank. I’m sorry to hear about your troubles. What can I help you with?”
Chief Olsen was a mountain of a man, with a deep, barrel chest and enormous shoulders. His weathered face was as hard and unyielding as the rest of him. Callie suddenly wished she hadn’t bothered him.
“Well…” She clasped her hands together and gave him an earnest smile. “I was hoping you might have some news about my father’s property. We were forced to leave some wolves behind, and since I haven’t been able to return, I thought maybe one of your men had some news?”
“No, I’m sorry. I understand they sent resources in to remove both you and your father, but those men were unable to stay and protect the property. Unfortunately, the fire was just too large.”
“Actually, I was hoping you might have the names of the men who helped us.” She gestured awkwardly. “So that I can thank them.”
Chief Olsen shook his head. “No, I don’t have their names.”
Disappointment swamped Callie.
“But you can check with the Glacier Creek base,” he continued. “They were part of the smokejumper crew stationed out of Glacier Creek. Is there anything else?”
Callie beamed at him. “No! Thank you, you’ve been very helpful.”
She could hardly keep the lightness out of her step as she returned to her truck.
Smokejumpers.
Somehow, the knowledge didn’t surprise her. She had already been impressed by their fearlessness in battling the wildfire, but the knowledge that they were smokejumpers only increased her respect and admiration for them. She didn’t know much about firefighting, but she knew smokejumpers and hotshots were the elite; the special forces of the wildland firefighting community. The last line of defense between an out of control wildfire and those it threatened. It was enough to give her the shivers, even on a hot summer day like today.
Glacier Creek was located on the other side of Glacier National Park, north of Missoula. She estimated it would take about six hours to drive there from St. Mary, taking the longer route around the park, since the road through the park was closed. She made a promise to herself that when she went out to Missoula in a few days to check on the wolves, she would visit the Glacier Creek base and extend her personal thanks to the men who risked their lives to help her. The smokejumpers would likely still be battling the wildfire, but she would leave something for them to demonstrate her gratitude and appreciation.
On that thought, she pulled into the parking lot of the small hospital, and made her way toward the cardiac wing. The air conditioned interior was a welcome relief from the outside heat. As she walked through the outpatient wing, Callie lifted her long hair away from her neck and wound it into a loose knot at the back of her head, securing it with an elastic band. As she passed one of the outpatient rooms, she had a swift glimpse of a man lying on the bed with an oxygen mask over his mouth and nose. A nurse stood on one side of the bed, administering an IV. Callie took several steps beyond the door when she stopped abruptly, struck by recognition.
No, it couldn’t be. Could it?
Slowly, she retraced her steps and peered around the doorframe just enough to see inside the room. He lay back against the pillows, his face still smudged with soot, and an IV hooked to one arm. Without a doubt, it was her firefighter.
He wore a hospital gown, but his heavy work boots stood guard at the base of his bed, and a red hard hat sat on a nearby chair. His eyes were closed, and he didn’t look quite as hard or tough as she remembered. As the nurse checked his vitals, she said something too low for Callie to hear. The man didn’t respond, but beneath the clear plastic mask, his mouth curved upward in a wry smile, and there was no mistaking the telltale dents in his cheeks.
And all Callie could think was, I’ve found him.
Chapter Six
Slowly, Callie stepped into the room and approached the bed. The nurse smiled at her and continued to adjust the IV tubing. Callie looked down at him for a long moment. Without his hard hat, she could see his hair was dark brown, with lighter streaks of gold. His jaw was shadowed with even more stubble than before. Traces of dirt and soot coated his face and the strong column of his throat.
As if sensing her scrutiny, he opened his eyes and looked directly at her. Callie felt her breath catch. His irises were a shade of pure blue-green, as clear as a mountain lake. Why hadn’t she noticed that earlier? His eyes were still red-rimmed and bloodshot, but there was no mistaking the sudden recognition that flared in their depths. Immediately, he shoved himself into a sitting position, and yanked the oxygen mask from his face.
“Hey.”
“It’s you.”
They spoke at the same time, and Callie broke off with an embarrassed laugh, feeling warm color spread up her neck.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “I didn’t mean to disturb you. It’s just that I was walking past, and I thought I recognized you.”
“No, it’s fine,” he said. His voice was hoarse and raspy, as if he’d inh
aled smoke. His eyes never left hers. “Pull up a chair.”
Glancing around, Callie carefully moved his helmet to the bedside table and drew the chair close to the bed. She was acutely aware of his eyes traveling over her and missing nothing. She knew she looked a wreck, but she was willing to bet she didn’t look nearly as bad as he did. “You should put your oxygen back on.”
“Yes, you should.” The nurse affirmed and, ignoring his protests, retrieved the mask and settled it over his face, only to have him pull it down beneath his chin so that he could continue talking.
“What happened to you?” Callie asked. “Are you hurt?”
“No, it’s nothing, I’m fine.” He assured her, shooting a warning glance at the nurse.
“He’s suffering from smoke inhalation, heat exhaustion, and severe dehydration,” the nurse contradicted him. She gave Tyler a hard look. “He needs rest, plenty of fluids and oxygen, but he should be fine in a day or two.”
Callie didn’t miss how she placed added emphasis on the last three words, letting him know in no uncertain terms he wasn’t going anywhere, at least not today. Callie could see he wanted to argue the point, but instead he clamped his mouth shut and shrugged, as if he actually had a choice in the matter and was simply letting the nurse have her way.
The nurse gave him an indulgent smile. “I’ll let you visit for a bit, but you need to keep your oxygen on.”
“Yes, ma’am.” He made no move to replace the mask.
The nurse left, and there was a brief, awkward silence.
“How’s your father?”
“Thank you for saving my father.”
They spoke at the same time again, and Callie laughed again, covering her face. “Sorry. How about I go first?”
