The Alt Apocalypse (Book 2): Lit

by Abrahams, Tom

  When the jet disappeared into the distant smoke, another airplane came into view with a loud, rumbling hum that sounded very different from the high-pitched whoosh of the jet. Loretta could see the twin propellers mounted in front of the wings. The aircraft was smaller than the DC-10 and was painted mostly white save the orange stripes on its wings and on the rear of the fuselage. On the tail, the number 29 was painted in large orange letters. It looked to Loretta like a converted military aircraft, and it was old.

  The plane rumbled past the spot where the jet had emptied its tanks and then unleashed a trail of red dust or liquid. She couldn’t tell which, although she did recognize it as flame retardant.

  The turboprop wasn’t out of sight before another smaller plane zoomed into view. When it zipped through a curtain of smoke, she discovered it was a large helicopter. On its side, it was labeled S-70 Firehawk. The chopper was red, white, and blue, and cruised evenly until it banked hard to its right, aiming for the same general area as the two aircraft before it, unloading a large spray of water onto the now-smoldering vegetation below.

  The Firehawk, a Sikorsky helicopter called a Black Hawk in the military, was a four-bladed, twin engine, light transport chopper. It could travel at speeds approaching two hundred miles per hour, and outfitted to fight fires, it could carry a thousand-gallon tank under its belly.

  Loretta didn’t know any of that. What she did know was that the chopper had finished its run and was headed straight toward the peak on which she stood.

  The whip of its blades grew louder, and its side profile disappeared as the craft motored directly at her. The opaque light of the sun was behind the aircraft and backlit its approach in a way that appeared cinematic to Loretta. She closed her eyes for a brief second and then reopened them, assuring herself she wasn’t imagining her potential salvation.

  She wasn’t. It was getting closer, the thump, thump, thump of the rotors musical as the chopper slowed, lowered its altitude, and hovered fifty yards from her off the edge of the peak.

  The wash from its blades was powerful and cold. It beat her relentlessly while she struggled to maintain her balance against its force. The pilot was staring straight at her through reflective eye protection. He was close enough Loretta thought she could make out the stubble that peppered his strong jawline.

  He touched the helmet-mounted microphone and adjusted it closer to his mouth, then looked at his instrument panel, speaking to someone. He stared again at Loretta and waved at her.

  A knot swelled in her throat and her knees weakened. Her neck aching, she tried to suppress the sudden tide of emotion that threatened to wreck her. Barefoot, in pajamas, and alone, the tears came despite her best efforts. Loretta lifted her trembling arms as high as she could and waved back.

  The pilot gave her a thumbs-up and then held up his index finger. He followed that by raising his palm and then holding up his index finger again.

  Was he telling her to wait? Loretta wasn’t sure. She didn’t care. He could see her. People knew she was trapped. They would rescue her soon enough.

  She nodded theatrically so she could be sure he’d see it and returned the thumbs-up. Not able to hold herself up any longer, a sobbing Loretta dropped to the ground and crossed her legs. She sat there, her chest heaving, trying to contain herself, to lessen the overwhelming mixture of relief and sadness, grief, and elation.

  The chopper hovered there for a minute more and then, without any warning from the pilot, banked to the left and gathered speed. Within seconds, it had disappeared beyond the edge of the peak.

  Loretta’s eyes were glued to the sky now, awaiting whoever it was that would return to rescue her. Various aircraft zoomed past her, fighting the flames from above. The noise was constant now. She was so transfixed by the air traffic she didn’t notice the group of men and women who appeared to manifest from the smoky tree line yards below her.

  There were four of them, clad in fire-resistant pants and shirts. They wore helmets and eye protection that masked their gender. Their heavy gloves and leather boots appeared cumbersome. Still, they moved with ease up the embankment toward Loretta.

  They wore backpacks, and some carried axes, others chainsaws. They had radios on loose-fitting belts that also carried water bottles that dangled on large carabiners.

  They were filthy and smelled of smoke and ash, but when Loretta finally spotted them, they appeared angelic. They were the most beautiful people she’d ever seen.

  A woman knelt in front of her while a beast of a man keyed his radio and spoke in some coded language Loretta didn’t understand. The woman plucked her water bottle from her waist and handed it to Loretta.

  “Drink this slowly,” she said. “You’re dehydrated. I can tell by your coloring. If you swig this too fast, you’ll puke. Tiny sips, okay?”

  Loretta nodded and greedily took the bottle. She squeezed as she drew it to her mouth and sucked in a mouthful of water. The woman put her hand on Loretta’s leg and squeezed.

  “Too fast,” she warned. “Small sips.”

  Loretta swallowed what she’d stored in her cheeks. She relished the feel of the water in her mouth, on her tongue, in her throat. She took another, smaller sip and handed back the bottle. She wiped her mouth with her pajama sleeve and gasped some air into her lungs.

  “My name is Sheri,” she said. “I’m with Cal Fire. My teammates here are from BLM and USFS.”

  Loretta eyed the others with confusion.

  “Bureau of Land Management,” said the man with the radio in his hand.

  “US Forest Service,” said another man, slighter in appearance than the beast but no less imposing. The fourth member of the team smiled and waved.

  Sheri squeezed Loretta’s leg again and locked eyes with her. “We’re awaiting a chopper for evac. I need to check your vitals, okay? We need to make sure you’re all good.”

  Loretta nodded, blinking back tears.

  Sheri shrugged off her pack and slung it onto the ground next to her. She fished through the pack, and Loretta noticed a royal blue package labeled Fire Shelter, a Ziploc bag full of Chapstick tubes, a jar of Vaseline, a can of Solarcaine spray, and some additional clothing.

  From beneath all of that, Sheri pulled out a metal box. The words Medical/First Aid were neatly printed in black marker. She unlatched it and began checking Loretta’s pulse, her pupils, her oxygen saturation, and the bottoms of her burned feet. While she did this, the beast kept busy on the radio, and one of the Forest Service firefighters asked her questions.

  “How long have you been here?”

  “I can’t be sure,” Loretta replied. “Several hours, I think. I tried to flag down choppers much of the day, and nobody saw me until now.”

  “Was anyone with you?” was the second question, immediately followed by, “Where were you when you evacuated?”

  Loretta hitched before answering. She couldn’t find the words at first. Then once they came, they wouldn’t stop. She told them about the plans for a long weekend off the grid. She and Sam wanted to detach from their wired world and explore nature. They wanted to reconnect. It was a lengthy soliloquy that was irrelevant to the situation. Nobody interrupted her.

  “We were camping,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper. “My husband, Sam, and me. Sam McNeil was his name. Mine is Loretta King. I didn’t take his name. I should have taken his name.”

  She paused and stared off into the smoky distance. She tasted salt.

  “Was his name?” asked the firefighter after a few seconds of silence. “Where is he?”

  “I don’t know. Somewhere down there. We woke up, and there was fire all around our tent. We were at a campsite. I couldn’t tell you which one. We were the only ones there.”

  She sniffed and wiped away the snot from the end of her nose. Her detached gaze was still vaguely focused on the dense woods below and the columns of smoke that pierced through the canopies. When she spoke, it was as if she were reliving what had happened. Her phrasing became cli
pped and fragmented as her mind dipped deeper into what she’d experienced.

  “We found a way out,” she said. “It was a path. It was rocky, lots of stumps and roots. Sam tripped. He hurt himself. Bad. It was bad. Our feet were already burned. Blisters. Splinters. He tripped and then he couldn’t walk.”

  Sheri stopped her examination and pulled back. She and the others listened intently to Loretta’s story.

  “The fire was moving so fast. I’d heard before how wildfires could race like that. I’d never imagined though. It was so fast. Too fast.”

  Sheri offered Loretta another sip of water. Loretta absently took the bottle and sipped from it. Water streamed from her mouth and dribbled down her chin.

  “It got bad,” she said, exhaling a ragged breath. “Sam couldn’t keep going. I told him we could make it. I thought we could make it. He wouldn’t go. Sam said to leave him. He wanted me to get help.”

  Loretta handed the bottle back to Sheri. She wiped her face with the back of her hand.

  “I told him I wouldn’t leave, but he insisted. He wanted me to live. He said to get help, that he would wait for me. He knew I’d never make it back. I knew…”

  Loretta tried to swallow again. The knot that had sat there, thick and uncomfortable in her throat, was too big now. It pulsed. It ached. She tried breathing. It came in short bursts of air between involuntary spasms in her chest.

  Sheri wrapped her arms around Loretta. She didn’t speak, didn’t try to calm her. She just held her. Loretta sobbed. When she finally calmed herself and pulled away from Sheri, she thanked her.

  “I left him there,” she said. “I know he’s dead. I knew he wouldn’t make it when I left him. We both knew that, though neither of us said it. He didn’t say it because he was brave. I didn’t say it because I was a coward.”

  The beast firefighter stepped away. He was on the radio. He glanced back at Loretta and then continued the transmission.

  Loretta was on the verge of hyperventilating. “I should have stayed,” she said between gasps. She buried her head in her hands. “I should have stayed.”

  Sheri dug into her bag and pulled out a couple of prescription bottles until she found the right one. She opened the bottle and shook a white pill into her other hand. After replacing the bottles in her bag, Sheri held the pill between her thumb and index finger and showed it to Loretta.

  “This is lorazepam,” she said. “It’s a one-milligram dose. I want you to take it.”

  Still breathing at a noticeably quickened rate, Loretta blinked and focused on Sheri. She eyed the pill and exhaled. She was trying to calm herself. She couldn’t.

  “Lorazepam?”

  Sheri handed her the pill with one hand and the bottle of water with the other. “It’ll take the edge off. It’s an anti-anxiety medication. You need this right now. It will help us help you.”

  Loretta shook her head. “I don’t think I need a drug. I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

  From behind the peak, a helicopter appeared above her. The wind whipped, and the rotors thumped. It dropped altitude directly above Loretta and the firefighters. A side door slid open and a rope ladder unfurled, swaying until it was a couple of feet from the ground.

  The crew member was on a radio, apparently communicating with the beast, who had moved around the group and was now holding the ladder steady.

  Sheri moved uncomfortably close to Loretta and said loudly at her ear, “If you’re getting on that helicopter, I need you to take this pill. It’s not going to hurt you. It will make the ride easier to tolerate. I can’t let you on that chopper unless you’re calm.”

  Loretta craned her neck back, sending a sharp pain through her shoulders, and measured the climb to the helicopter. The wind was kicking up the dry dirt, dusting it into her eyes and nose.

  She pictured Sam. She imagined him coaxing her onto the chopper, leading her to safety.

  “Okay,” she said. She took the pill and swallowed it with a last swig of water.

  Sheri hugged Loretta again. “Kevin is going to help you up the ladder and onto the chopper. The crew up there will strap you into a seat. They’ll take care of your feet and get you to a hospital, where they’ll make sure everything else is copacetic. Okay?”

  “You’re not coming with me?”

  Sheri shook her head, motioning toward the trees below them. “We’ve got more work to do. We came up here to check on you. Now it’s back to the real work.”

  Sheri winked and helped Loretta to her feet, and they moved the few steps to the ladder. The beast, whose name was apparently Kevin, took Loretta’s elbow and guided her up the first couple of rungs.

  “I need you to move one rung at a time,” he said into her ear above the loud din of the chopper and its wash, “one foot at a time. No skipping rungs. Slide one hand and then the other. Don’t ever let go of the ropes. When you get to the top, you’re going to grab onto the guy up there. His name is Rick. He’s going to hold your hands and then pull you up. He’s connected to a harness. You let him do his thing.”

  He stepped back from her, and Loretta nodded her understanding.

  “I’m right behind you,” he said. “I won’t let you fall. Cool? Now go.”

  Loretta lifted one foot and then the other. The soles of her feet were raw, and she grimaced. She slid one hand up the rope and then the other on the opposite side. Step. Step. Slide. Slide.

  He was right behind her, as he said he’d be. She moved rhythmically, and he mimicked her progress up the ladder. When she reached the top, a helmeted crew member reached out with both hands. His arms were crossed, so he took her left with his and her right with his. When he had both gripped securely, he uncrossed his arms and leaned back, spinning her and pulling her into the chopper bed on her backside. She was sitting upright.

  When he had her in the chopper, Rick took a yellow harness and pulled her into it. Then he gave her the thumbs-up. At the edge of the chopper, Kevin the Beast was already descending the ladder toward the peak.

  Rick led Loretta to a canvas seat. She sank into it while Rick connected her harness, buckling her in. He immediately lifted her feet, one at a time, and examined them.

  She took a moment to appraise her surroundings. The helicopter bay was barebones. There were two pilots up front, neither of whom had acknowledged her yet. They were flipping switches and working the collective to maintain their position until Kevin had reached the ground.

  When Rick began cleaning her feet, sparking a hot, sharp pain across her soles, a fourth crew member pulled up the ladder. He sat diagonally across from Loretta in one of the three empty canvas seats. His back was to the pilot on the right side of the cockpit.

  Without warning, Loretta’s stomach lurched when the chopper quickly elevated. The crew member sitting across from her pointed to his ears and then to a spot near her head. She glanced to her right and saw a pair of pale green headsets. She reached up, unhooking them, untangled the coiled connection, and placed them over her ears. She could hear the electronically modulated voices of the pilots. The man across from her smiled and gave her a thumbs-up.

  “…with Incident Management Team 3,” said the pilot on the left side of the cockpit. “Jumpers are clear. Returning to location. Vic is secure. Over.”

  Loretta listened to the conversation, picking out bits and pieces she could understand. Rick plucked a splinter from the side of her big toe. She grimaced.

  The chopper banked and accelerated. Far below she could see the team of firefighters, led by Sheri, descending into the smoky and dense forest. Beyond them, a column of smoke rose high above the tops of the trees. Another column was fifty yards to the right.

  The smoke became denser and darker the farther the chopper flew. Occasional orange strobes flickered beneath the veil. Above the trees, the swarms of planes and choppers resembled flocks of disorganized birds, zipping back and forth.

  “You got lucky,” a voice said in her headphones, drawing her attention back inside the helicopte
r. It was the man diagonally across from her. He was holding the coiled cable at his side, pressing a button as he spoke.

  “I did,” she said without pushing her own button.

  “Push the button if you want to talk,” he said. “Try to keep it to a minimum though. We can’t interrupt key communication for the pilots.”

  She found the button and pushed it. “Thank you.”

  The anxiety was leaking from her body. Her heart rate was slowing, and her breathing had normalized. The field surgery on her feet wasn’t as painful as it should have been.

  “Seriously,” said the man. He adjusted the microphone at his face and then tightened a strap on his shoulder. “A couple of hours more and you’d have been toast.”

  Rick snapped his head around and pushed his button. “Really?”

  The man’s face flushed. “Sorry. I didn’t mean it like that. I—”

  Loretta shook her head. “It’s okay,” she said after pressing her button. “I know what you meant.”

  Her voice was still a wisp of itself, her throat like sandpaper. She rested her head against the stretched canvas behind her. At her feet, Rick was working on an IV. He’d been pressing on the blood vessels at the crook of her elbow until he’d found a viable vein, then wrapped an elastic strap around her bicep and checked it again.

  Apparently satisfied, he ripped open a square package and pulled out an alcohol-doused swab. He rubbed clean a spot on her arm, warned her to prepare for some uncomfortable pressure, and inserted a peripheral venous catheter, a PVC.

  Rick pressed his comm button and spoke into his headset mic. “I’m going to hook up some fluids now, okay? It’s going to be cold going in and might make you shiver a little bit.”

  Loretta nodded. He attached a bag of clear liquid to a hook above her head, carefully threading the line along her side, and after checking to make sure there was no air in the line, attached it to the PVC.

  “This is dextrose and water,” he said. “It’ll help you feel a lot better by the time we land.”

  She tapped her wrist, asking him the length of the flight.