FireWatch

by Scott Blade

  Can’t be an effective lookout if you can’t see three hundred sixty degrees.

  The watch had everything a man needed to survive in the wilderness for long periods of time. There was a wood-burning stove, a refrigerator, navigational devices like he had seen in the Navy, only these were lower tech, but he got the gist.

  There must’ve been a generator somewhere outside the tower.

  There was a desk, a cot, a table, and lanterns. All in all, the whole venture seemed appealing. He started to think about it. He was a tourist, going from place to place. He wondered if he could even stay still for four months.

  Widow left the pamphlet on the bed. The shower was finally hot and he took one. Afterward, he toweled off, and decided that they could spare one of the toothbrushes, since he didn’t have one of his own anymore.

  He brushed his teeth, tossed the towel over the shower and returned to the bed. He moved his clothes to a chair and got under the covers.

  He leafed through the pamphlet again. At the same time, he thought about the paperback book. He thought back to his brief experiences as a summer fire watch.

  It was an appealing proposition. Technically, he would be trapped in one location for four months, longer than he was comfortable with. But he would be miles away from the nearest human being, who would be another fire lookout. And he would have all day to roam and explore the wilderness. No people. No city sounds. No rushing around. No buses or hitching for rides. No junkies. No meth heads. No people like Capone.

  He deserved to get away. He deserved a break from people. But if he remembered right, he’d have to fill out forms, pass background checks, and jump through bureaucratic hoops just to get the job.

  He closed his eyes and drifted off to sleep.

  CHAPTER 15

  WIDOW WAS WOKEN UP IN THE MORNING by the sound of tires on dirt, a truck motor, and a static voice. He could hear the voice pleading. It sounded almost electronic.

  Gordon had not come to wake him up, like he had promised. Widow got up and quickly put his clothes on, struggling with the pant legs.

  He hopped over to the bathroom and ran cold water out of the tap, splashed his face, slicked back his hair, and sipped water from cupped hands. He turned it off and left the bedroom, walked down the stairs.

  The voice he had heard was coming from the CB radio. A radio transmission. A commanding voice blared from its speakers.

  “Gordon! Pick up! Gordon!”

  Widow looked around. No sign of Gordon. His flask was empty and lying on its side, abandoned on the coffee table. Widow guessed he did not care who saw it, since he claimed that last night was his last night.

  Widow called out his name.

  “Gordon?”

  No answer.

  “Ranger?”

  No answer.

  “Hello?”

  Nothing.

  Widow didn’t bother a fourth time. He figured Gordon was outside, waiting for the approaching vehicle. Maybe new rangers.

  He stepped farther into the living room and heard the CB radio’s voice go off again. It was a man.

  “Gordon! Come in!”

  Widow walked into the office and looked around. In the daylight, he noticed the rifle cabinet. He hadn’t noticed it the night before because it stood up against the inner office wall, opposite the CB radio, behind the doorway.

  Gordon had left the cabinet unlocked. The glass door was ajar. He walked over to it, professional curiosity, and opened it. There were five slots for rifles or shotguns. But there were only two rifles. Both scoped. Both Henry Long Rangers. Both good for a national park like this. They could defend a person against a bear attack within one hundred yards.

  There was a box of shells, closed and stored underneath.

  There was also a can of bear mace. Suddenly, Widow realized that there must’ve been black bears roaming around the park. Gordon had already told him that there were gray wolves. He had walked right in off the highway, middle of the night, in the emptiness, and hadn’t even thought that he might run into a bear.

  Widow closed the door to the cabinet all the way and walked to the window. He peered out. In the distance, he saw dust kicking up from the dirt drive. He saw a blue Ford Bronco climbing up over the rugged road, on course with the ranger hut.

  The CB went off again, called for Gordon.

  Widow thought Gordon was out there, waiting to greet the driver of the Bronco, but he saw no sign of him.

  Widow turned and decided that he might need to know whatever message they were trying to give Gordon. It might be important. So, he picked up the CB receiver and clicked the button, held it. He was silent at first. Been a long time since he’d used a CB radio. He tried to think if there was some vernacular that park rangers had different from sailors. He had no idea. He just said, “Hello.”

  The voice on the CB said, “Hello? Gordon?”

  “Negative. This is not Ranger Gordon.”

  “Who is this?”

  “My name is Widow.”

  “Widow?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Who the hell are you? Where’s Gordon?”

  “I’m not sure where he is. Maybe meeting a vehicle that’s coming up the drive.”

  There was silence for a moment. Then the voice said, “Who are you?”

  “I’m Jack Widow. I’m nobody. Ten-four.”

  Widow remembered saying ten-four was a universal thing. Then he remembered it wasn’t “ten-four.” It was supposed to be “over.”

  “What are you doing answering for Gordon?

  He wasn’t saying “over.” Guess CB talk for park ranger was more casual.

  “Sorry. I was here and you sounded urgent. I answered.”

  Static.

  “Are you a friend of Gordon’s?”

  “No. I told you. I’m nobody. I wandered in from the highway last night. Gordon let me crash here for the night.”

  More static and silence.

  “Mr. Widow, is Gordon there?”

  “I told you. He must be outside waiting for the truck. It’s just coming up now.”

  “Mr. Widow. Do me a favor. Go outside and take a look. Grab him if you can.”

  Widow held down the call button, and said, “Okay. I’ll check.”

  The voice said nothing to that.

  Widow set the receiver down and went back through the station to the front door, opened it, and went out. He walked the width of the station, along the front porch and turned the corner. As he made it around the side, he saw the blue Ford Bronco still coming up the drive, making its way to him.

  Then he scanned the forest, the trees, and the observatory, which was still dark, still quiet.

  Widow turned back and looked at the road coming in. He saw dozens of tracks merged together. Then he saw tracks leading away from the station. He remembered the truck parked on the side, backed in, Gordon’s truck. He walked back to the front of the station and checked. It was gone.

  He went back in, returned to the CB, and picked up the receiver.

  “Hello?”

  A moment of static.

  “Hey. Yes. Where is he?”

  “I think Gordon took off.”

  Silence.

  “He took off?”

  “I guess. The station truck is gone.”

  More silence. Then a click. Then the voice said, “You’re probably right.”

  He stayed quiet.

  “You said a truck was coming?”

  “Yes.”

  “How many people?”

  “One. A driver.”

  The voice asked, “Who is it?”

  “I don’t know yet. Looks like a woman.”

  “That’s Molly. She’s a fire watch.”

  Widow stayed quiet.

  “Listen, Mr. Widow. I need you to do me a big favor.”

  “What?”

  “My name is Tate. I’m in charge of this region. Gordon was one of mine. He was retiring. Being pushed out, to be frank.”

  “Yeah. He ment
ioned it.”

  Widow could’ve mentioned the drinking, but what for? Not his business.

  Tate said, “At any rate, he’s out. And my next ranger isn’t arriving there for another two hours. The observatory staff won’t be there before that either. I’m in a bind here. We need to get all the fire watch towers filled. You know there’s a major fire headed this way. From the south. I’m sure you’ve seen it at night, right?”

  “I saw it. But I didn’t know it was heading this way.”

  “Yep. So far.”

  “Isn’t it like a hundred miles south?”

  “A hundred twenty miles south, but it’s moving fast. A lot faster than people predicted.”

  “Why hasn’t the fire department put it out? Too big?”

  “It is big. But that’s not why. It’s what’s called a purging fire. At this point, they’ll let it burn as long as it’s kept under control. Although a lot of it is not. Clearly.”

  Widow stayed quiet.

  “At any rate. It won’t come to where you are. Still, we need every post filled. Part of it is a logical thing. Part of it is a political thing. We can’t have empty fire watch towers. Not when all eyes are on us now.”

  He paused and waited, like he was waiting for Widow to acknowledge.

  “Go on.”

  Tate said, “One of the fire watch crew members had a heart attack yesterday.”

  Widow stayed quiet.

  “I need you to tell Molly to go on without him. They were supposed to ride out together. Tell her that the Lincoln Ridge Tower will have to go empty. She’ll might have to check in on it herself.”

  Widow paused and clicked the button, said, “I can do that.”

  “Good.”

  Then he paused another beat. Thought about the pamphlet. Thought about the book. Thought about that summer, long ago. Thought about the romance of it. And then he thought about Capone, and city streets, and how he had just had enough of it all for the moment.

  He thought about fate, about destiny. What could be a clearer sign? He had been thinking about fire watch, and life had delivered him an opportunity.

  He clicked the button again and said, “Mr. Tate.”

  “Widow?”

  “What if I do it?”

  “Do what?”

  “What if I stand in for your guy? Until he gets better? Or you replace him?”

  Silence. Tate said nothing for a long beat. And then he said, “You want to do that?”

  “It’s no problem.”

  Tate stayed quiet.

  Widow said, “Actually, I have experience. I worked as a fire lookout once.”

  Tate waited. Then he came back on and said, “I appreciate the offer, Mr. Widow. But I can’t do that. I know nothing about you. There is a hiring process in place. There are background checks and references and interviews.”

  “Listen, you need someone temporarily. I can help. I’d love to get away and stay out in the wilderness for a week or so.”

  Tate said nothing.

  “If you’re the guy in charge then you have the ability to hire whoever you want, right?”

  “I do, but…”

  “You seemed shorthanded. I’m offering my help. It’s only temporary. Like a stand-in. Like a substitute teacher. You know? Until your man gets better. You’ll know if he’s going to recover inside of a few days. Week tops. That’ll give you time to find someone else. And you’ll know that I’m out there watching whatever sector he was supposed to watch.”

  Tate said, “It gets lonely out there. Boring.”

  “I live that way now. I’m always alone. I’m a nomad.”

  “You running from something?”

  He thought about Capone and the cops. They might be looking for him, but he doubted it.

  “No. Just a life choice.”

  “Nah. I can’t, Mr. Widow. Like I said, I don’t know anything about you.”

  “Listen, what rank are you?”

  “Rank?”

  “What’s your federal rank? You guys are labeled GS10 or whatever. What’s yours?”

  Tate was quiet for a moment. Then he said, “We’re all GSs. Mine is high.”

  “Okay. And you guys are law enforcement?”

  “Technically. That is a part of who we are.”

  “So if you have a high rank and you are law enforcement, you must have access to federal records? Law enforcement records?”

  “Naturally.”

  “Can you access NCIS records?”

  “I can’t access them, like you think. But I can request specific records from the DoN.”

  “How long would that take you?”

  “Requesting them would take a couple of minutes. Getting them back might take some time. Why?”

  “You got contacts over there?”

  “Sure. I know a guy.”

  “You friendly with this guy?”

  “Sure.”

  “He normally answer you fast? Or does he put you on the back burner, get to you whenever he feels like it?”

  Tate said, “I know the guy. Personally.”

  “Good. Get off the radio and call your guy. Ask him if he can access records of personnel. Ask him to look me up. And call back after.”

  “Okay.”

  CHAPTER 16

  OUTSIDE THE STATION, Widow heard footsteps on the porch. They were light. He heard a knock on the door and a female voice.

  “Gordon?”

  He walked to the door and opened it.

  A woman stood in the doorway, on the porch. Her stature was small, but her presence was far from that. She had toned arms, not a bicep to brag about, but defined enough to know that Widow wouldn’t want to feel a direct jab to the nose, not from her.

  She looked magnificent. Avocado eyes stared back at him over the tops of dark sunglasses. Although, there was a trace of a black eye on one of them. It was healing fast. But still noticeable.

  She had long tresses of golden hair, not the kind out of a bottle, but natural. It was all braided back over her head and down the tops of her shoulders. Widow believed the style was called a Dutch braid or something like that. He had seen it before. Hers was like a long tuft of rope, thick enough to support an anchor from a small ship. And definitely dense enough to climb, in case she was ever abducted by a witch and kept in a tower.

  “Hey,” he said.

  “Who are you?”

  Widow reached out his hand, presented it to her to shake, and said, “I’m Jack Widow.”

  She shot a nervous smile at him. It was friendly, but nervous. They made eye contact. Her eyes were a bit glassy, like she had been crying, which might explain the extra brightness to her cheeks and the strained look on her brow. But not the black eye.

  She had no make-up on, although she had no need of it. Not in Widow’s opinion. Her skin was pale and smooth and inviting. Her lips were full with a bare pink shade to them.

  Her voice furthered his hypothesis that she had been crying somewhere, sometime, because when she spoke, her voice had that undertone of someone who had shed a tear, and had sniffled, and had almost wiped it all away.

  She reached out and took his hand.

  “Who are you, Jack Widow? Where’s Gordon?”

  “That’s a funny story,” Widow said. “I just met the guy last night. He told me that it was his last night. He seemed bent out of shape about it. And this morning, he was gone.”

  “Gone?”

  “Yep.”

  “Who are you?”

  “Jack Widow.”

  “No, I mean who are you? You said you just met him. Are you a new ranger?”

  She looked at him from top to bottom and reversed it.

  She said, “You don’t look like a ranger.”

  “I’m not.”

  “So who are you?” she asked. The nervousness was still there.

  “I’m nobody. I was lost and I wandered in from the highway. Gordon let me crash here. This morning I woke up and he was gone and now you’re here.”


  “You’re just some guy who drove in and he let you stay?”

  “I didn’t drive in. I walked in.”

  “Your car break down on the 101?”

  “I don’t have a car.”

  She stared at him.

  “How the hell did you get lost way out here?”

  “I lost my ride. I hoped that the ranger here would let me call a taxi, but he said they don’t come out here. He offered to drive me today. And I took a cot upstairs. That’s all I know.”

  “Maybe he went out to the park?”

  Widow shrugged and said, “Maybe. He took the truck.”

  “Have you tried to call him?”

  “You get cell service out here?”

  “No. On the radio?”

  “I haven’t, but a guy named Tate has been calling for him over the CB.”

  “Tate. Did you talk to him?”

  “I did.”

  She asked, “What did he say?”

  “He thinks that Gordon bailed. The guy was borderline drunk when I last saw him.”

  “Did you try him on one of the long-range walkies?”

  “I didn’t see any.”

  She said, “Guess that wouldn’t matter, anyway. He’s got a CB in the truck. He would’ve heard Tate.”

  Then she reached up and grabbed the door. Widow let go of it and backed into the room.

  She walked in, back through the living room, past the kitchen, and down into the office area. She swung to the right and walked over to a thin door that Widow assumed was a closet. She swung it open. Beyond it was no room, just a built-in shelf with all kinds of extra ranger gear. On the floor were several pairs of hiking and climbing boots.

  About three feet above that were hooks that hung two firefighter jackets and two regular winter coats. The shelf above had four flashlights, two flare guns—unloaded—with a box of flares next to them. There were some rolled-up pairs of socks and folded t-shirts, and folded cargo pants. The top shelf had a battery-charging station with slots to plug in long-range walkies. There were about a dozen of them. All the slots were filled. All the radios were jacked in and the charge light on each was a solid green, indicating they all had full charges.