Barking Dogs

by R. R. Irvine

  “You save on salaries,” Wilcox said.

  Manwaring eased down the sun visor so he could keep an eye on Vicki in the vanity mirror. Her eyes were closed again. Her lips showed a trace of smile, though that could have been a trick of the light. As always, her complexion made her look camera-ready without the help of makeup.

  “It’s not only salaries,” Holland said. “It’s wear and tear. It’s the back talk.”

  “Are we talking correspondents here, too?” Wilcox asked.

  “Absolutely,” Holland said.

  Manwaring began to suspect the two cameramen had planned the conversation in advance.

  “Correspondent robots pose a different problem, of course,” Holland went on. “They’re in the field, not hidden away on some sound stage. That means they’re going to get dirty and rained on, worse even. That could lead to electrical shorts and the like.”

  “The union can issue us rubber gloves,” Wilcox said.

  Manwaring kept his eyes on Vicki.

  “Best of all, robots wouldn’t care how much time they got on camera,” Holland said.

  “You’ve got eighty-five minutes to get me to that fire,” Vicki said. “Otherwise, you’re all dead men.”

  Holland snorted derisively but speeded up just the same.

  Manwaring eased his seat back, careful not to intrude on Vicki’s leg space, and closed his eyes to think about the coming story and how he’d approach it. He wasn’t aware that he’d fallen asleep until he began videotaping his fantasy life with Vicki.

  ******

  They stopped on a rise ten miles from Ellsworth so Holland could get a long shot of the fire. From that distance, the smoke resembled a massive storm front whose dark thunderheads rose thousands of feet above the Bitterroot mountains. The landscape ahead of them was solid forest except for the winding ribbon of highway and occasional clearings that held ranch houses and ramshackle corrals.

  The wind, blowing steadily from the southeast, forced Holland to mount the Sony Betacam on a tripod. After a moment, the cameraman swung around to focus on a twin-engine tanker plane that was passing high overhead.

  “That’s like pissing into the wind,” he said without looking away from the viewfinder. “You need low-level drops to hit your target. But in a wind like this, that’s too damned risky.”

  Vicki climbed out of the Explorer. “That’s rugged country up ahead. We might not make the satellite feed unless we do some of my stand-up from here.”

  “It would be a waste of time,” Manwaring said. “You know Reisner. He’ll want to see close shots of flames up front. If we don’t provide them, he’ll use the feed from the affiliate.”

  She made a face and got back in the car. “Let’s not waste any more time, then.”

  They hit the roadblock a mile outside Ellsworth. By then, the wind seemed to be coming from all directions at once. As a result, smoke surrounded them, blotting out the sun without diminishing its heat, while a black blizzard of falling ash reduced visibility to a couple of hundred yards.

  Manwaring’s press credentials got them a reluctant clearance from the state police, also a warning that they were proceeding at their own risk. Their vehicle would be allowed as far as city hall, where Manwaring and his crew would have to check in before going any farther.

  City hall was two stories of bleak rock-faced masonry at the end of Main Street. Its upper windows were small, square, and fortresslike. Heavy stone arches prevailed on the ground floor, framing windows and doors alike. The arch over the main entrance was held up by two massive stone piers that looked as oppressive as the sooty atmosphere.

  The asphalt parking lot was crammed with police cars, vans marked with logos from television stations in Idaho Falls and Pocatello, plus a trio of rental station wagons that meant Manwaring’s crew wasn’t the first network to arrive.

  Since there was no sign of a satellite up-link truck, he told his cameramen to set up the porta-pak on the front lawn. While that was being done, Manwaring and Vicki went inside.

  The rough-cut rock at the entrance continued into a dark two-story lobby, where NBC’s correspondent, Neil Twombly, and his crew waited in front of an elaborately carved wooden reception counter. Behind it, an armed deputy sheriff was holding Twombly’s credentials under a gooseneck lamp.

  At Manwaring’s approach, Twombly shook his head in exasperation. “CBS and CNN are on the fire line already.”

  “I told you before,” the deputy said without looking up, “you have to have an escort. It’s for your own good. Those are my orders.”

  Manwaring did his best to look sympathetic.

  “We don’t even have a line around the fire yet,” the deputy went on, still eyeing Twombly’s paperwork. “We don’t want to lose any of you by mistake.”

  Vicki nudged Manwaring out of the way, leaned across the counter, and laid a hand on the deputy’s wrist.

  “We understand that you’re only doing your duty,” she said.

  He jerked his hand away before he saw her. When he did, his mouth fell open. “Miss Garcia,” he said, awed. “I look for you on the news every night.”

  Manwaring stepped back to give her working room.

  Smiling, she leaned against the counter and caressed his name tag. “Mr. Vorhees, we’re on a very tight schedule, but I’d like to interview you later on if there’s time.”

  “Please, call me Ron.”

  “Maybe you could escort us personally,” she said.

  “I’d like to, but the sheriff told me to stay put.”

  “Another time, maybe.”

  “You bet.” The deputy snatched up his phone and punched in three numbers. “Vicki Garcia is here. We need another guide at city hall on the double.”

  “Two guides,” Twombly said.

  “Wait your turn,” Vorhees told him.

  “Is there a command post?” Vicki asked.

  “I’m sorry, Miss Garcia. Even your guide can’t get you there. No civilians are allowed in that area for the time being, not until the heavy equipment clears more fire breaks.” He shook his head. “We haven’t had rain up here in months. The whole forest is just waiting to go up.”

  “Who’s here ahead of us?”

  Vorhees consulted his clipboard. “Bill Barnes from CBS and Linda Fisher from CNN left city hall a few minutes ago. We’ve also had some local stations, and God knows how many newspaper reporters.”

  Vicki widened her smile. “Could you show me the situation on a map?”

  “I’m sorry, I don’t have one. But the fire’s no more than a mile from where we stand. One mountain ridge away, they tell me. If the wind shifts, Ellsworth’s had it.”

  “I haven’t seen any helicopters,” Vicki said.

  “As of now, everything’s grounded.”

  She turned to Manwaring. “If we don’t hurry, we’re not going to have time to set up my Q and A with Lee Aarons.”

  The deputy’s eyes widened. “Are you’re going to be talking to Mr. Aarons on the air?”

  “With your help.” She smiled.

  Vorhees got on the phone again. Less than a minute later, a side door opened and a man and a woman entered the city hall lobby.

  “I’m Mayor Ed Kearns,” the man said as soon as he reached Vicki’s side. He was square and blunt-looking, with white hair and rimless glasses. “Our fire chief has insisted that each television crew be accompanied by someone who knows the terrain. I’d take you myself, but I’m not getting any younger. This is Stacie Wagstaff, my deputy mayor. She’s volunteered to help Miss Garcia.”

  “Wait a minute,” Twombly said. “What about me?”

  “You’ll have to wait your turn,” the mayor said.

  “But I was here first.”

  The mayor stared at the deputy, who nodded reluctantly.

  “All right,” the mayor said, “I’ll have to guide you myself.”

  Panic showed in Twombly’s eyes. Mayor Kearns had to be seventy; he’d slow them up.

  “Ms. Wagstaff
,” Manwaring said, moving to cut Twombly out of her line of sight, “I’m Kevin Manwaring, Vicki’s field producer. We’re due on the air within the hour.”

  “Go on,” the mayor said. “Don’t wait for us.”

  Vicki took Stacie’s arm and walked her outside. There, Manwaring retrieved his gear from the Ford, a heavy-duty canvas bag and an aluminum carrying case, one with extra videotape, the other containing his cellular phone.

  “I can carry one of those for you,” Stacie said.

  “I’m fine.”

  “Suit yourself, but we’ve got a rough walk ahead of us.”

  Holland slung the Betacam under his arm like a machine gun so he’d be ready for candid shots. As always, Vicki traveled light, carrying only her briefcase.

  “We’re ready,” Manwaring said.

  Stacie moved out quickly. A hundred yards later, they stood at the lip of a heavily wooded ravine. Its bottom was hidden by smoke.

  “This marks the eastern city limits.” She pointed into the shrouded ravine. “The Brigham River is down there. It’s all the fire break we’ve got on this side of town at the moment.”

  She started down a steep, well-worn path. Halfway into the ravine, the wind died among the sheltering pines.

  “We’re in national forest from here on,” she said without breaking stride. “Watch your step. We don’t have many rattlers in this part of Idaho, but you never know.”

  “What about deer?” Manwaring asked, to remind Holland to be alert. Reisner loved to see panicked animals running ahead of the flames.

  “Plenty of them. Moose and elk, too. Black bear on occasion.”

  At the bottom of the ravine, a narrow wooden footbridge spanned thirty feet of roaring water.

  “That’s a lot of river,” Manwaring shouted at the deputy mayor.

  She pointed toward the pine trees on either bank. Many stood well over a hundred feet. If they caught fire and toppled, they’d reach across the Brigham River easily.

  “Once we climb up the other side, we’ll be overlooking the fire. Because of the bridge, our firefighters aren’t working that side where they could get cut off. That means we’re on our own.”

  Manwaring stared at her closely for the first time. Stacie Wagstaff, he guessed, was his senior by about a decade, which made her forty-five, though her wrinkles could have been due to hard work outside in the sun. She was wearing Levi’s rolled up at the cuff, suede desert boots, and a short-sleeved shirt that showed off a figure younger than her face.

  “We’ve less than an hour to get on the Sync-Sat,” Vicki shouted at him.

  “Synchronous orbit satellite,” Manwaring translated for the deputy mayor. “Now tell me about Defiance.”

  “We can’t get there. It’s still surrounded by fire. We’re hoping for the best, of course, but nobody gives them much of a chance to survive.”

  Before Manwaring could say another word, Stacie launched herself across the slippery wooden trestles and started up the other side of the ravine. By the time they reached the ridge line, they were in the wind again and clear of the smoke.

  Camera crews from CBS and CNN were there ahead of them, spaced well enough apart to stay out of one another’s field of vision. The fire was a mountain ridge away, maybe five hundred yards from where they stood, burning uphill.

  Manwaring glanced back the way they’d come. There was no sign of Twombly or the mayor.

  “NBC’s going to have his head,” Vicki said, reading Manwaring’s mind.

  Without being told, Holland positioned himself and went to work.

  Vicki raised an eyebrow in Stacie’s direction. “You do better with women than I do. See what you can get while I stick close to Lew.”

  Manwaring didn’t bother taking notes, since he’d be interviewing the deputy mayor on videotape later anyway.

  “How many firefighters do you have on the lines?” he asked.

  “A hundred and fifty so far, but we’ve been promised more.”

  “How many acres have burned?”

  “Maybe two thousand. Maybe double that. We don’t know for sure.” She shuddered. “I keep thinking about the range cattle. They wander all over this forest.”

  He took a deep breath. “Tell me about Defiance.”

  Her mouth opened. For an instant, he thought the sound had come from her. Then he recognized the whoosh of pine trees exploding in a firestorm.

  “Dear God,” Stacie murmured. “The animals won’t have a chance.”

  She turned away to escape the sight of flaming pine sap showering the forest like napalm.

  3

  MANWARING HAD ten minutes to spare by the time he and his crew returned from the fire line. Luck was with him. Within five minutes, using the hunt-and-peck system, he located the nearest phone cell. His call went through immediately.

  Without preamble, Reisner provided the satellite coordinates. Manwaring relayed them to Frank Wilcox, who punched the numbers into the porta-pak and began transmitting.

  “We have a picture,” Reisner said from the New York studio.

  ABN’s Evening News was nine minutes away.

  “We’ll feed you videotape for two or three minutes,” Manwaring said.

  “Stand by,” Reisner said. “All right. Go ahead. We’re recording.”

  Manwaring tapped Wilcox on the shoulder. The cameraman nodded and started the tape rolling.

  They had the city hall roof to themselves, thanks to Deputy Sheriff Vorhees’s infatuation with Vicki. Vorhees had confined crews from CBS, NBC, CNN, and Idaho Falls to the parking lot below, using the excuse that the city hall’s roof had reached its load limit.

  “Damn!” Reisner shouted. “What the hell exploded?”

  “You’re looking at half a pine forest going up in an instant,” Manwaring said.

  “You’re a genius.”

  Manwaring glanced at Lew Holland who had his camera set up on a tripod next to the porta-pak. From their rooftop position flames would be distinctly visible behind Vicki when the time came to go live. Assuming the wind didn’t change or the fire didn’t run out of fuel.

  “We’ve got a firestorm in the background right now,” Manwaring said.

  “You can stop the sales pitch. You’re still the lead story.”

  “The entire sky looks like it’s on fire,” Manwaring added, leaving out the fact that some of the color belonged to the sunset.

  “Stop tape. Let me see your camera shot again,” Reisner commanded.

  Manwaring gave Holland a high-sign.

  “God,” Reisner crooned. “It’s beautiful. I’m giving Vicki two minutes off the top.”

  “Two,” Manwaring mouthed at Vicki, who was keeping Vorhees happy and out of the way, along with Deputy Mayor Stacie Wagstaff, who was to be their live interview.

  She patted the deputy’s arm before joining Manwaring. “I adore you, Kevin,” she said, puckering her lips and making kissing noises. She stopped short of contact since that might have mussed her lipstick.

  “What about the Q and A?” Manwaring asked, tilting the cellular away from his ear so Vicki could listen in.

  “I’ve given Lee Aarons carte blanche,” Reisner said.

  That translated to a full minute if the anchorman liked what he saw and heard, and if the writers in New York had scripted easy-to-read questions.

  “Don’t get greedy on me,” Reisner went on. “Remember, two minutes at your end. No more.”

  Jesus, Manwaring thought. His mother had doled out her time like that too when he was a child, squeezing him in between golf, canasta, and her men friends. Later on, he’d learned to appreciate his freedom.

  He said, “We’ve got the deputy mayor standing by here with us for a live update.”

  “What was said on your pre-interview?”

  “She’ll be great. Trust me.”

  “That’ll be the day,” Reisner said. “Feed me another two minutes of tape and then stand by to go live.”

  Once the videotape transmission began, Vick
i took her position three feet in front of the Sony and began rehearsing the script that Manwaring had written for her. The wind was gusting even harder. At times the smoke smelled like a backyard barbecue, though Manwaring didn’t like to think what might be roasting somewhere.

  He moved Stacie into position so that Holland could pull back with the zoom lens, adjusting his camera shot to reveal her presence the moment Vicki finished her opening.

  “Stop tape,” Reisner said on the cellular. “We’ll be coming to you in one minute.”

  “How do I look?” Vicki asked moving her head from side to side to catch her reflection in the lens.

  Manwaring checked the small-screen TV that relayed output from the Sony Betacam. “Good enough to marry.”

  “And our guest?”

  Holland pulled back to show Stacie.

  “I’m ready to commit bigamy,” Manwaring said.

  Stacie shook her head but looked pleased nevertheless.

  Vicki started to say something but Manwaring waved her off. “Stand by. They’re live in New York.” With five seconds to go, he counted her down with the fingers of one hand.

  As always, Vicki had memorized the script he’d put together perfectly, repeating it on camera as sincerely as if she’d written it herself. Even the fire cooperated, erupting like a solar flare for the opening shot. By the time Vicki turned to the deputy mayor, flames filled the skyline behind them.

  “We understand you’ve lost your neighbors in Defiance,” Vicki said, prescripted. “What are your feelings right now?”

  “We’re still praying for a miracle, but it doesn’t look good for them.”

  “How many people lived there?”

  “Ten or twelve families. We’re not sure.”

  “Is there any chance they could have survived?” Vicki asked.

  “There’s a lake nearby. Maybe they could have sheltered there,” Stacie said, though she didn’t sound convinced.

  New York switched to videotape of the earlier firestorm.

  “Tell us about Defiance?” Vicki said.

  Stacie took a deep breath. Tears were running down her cheeks. On the monitor, Manwaring watched as Holland moved in for a close-up as prescribed by Reisner’s rules. Tears are rating points. I want them to fill the screen.