Fire in Me

by Dawn Mattox

  What were the authorities thinking when they let Marcus out on SWAP? It’s a family matter? She probably did something to piss him off? A guy has his limits? That was old-school, average-Joe thinking, and had probably influenced the decision to let guys like Marcus out to pick up litter along the highways with the other misdemeanor offenders; like shop-lifters, DUIs, and people who failed to appear in court to pay their traffic fines. Somehow, dangerous felon Marcus Kane had been let out with the misdemeanor offenders and now he was on the run.

  I packed Kissme, her bag of treats and a pillow into the county car along with my makeup, credit card, and a change of underwear in case I couldn't get back through the CHP roadblock. I also packed an extra NP 95 smoke-filtering facemask. These masks were flying off the shelves at hardware stores. I left Kissme with Ashley who lived like me, far enough from the fire and close enough to the highway not evacuate at this time. Shane was staying in Chico, living in his office at the Harley shop.

  “Would you like to pray?” Ashley asked.

  “No time,” I apologized, as I backed out of her driveway and zoomed off to work.

  “Amanda, what can we do?” I took my frustration to our fearless prosecutor Amanda, who huffed and gave me a frustrated, helpless look. A tigress in the courtroom toward defendants, her attitude towards a victim was always soft and tempered with compassion.

  “The jail has its own policies, Sunny. There isn’t anything I can do about it. They made a mistake.”

  The tigress was a puss, so I tried the DA. “Jack,” I said, “this is unacceptable. Marcus is out. He could kill Tamika.” I didn't respond to the proffered chair. Standing in front of his desk, the DA, much like Amanda, was sympathetic but unable to do much about it.

  “There isn't enough room to hold everyone in jail. Decisions have to be made. This was clearly an oversight, but I’ll talk to the Sheriff about it.” There was finality in his tone. He had to “take a call,” and I was dismissed.

  He might have been finished, but I wasn’t.

  Some outraged, anonymous somebody called the Chico Enterprise-Record about a homicidal maniac who had escaped from SWAP.. The bad news is, the newspaper leaked it back to the District Attorney “for comment,” stating that the information had come from “a woman working inside the district attorneys office.”

  Next thing I knew, I was on “administrative leave.”

  The county car is my standard mode of transportation, but “leave” included leaving my car, and Travis volunteered to give me a ride home. He flashed his badge “on business for the DA,” and we were able to slide past the angry citizens who were trying to get past the CHP roadblock. Amazingly, the CHP kept the good citizens out but were unable to remove the evacuee-squatters camped just a few hundred yards inside the barricade. Bureaucracy at work.

  “Are you sure you want to stay here?” Travis looked skeptical. “You'd be safer on the boat.” Travis couldn't help but admire Chance's boat parked next to the house. “Want me to tow you to the lake? Could be fun,” he teased suggestively.

  I smiled. I loved this guy and thanked him for making me laugh as I headed up the steps.

  “Sunny.” Travis reached out to clasp both my arm and my attention. “Be careful,” he admonished. “Call me if you need me.”

  I nodded.

  “I care about you,” he added with a tender look. He released his hold and left.

  In California, we pack to evacuate like other people pack to go on a family vacation. We have learned to economize, frequently blending both events into a two-for-one special. Another summer, another fire, another holiday. Unless you left the state, there really wasn’t anywhere to go, except Southern California where the residents can’t tell the difference between serious smoke inhalation and just another day in SoCal. Southern Californians are a unique population that has learned not to trust any air they cannot see. So, many people evacuated from Northern California because the air was bad and headed for Southern California where air pollution is normal.

  Over the years, I have learned to downsize and prioritize. In the past, I packed everything we owned in every vehicle we had and then crammed the animals in the remaining air pockets. Later, I learned to abandon the county car for my VW, stuffing it to the ceiling with my computer, laptop, electronic devices, camera, TV, Blue Ray player, pictures, bedding, and all of my clothes. I would wedge Kissme, eyeballs pressed to the window, on the dashboard. Last year we narrowed the list to dogs, guns, Bible, and the birth control that I didn't need, but kept for appearances.

  I always planned to tell Chance about the baby and Logan's assault that left me damaged and unable to have children. The longer I held on to the secret, the more difficult it was to let go. I was starting to realize there is never a good time for bad news.

  This time, I went to the Dome Store and stocked up on food. This time, I wasn't going anywhere.

  Ashley made us Zucchini-Quinoa Lasagna for dinner, and it smelled good as she dished it out alongside the salad I had brought. Eating together was better than eating alone. We typically solve the world's problems a couple of times a week, so we chatted while we ate.

  “I guess you missed the local news today, huh?” Ashley was good at keeping informed about current affairs.

  “I just caught the weather. News Flash: Hot and smoky. What else?”

  “There were three gay ‘marriages’ in Chico the day before the fires started; one performed by a secular person and two by men who call themselves Christian Ministers. People are saying it's God's judgment on us because the firestorm hit three days after California’s first gay marriage.” She chewed thoughtfully. “What do you think?”

  “Don't fall for that, Ashley. Don't believe it for a minute.” I was surprised that my friend would even consider such a thing. “Look at Hurricane Katrina. There's some Rabbi in Israel saying God is punishing America because people in New Orleans didn't study the Torah. Then Al-Qaeda says it's ‘God's answer to Muslim prayer.’ Oh yeah... and Louis Farrakhan says “God is judging America for racism,” even though black people are suffering and dying right along with the whites,” I huffed with disgust as I scraped my plate into Kissme's bowl. She sniffed, turned in a circle and barked once. “And Kissme says it happened because you left meat out of the lasagna.”

  Ashley laughed. “Poor Kissme,” she said, reaching down to give her a sympathetic pat on the head.

  “Really, Ash, I could be wrong, but I am pretty sure all this stuff happens because we don't live in the Garden of Eden.”

  I guess you’re right.” Ashley sounded disappointed. It has always been a struggle for people to understand natural disasters. Why one home burns and the neighbor’s house remains untouched. Why one side of a street gets demolished by a tornado while the other remains unscathed. There must be a reason behind the unfairness.

  I guess in my heart I was feeling the same way about my marriage. Hadn’t I felt that my relationship with God would result in a kind of divine protection from the evils of this world? Didn't I think that my faith would make me bullet-proof? I guess the truth is, life isn't fair.

  Pastor Mac would say, “When in doubt, drag it out,” So after dinner, we sat in the living room, and I thumbed through Ashley's Bible to the Book of Luke. I read the story about a construction accident in Babylon where a skyscraper collapsed and killed all the workers. Did all the workers deserve it? When asked about the accident, Jesus said the tower fell on “both the good and the bad” workers and that “rain falls on the saved and unsaved alike.”

  It sounded a lot like Logan's “shit happens” explanation for everything. That was about as philosophical as Logan ever got.

  “So, disasters and blessings are impartial. They happen to everyone,” I concluded. The major difference between Christians and non-Christians is that godless people are trapped under the crap when disaster hits, but God can make good things grow out of manure for believers. That is our hope and our blessing.”

  Ashley still looked disappoin
ted. She was another soul looking for justice in an unjust world.

  “It feels like end times,” Ashley concluded with a sigh.

  Indeed. Now, there was something we agreed on.

  I got back home, and the phone rang. I didn't recognize the number on caller ID, but I knew it was Chance.

  “I don't want to talk to you!”

  Okay, so why did I answer the phone when I knew it was Chance, just to say “I don't want to talk you”? Maybe what I really meant to say was, “Bring it on! Let's do this!” My heart raged and lips quivered with emotion.

  In grade school we had a science project where we froze marbles, then dropped them in a pot of boiling water and watched, mesmerized, as they shattered inside while the outside remained smooth and polished. I wondered irreverently if God was entertained by watching a human version of this experiment as I locked horns with Chance.

  The call went as expected. A lot like our previous fight but this one ratcheted up the animosity on both sides as we dueled to the death.

  “How could you? I trusted you! I thought... I never... you promised...”

  “I'm not your damn angel, Sunny. I'm not perfect. I'm just an ass...”

  “And don't bother coming home!”

  “Fine! I won't!”

  CHAPTER 13

  Two weeks into the fire, five days into my time-out, and eighteen hours after my break up with Chance, I pulled every shade in the house down to keep wandering stragglers from peeking in and to keep the blistering heat out, and turning indoors into twilight. I thought it a strange way to use my administrative leave, or more appropriately, leave of absence without pay.

  My situation could have been worse. I could have been using vacation time or comp time. I could have been fired. I was one of the thousands of people kept away from work because of fires and dangerous smoke levels in the air. All in all, my leave was working out for the best. I would rather be ice fishing in the Arctic, but for now, with no swamp cooler, I was contemplating a nap next to Kissme on the kitchen floor, where the granite tiles felt were cool and refreshing.

  Short shorts and a shorter tank top, I was still hot, hot, hot. 106º degrees outside—about 200º indoors—and more thunderstorms predicted for the weekend.

  The tribulation had arrived, and I hadn’t been raptured. Sigh. It figured. If I were in line for the Rapture given my present scorecard, God would surely take me sideways. Everyone else would go straight up, and I would be taken Ooh-Ow-Ahh-Ouch, Wham-Blam through every building, bridge and mountainside.

  I pulled off my white tank top and held it under the kitchen faucet, wrung it out and waved it in front of the fan. Put it back on, then almost jumped out of it again as someone knocked on the door.

  I opened the door with my Glock in hand.

  “Travis? What in the heck are you doing here?” wearing jeans and a dark green dress shirt and oh my, oh my. . . an unexpected, much-welcomed shiver danced along my spine.

  His emerald eyes took in all of me, making my heart skip a beat. “I came to get you out of here. I thought you could use some help evacuating.”

  He looked pointedly at the gun. “Were you expecting Chance?”

  I rolled my eyes. “You're letting in smoke. Get inside.”

  “It’s nice in here.” Travis laughed softly as he stepped indoors. “Well, you know, compared to out there.” He moved in closer.

  “I’m not leaving.”

  “It’s mandatory.”

  “We both know they can’t make me leave. We don’t live under martial law. Evacuation is my choice.”

  “Are you doing this for Chance or for you?” He paused. “What? Do you think he’ll love you more if you die protecting the house?”

  Maybe. The thought flitted through my head before catching myself. “I don't care what he thinks or feels. We're separated,” I said with determined anger. “I can do what I want.” I spun away, dismissing him with a wave.

  Travis reached out, catching my arm and gently pulled me back into a tight embrace. His free arm slipped behind me, fingertips running up through my hair and taking hold with a soft grip. The other arm wrapped around, pressing, closer... closer. Tipping my head back, he pulled my gaze up to meet his and waited for a heartbeat for the protest that did not come. Moving in, his lips covered mine, drowning out the anger that had been poised on the tip of my tongue. Completely engulfed in the shock and passion of his embrace, I only faintly realized that at some point, I had been literally swept off my feet. Cradled in his strong arms, he continued working wonders with his mouth as he carried me to the soft embrace of my bed.

  I had a sinking feeling that had nothing to do with the mattress. Warning bells went off from somewhere in the back of my mind, then quickly faded into the fantasy world of Neverland.

  Is this what being unfaithful is all about? The thought flitted through my mind. Getting lost in forgetfulness? God knows I want to forget!

  Right or wrong, I made the choice that most women make when the “other woman” is discovered. As Logan would say, “If it's good for the bull, it's good for the heifer.” Crude? Yes. But, payback was standard biker-justice. The kind of justice I had grown up with. It was second nature. “Don't get mad. Get even.”

  What a way to get even.

  “Oh, Travis” I whispered, breathing in his essence. “Make me forget.”

  Shirts came off slowly, in an enticing, sensual dance; button by painful button, kiss by painful kiss, uttering sharp little cries and moans that sounded oddly like my dog when she's begging for treats, perhaps even stranger still, that I named her Kissme. Go figure!

  I hungrily unbuckled Travis's belt and removed his pants, fingers trailing every inch of his strong, muscular legs. The bra slid from my shoulders, and he sent the matching thong shimmering down my thighs. Travis stood over me, poised for an agonizing heartbeat as we gazed at each other in breathless, painful expectancy for one splendid moment.

  Bang! Bang ! Bang! Someone was at the door. Not possible!

  “Don’t answer it,” whispered Travis. His mouth was on the move. The incessant pounding faded further into the distance as Travis worked his way down.

  Again, bells went off, only this time they were certainly not in my head. The piercing scream of the smoke alarm shattered the moment like a tsunami siren obliterating the tranquil bliss of a tropical beach.

  Was it divine intervention? Oh Lord, I hope not. God was watching, and I was naked as Eve.

  The door went from banging to rattling as someone tried to force their way into the house. Kissme howled like a wolf on a full moon as decibels ricocheted through her head. Travis ran off to silence the shrill blast of the smoke alarm. The dream morphed into a nightmare.

  This isn't happening! No! No! No! Go away. “Go Away!” I yelled, taking mere seconds to leap back into clothes that had taken long minutes to remove.

  Bang! Bang! “Sunny! It’s Mark! Get out of there!”

  Panic!

  “Hang on a sec,” I shouted, stuffing my other leg into my shorts and hopping down the hall. Travis had silenced the alarm and disappeared. Kissme stopped howling and began barking hysterically as I opened the door to an exhausted-looking Mark. Right behind him was an equally fatigued fire engine pulling up to the house.

  “Spot fire down below,” he warned. “Get Kissme and get out!”

  Ignoring him, I turned and ran to the deck. A wall of flames was sweeping up the hill, hungrily devouring everything in its path. To my amazement, Travis was already dressed and spraying water on the deck and roof with the garden hose.

  I could hear the escalating rev of the fire engine as the pump engaged, and a crew of firefighters rounded the corner with their hoses to take over for Travis who dropped his hose and swept up Kissme.

  “Come on!” Travis pulled me back as black fingers of smoke reached out, sounding like a fiery demon cracking trees like dry bones and chewing leaves with a crackle and a hiss. Behind the smoke, flames propelled forward from their own microclimate
of self-generated wind.

  “Stop! Sunny wait!” Mark shouted behind me as the deck began to shudder and windows rattled, sounding like a train bearing down on us even as it elevated to a deafening roar.

  “Down! Everybody down!” Mark cried out, yanking me flat on the deck as the firefighters dropped to the ground and covered their heads.

  “Ahhhhhhhhh…” I screamed; face down, covering my ears until I ran out of air. The roar and shaking redoubled. From over the house and just above the tree line the silver belly of borate bomber roared past, overshadowing us as it released its blood-red payload of fire retardant on the encroaching flames, missing the house by mere yards. There’s no sound like it… except maybe the slap of a tidal wave hitting a cliff wall.

  The flames were immediately suppressed by the air attack and the firefighters hurried to hold the line. Another engine pulled into view from Ashley's hill, and I could see its crew running into the fray, beating back the remaining flames into the burn, where they would die from lack of fuel.

  Mark swore, and then exhaled. “That was a close one,” he said, standing up to wipe the sweat that poured from beneath his helmet.

  “You all right?” asked Travis, getting up and pulling me with him.

  “Yeah. I think so,” I replied, hanging on to a traumatized Kissme who continued to rattle long after the plane receded into the distance, winging its way back to Chico for a refuel.

  The crew advanced downhill in tandem with the team that was working its way down from Ashley's side of the hill into the burn zone, effectively squelching the last of the sizzling hot spots.