“As ready as I’ll ever be.” She gave a worried glance toward Jake being tended to by the paramedics.
“He’ll be okay, won’t he? He’s my world. I won’t give up on him. This was just a slip-up, you know?” She fixed a teary-eyed gaze on Jackson. “You never gave up on him. He told me so. I won’t either.”
Guilty pain stabbed the back of Jackson’s throat. He thinks I never gave up on him?
Griffin moved to her other side. “Stay close. We have to get as far away from the fire as we can, okay?”
She nodded, a stoic expression on her face. “I’m no stranger to fire. I was on a convict team down in Cali.”
“Gotcha,” Griffin said. “So this won’t be as scary to you as it might be to some.”
“No. The only thing I’m scared about is Jake,” Chase said.
“He’ll be fine,” Jackson said. “He’s in good hands.” The ache still in his throat, he took one last glance at his stupid brother and began to climb.
He and Griffin kept their hands positioned at Chase’s back as she scrambled up the slope. Their progress was slow as they had to cross into the brush to avoid the fire. When they reached the top, he approached the Tech Rescue team who were already securing ropes to be used to lift Jake from the ravine, to solid anchors, like huge boulders and a tree or two.
“Where are the medics?” Jackson said. “Chase, here, needs to be checked out and evacuated. Her boyfriend will be airlifted.”
A blond guy whose shirt read, B. Carlson, said, “The medics are over there.” He pointed to the right. “See?”
Jackson nodded.
“They’ll take care of her and make sure she gets to safety. She might get a ride on the chopper, too.”
Jackson’s head bobbed again. “You need help with securing these ropes?”
“Nah. We’ve got this.” He inclined his head toward the other six on his team. “You working the fire line?” He picked up his harness and stepped into it, securing it around his waist.
“That’s what we were doing when we heard the cry for help.”
“Well, we don’t need you here, so get back to where you need to be. I think we need all hands on deck to manage this blaze.” A slight frown crossed Carlson’s face as he glanced at the fire.
“Will do,” Jackson said. “Let’s head over to the medics, Chase.”
She looked over her shoulder, anxiety etched on her hardened features. Resolve replaced her fear, and she nodded. “All right, let’s go.”
Jackson strode toward the medics, with Griffin and Chase by his side.
One of them, a guy who looked to be in his forties, lifted his gaze as they approached.
“We’ve got a patient for you,” Griffin said.
“She’s got some scrapes but seems to be okay. We’ll leave her in your good care.” Jackson smiled. Then, he turned to Chase. “Don’t you worry about Jake. He’s a survivor.”
Although he might not survive the ass-reaming, I’m going to give him when he recovers.
She nodded, but her eyes looked like she didn’t believe him.
“And you’ll be fine, too,” he said.
Once more, she nodded but said nothing.
“Miss?” the medic said. “Let’s get you checked out and get out of here.”
She gave Jackson one last indecipherable look of sorrow or regret or something he couldn’t quite read.
“Thank you,” she whispered before turning toward the medic.
A stab of sadness pierced his heart. She had looked happy with Jake. And he had looked happy with her. How would their relationship fare now?
He lifted his radio to his lips. “Fifty-Nine from One-Fifty-Seven.” He waited. “Fifty-Nine, this is One-Fifty-Seven.”
“Go ahead, One-Fifty-Seven,” came the swift reply from MacHugh.
The idiot’s finally available. “We’re clear and available from the rescue. Do you want us to go back to the fire line? Spot fires have crossed the line.”
“Get back up here,” MacHugh snapped. “I’ll send a team to deal with the spot fires. Why’d you get off the line?”
“Orders from Menendez when you couldn’t be reached,” Jackson said.
“Get up here and do your job,” MacHugh said.
Jackson and Griffin looked at one another and shrugged. As they climbed the hill, Jackson said, “Do you think he ever has a good day?”
“Doubt it,” Griffin said. “He’s always just this short of a blowup.” He put about a quarter-inch between his thumb and forefinger in front of his face. “I feel sorry for the guy. He doesn’t have to be such a jackass. He could have a better life if he tried.”
Once at the fire line, Jackson picked up his chainsaw, yanked the pull cord, and got back to work. He paused, briefly, when he caught sight out of the corner of his eye of Tech Rescue heading in the direction of the helicopter clearing.
His brother was tucked into the Stokes basket, wrapped in white blankets.
Jackson shook his head.
Griffin called over to him. “You okay?”
“I’m okay…it’s just that…” He bit his lip. Should I say anything?
Griffin idled his saw and tromped over to Jackson. He pulled his canteen from his belt and took a long draw. “It’s just, what?”
“He was fucking high, Grifter. Heroin eyes,” Jackson hissed.
Griffin’s eyebrows rose. “Damn.”
“Yeah, damn. And you know there are no dealers out here in the woods…which means, the bastard brought the smack with him…after convincing me he was well and truly clean.” Jackson clenched his jaw. “He’s been doing well, you know?” He tugged his canteen from his belt, uncapped it, and tipped it into his mouth. After swallowing, he said, “He’s been looking forward to this camping trip. I finally thought we turned a corner. Shit.”
“Not your fault, bro.” Griffin patted his shoulder. Then, he sighed and lifted his gaze. “Let’s wish him well.” He pointed toward the sky.
The red and white Flight of Life helicopter ascended like a giant dragonfly.
“I guess,” Jackson said. He watched as the helicopter lifted, pivoted, and whizzed away, out of sight.
As the day went on, an uneasy tension rippled through the line. The wind had increased speed, whipping the fire to a frenzy. In the distance, the tops of the trees were crowned by fire. It hopped, danced, and streamed from tree to tree. It spat glowing embers into the air. Flaming branches fell from the trees, flying like fiery demons, caught in the wind’s turbulence.
“Why isn’t MacHugh ordering an evacuation?” Jackson called to Griffin. He looked for MacHugh and found him several yards away talking to one of the swampers. He checked his watch. Four-thirty. Fire danger was its worst between noon and six pm when the sun was high and hot, and the humidity low. That was when most of the incidents involving fire shelters occurred. The real witching hour for forest fires stood between two pm and five pm. At least half of the shelter deployment cases in the last several years had happened during that time frame.
Jackson didn’t want to confirm the statistics. He glanced at Griffin.
His worried gaze let him know he felt the same unease about remaining here.
Jackson looked at a few others on his team.
Each person’s eyes told the same story—why the hell are we still in this section of the woods instead of racing to a shelter to ride out the firestorm?
Jackson looked back at MacHugh. He was still talking to that same swamper.
“I’m going to go have a chat with our supe,” he called to Griffin and the others in the line of earshot.
Griffin nodded. “Need backup?”
His face was barely recognizable, covered with sweat and dirt.
Jackson shook his head, knowing he looked the same. “He’ll snap my head off whether I have witnesses or not.”
He chewed on the inside of his cheek, set his saw to idle, and rested it on the ground. Then, he tromped toward MacHugh.
“What?” MacHugh b
arked as Jackson approached.
“I think we should retreat, sir,” Jackson said. “It’s not safe out here.”
“And who put you in charge? I’m the one to give the call,” MacHugh said. Red and orange from the flames colored his face, giving him a devilish appearance.
“Sir, we can’t hold the flank. Spot fires are leaping across our line.” Even though he stood close, Jackson had to practically yell to be heard over the din of fire and chainsaws.
“And, we keep putting them out,” MacHugh said, the veins in his neck pulsing.
“Not fast enough, sir. This wind…” Jackson’s voice trailed off as another flying branch flew from the trees, landing several yards away. Fear iced his insides. “Sir, I think it’s prudent that we seek out our safety zone down by the lake,” he yelled.
A flash of uncertainty crossed MacHugh’s face.
“We can’t do that,” he mumbled.
Jackson frowned. “Why not?”
“We’ve been cut off from that route. It’s engulfed in fire.” MacHugh’s gaze slid away from Jackson.
“Are you fucking kidding me?” Jackson roared. “And you’ve kept us up here? What’s our contingency plan, then?”
“We fight, sir, we fight,” MacHugh yelled, spittle flying from his mouth.
“We can’t fight this kind of fire!” Jackson threw his arm into the air. “We’re all going to die here. Is that what you want?”
MacHugh stopped speaking. He looked overhead. His mouth worked around and around. Finally, he lifted his radio and said, “Command from Fifty-Nine.”
A crackling gurgle of noise was returned.
“Command from Fifty-Nine,” MacHugh repeated.
Jackson waited, barely breathing.
Another crackle of noise met their ears.
MacHugh’s mud-brown eyes met Jackson’s.
“I can’t reach IC,” he said, in a thick whisper.
“I know,” Jackson said, in a tight voice. “I’m standing right here.” He glanced over his shoulder. Each member of their team stood, tools in hand, staring at them. He parsed out his next sentence, leaning closer. “What. Are. We. Going. To. Do?”
“We’re going to retreat,” MacHugh mumbled.
“What? I can’t hear you.”
“Retreat!” MacHugh boomed. He began scrambling down the line. “Head southwest. The fire’s heading east.”
Everyone fell into step, hurrying through the woods, away from the fire.
Griffin caught up with Jackson. “Whatever you said, thank you. I was already writing my obituary.”
“Right?” Jackson said. “I don’t know what that jackass was thinking. Our safety zone is inaccessible. He’s known that and he hasn’t informed us or come up with another contingency plan.”
“Fuck,” Griffin growled. “You know we can’t outrun a fire.”
“I know that. You know that. We all know that. Our only chance is if the fire has left us some route for escape in the direction MacHugh has advised.” He pulled up short as they emerged from a stand of trees. “Look.”
He lifted a shaky hand and pointed. The hair on his neck stood at attention and a sudden chill washed through his body.
“Oh, shit,” Griffin said.
In the distance, a vortex of wind gathered around a column of heat, whipping it into a flaming convection tornado filled with ash, debris, and hydrocarbons. It spewed black smoke as it shredded everything in its path. It tore through stands of trees, parched by the drought. The wind whistled and growled as the tornado devoured the forest.
MacHugh’s voice sounded on the radio. “Mayday, mayday, mayday! This is Engine Forty-Three near the Alpha/Zulu break. We’re in danger of being entrapped and deploying our shelters.” He listed off their longitude and latitude.
“Clear, all units we have a mayday,” came the response, followed by crackles and something about air support. Then, the voice said, “I want periodic updates with accountability for all members. Repeat, I want periodic updates with accountability for all members. We’ll have a hand crew making its way up the line.”
“Copy that,” MacHugh said.
Jackson’s mind went blank with fear. This was it—the most horrible, worst-case nightmare any firefighter could ever face. The fire was heading straight for his entire team at a speed that didn’t even leave them time to take a breath.
This could be the end of all of them.
Chapter 31
All around Jackson and his teammates, the wind blew fiery hot and strong, sending smoke and sparks shooting into the sky. The tornado of flame advanced in their direction like a terrible monster, gobbling up the woods in a murderous rage.
“Deploy your shelters!” MacHugh roared over the din of fire and wind. “Everyone! Deploy your shelters!”
Jackson snapped out of his moment of stark terror. He glanced around. Everyone stood like statues framed by a backdrop of raging fire as if MacHugh had shot a stun gun at each of them in succession. Fear and disbelief shone from his team member’s eyes.
He spied a rock face to their left, which looked to be about twenty feet tall. “Over here. Everyone. To the rock wall. Do as our captain advised and get your shelters out, now!”
They seemed to shake themselves out of their momentary stupor. Over and over, they had trained to deploy their shelters in regular drills. Now was the time for action.
Jackson scrambled toward the rock wall and set to work, yanking open the Velcro closure of the shelter hanging from his belt. The familiar routine brought a sense of control.
Without looking up, he shouted, “There’s too much wind! On your knees, everyone. On your knees!”
Facing the windstorm, he dropped to the ground, pulled out his shelter, and hunched over the thick rectangle of aluminum and silica weave, wrestling it open. Normally, in a less hostile environment, he’d simply shake it open, step into it, drop to the ground and pull it tight around his body. The high gusts made it nearly impossible to unfold. As far as Jackson could tell, the wind could be blowing at fifty mph. Clutching the fluttering foil blanket with a white-knuckled grip, he brought his knees on top of one of the edges. He glanced up to see how the others were faring.
They all seemed to be experiencing the same struggle.
The rapidly approaching firestorm roared and crackled with deafening intensity. The air reeked of an acrid smell. He coughed as a blast of smoke-choked air filled his lungs. If there were truly a hell, this had to be what it sounded, smelled, and felt like. He didn’t dare let himself feel the terror hovering just outside his consciousness. The only thing he could do was act rapidly and as skillfully as possible in the maelstrom.
Pinning the shelter to the earth with his knees, he wriggled his head and arms into it as it rippled and shook in the wind. He maneuvered his feet into it and then secured it to the ground with his left hip as he worked to pin it around him.
The wind tried to pick him up, and his shelter fluttered violently around his body. Again, his mind went blank with terror. He wrestled with finding control, digging his elbows and his toes into the ground. Finally, he pressed his face close to the ground where the air was the cleanest and coolest.
He didn’t have to wait long for the first wave of fire and heat to roll over him, escorted by a cacophony of shrieking wind. Embers, branches, and God knew what rained down on him, accompanied by scorching radiant heat. He felt like he would ignite beneath the shelter but calmed himself, knowing the temperature outside was at least one hundred times hotter. One of the deadliest fires to date, the Carr fire, had been clocked at 2700 degrees.
God help us if this blaze gets that hot.
The tempest tried to lift his legs. He spread them as wide as he could in his narrow shelter and pressed the toes of his boots into the ground. He kept punching the shelter with his elbows to keep the radiant heat from touching his body. His back felt like it was being blasted by a blow torch.
Trees exploded with a whoosh all around him.
Engulfed by
an inferno in the Devil’s playground, he struggled to recall the mental part of the training in “what to do if you ever have to deploy your shelter.” Item number one was something about “keep your cool by calming your thoughts. You can survive.”
His mind sought Blaire. Baby, if you can sense me…just…what? Tell her all will be well? Fuck that. If I die, she’ll be devastated. But if I die, she has to keep going and live a beautiful life. She’s a beautiful woman. Hot tears leaked from his eyes. But if Karlos gets to her first? Impotent rage shot through him. They’d barely begun to love one another. Talk about a fucked-up injustice to renew their love after the Share-gate crisis only to have it all end because of his captain’s stupidity.
The big question kept rolling through his mind. Could Karlos have started this fire? Is he that much of a maniac? But why? He couldn’t fit the pieces together in a neat pattern. Something just didn’t make sense.
He thought he heard a crackle through the radio—something about Engine Forty-Three and accountable but the din around him made it impossible to make out the rest.
A sharp spike of anger lanced his belly. MacHugh would have to be held accountable. He’d make certain. They should have sought safety when the winds changed direction or when the spot fires proved too daunting or… He shook his head. There were numerous times to seek safety. Trees could regrow. Structures could be rebuilt. Lives lost were simply gone, leaving nothing but heartbreak and devastation in their wake.
Seeking cool air, he clawed at the ground, jamming dirt into his fingernails. His body surrounded by scathing heat, breathing proved difficult. It was like sticking his face into a vat of scalding steam and trying to take a breath.
The blaze sounded like freight trains roaring over him, digging into his back with a searing vengeance. More trees exploded. Endless debris and branches toppled over his back. He kept elbowing the shield as the weight of whatever crashed atop him pressed more broiling agony against him. Desperation tore at him. I’ll never survive this. He kept his face pressed into the earth, and his fingers kept digging, and digging, and digging, seeking cool air. Smoke clogged his lungs. He longed to escape, to lift the flap and run but that would be suicide. Wrapped in his aluminum blanket, he might not make it, but it was the only chance he had.
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