He thought about his fucked up, piece of shit brother and his own idiocy in enabling him. If Jake and I survive, the only help he’s going to get from me will be a suggestion to get a job. Better yet, maybe I should kick him out of my life. Tell him to stay the hell away from me until he’s fifteen years clean and sober.
A cry emerged through the din of hell.
“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. You’ll never be able to forgive me.”
Is that MacHugh? He’s probably right.
“I can’t take it. I’ll never be able to live like this,” MacHugh cried. Someone rolled into his right side, along with a rustling noise, barely discernible over the fire’s wrath.
Another bone-chilling cry rang out. An excruciating sense of dread shot through Jackson’s body. Then, something heavy landed on top of him.
Someone to his left let out a heart-wrenching, muffled scream that raised every hair on his body. Jackson bucked the weight from his back, struggling to keep his shelter in place.
The person on his left wriggled, too.
Oh, my fucking God. Did MacHugh release his shelter and burn to a crisp? Is that what fell over me and whoever is next to me? Utter terror blasted through him. Keep it together, O’Halloran. Fucking keep it together. Focus on your survival. This will end one way or another, but it will end.
He conjured up the faces of his teammates, all enduring the same hell. These people were his righteous and true family. They worked and trained side by side. They ate together, sharing the sense of camaraderie he’d never experienced growing up. He owed these people his life. Being in the fire department had given him back his hope. It had lifted him out of his fucked-up childhood struggles and made him feel like he belonged.
Then his thoughts circled back to Blaire. Baby, if I don’t make it, I want you to find someone new to love. But, if I do make it, I’m swearing my life to you, heart, soul, and everything in between. I love you to the moon and back and beyond. I’ll love you until I’m nothing but dust. And then I’ll seek you out and love you throughout time.
Gradually, the horrific caterwaul ceased. The radio crackled, but Jackson couldn’t hear anything but static garbage.
An anguished silence descended over them. The wind continued to howl, carrying empty promises—Jackson knew there would nothing left here to consume. Down the hill, the fiery typhoon could be heard spreading its devastation.
From his cocoon, he called out, “Roll call, brothers and sisters. I’ll start. O’Halloran.”
His voice felt scratchy and raw.
“Callahan.” Griffin’s voice emerged muffled, but by God, he was alive.
“Ames.”
“Smith.”
“Hubbard.”
One by one, everyone called out their names—everyone but MacHugh.
“MacHugh, are you with us?” Jackson called.
No answer.
“MacHugh!”
Jackson’s hand wriggled around to find his radio. “Command, this is One-Fifty-Seven.”
A scratchy crackle was his only response.
“Command, this is One-Fifty-Seven. All are accounted for but Fifty-Nine. Repeat. All are accounted for but Fifty-Nine.”
The same frustrating static met his ears.
He blew out his breath, unsure whether anyone from Command heard him or not.
A strange silence settled all around, as they all waited in the aftermath, hunched in their foil blankets.
“Anyone got a joke?” Jackson said.
Griffin groaned. “Really, Hollerback?”
“Yes, really,” he said.
At first, no one said anything.
Then, Mark said, “How do you know there’s a firefighter at a party?”
“He’ll tell you,” Tom said.
A few chuckles lifted Jackson’s spirit.
“What makes cops and firefighters similar?” Tara called.
“I don’t know, what?” Griffin said.
“They both want to be firefighters.”
“That’s terrible,” Mark said.
Others guffawed.
“How’s everyone doing?” Jackson called from his cocoon. “Ever think you’d live through hell?”
Silence met his ears.
“I’m proud of you all,” he said.
“Damn, I was singing my last rites in my head,” Griffin said.
“I hear that,” Mark said in a loud, raspy voice. “I tried to get a direct line to Jesus, Allah, and the Buddha—I was down with whoever would listen.”
Murmurs of similar sentiments rippled through the group.
“So we hang tight here for a while. The worst is over,” Jackson said, unsure whether this was true or not. Emerging from their shelters too soon would be a mistake. “I’m going to see if I can get through and call this in.” He found his radio. “Command from One-Fifty-Seven.”
“One-Fifty-Seven, go ahead.”
Relief washed over Jackson at hearing Command.
“We’re about to exit our shelters. The firestorm has passed.”
“Thank God,” Menendez said, his voice cracking. “We thought we lost you.”
A few cheers from Command could be heard through the radio, relaying through everyone’s pagers and radios down the line.
“Is anyone injured?”
“Don’t know, sir. We’re all accounted for save MacHugh.”
A weighted silence filled his cocooned space.
“We’re going to give it another thirty to forty minutes before we come out.”
“Copy that. I’ll send transport.” Menendez paused. “I’m so glad you’re alive.”
Me, too, Jackson thought. Me, too. Still, the last thing he had to deal with was finding Karlos. That was a deadly fire in its own right.
Chapter 32
The shock of emerging from his foil blanket into a hellish landscape hit Jackson like a jackhammer to the gut. All around him and his fellow firefighters stood the charred remains of trees, standing like skeletal sentinels. Embers smoldered in heaps of smoldering remains. The choking smell of smoke and burned debris surrounded him.
Farther down the hill, the tornado continued, twisting and turning like a malevolent orange glowing snake, sending flames shooting into the sky.
“It’s like it’s alive,” someone to his right said.
Jackson jerked out of his stunned coma to see Griffin.
His face was covered with soot and dirt. His clothes were filthy.
“You look like shit,” Jackson said.
“Hey, I’m still breathing. That’s all that matters,” Griffin said. “I probably look great compared to you. You should see yourself.”
Jackson glanced down at his grimy bunkers. He lifted his dirty hands and his fingernails embedded with soil and examined them.
“The world’s burning, cleansing herself,” a voice to Jackson’s left said.
Jackson blinked and turned to see Mark Hubbard on his other side.
“Is that what you think?” Jackson said.
“I don’t know what to think,” Mark said, looking as bewildered as Jackson felt. “Those words just popped out.”
“Nothing like spending the afternoon in hell,” Smith, the guy who’d gone on recon with MacHugh initially, said as he came up beside them.
Jackson glanced at the somber, stunned faces of those around him. “Is anyone badly injured?”
“Can’t tell,” Tori called. “The skin on my back hurts like a bitch.”
“Same here,” Tom said.
Jackson lifted the hem of his bunker gear and tried to peer at his skin. From what he could see, red blotches covered his back.
His gaze caught sight of a fragment of something whitish on the blackened ground behind him. He slowly turned around to investigate, and his stomach lurched. He crouched and gingerly fingered a fragment of what looked like a jawbone. One lone tooth clung to the shard.
“Aw, shit.” Bile rose in his throat.
Griffin and Mark crouched beside him. “What
is that?”
“I think it’s what’s left of MacHugh,” Jackson said.
Mark shuddered. “What happened?”
“Didn’t you hear him scream? He started babbling about how sorry he was and that no one would forgive him.”
“Nah,” Mark said. “I was way over there. All I could hear was the fire.” Pale patches of skin peeked through the grime covering his face.
A few others crowded around the charred pieces of bone.
“What did you say? That’s MacHugh?” Tori said. A horrified grimace flashed across her face. “Is that what fell on me?”
“Probably. I caught most of him on my back.”
“Oh, dear, God,” she said, crumpling to her knees. She dropped her head and began to retch.
Mark put his hand on her back to soothe her.
The sound of chopper blades filled the air before two helicopters came into view. As one of them began its descent, they all huddled together.
The sleek red and white helicopter landed, and two medics emerged, running toward them, dressed in blue uniforms.
“Does anyone need immediate medical care?” a medic with a brown buzz cut said.
“None of us can really tell,” Jackson said. “I think we’re all in shock.”
Brown-hair nodded. “I’m Ryan. This is Stewart.” He stabbed a thumb toward his stocky cohort. “Let’s get you guys out of here. You’ll all be transported to Bradbury for evaluation. We can take four each, so assemble in two groups and let’s get moving.”
Six hours later, Jackson meandered down the white-walled hospital corridor toward Jake’s room. He’d been cleared by the Burn Center next door to return home with a follow-up visit scheduled for tomorrow. So far, he checked out with minor injuries—first degree burns on his back and a few large partial thickness blisters along his shoulders and butt. They had been rinsed with cool water, dabbed with Silvadene to prevent infection, and covered with Telfa non-sticking pads to keep them from rubbing against his dirty clothes. The good news, as everyone kept reminding him, was that he was alive. The bad news, if it could be considered bad, was that the full extent of his injuries couldn’t be determined until his follow up visit—burns could worsen in a forty-eight-hour period.
Still, …he’d survived the “worst fire this state had experienced in over one hundred years,” according to the news which seemed to be playing in every nurse’s station and patient room in the hospital.
He’d been congratulated, thanked for his service, and thanked again. While he appreciated the congrats, he’d only done the job he was trained to do. They’d gotten in a no-go situation thanks to his crew sup who was now dead.
Too much had gone on today for him to wrap his head around. Apparently, he would have lots of time to process it since protocol dictated he meets with a counselor on the regular once he was back in Singer Springs.
All he wanted to do now was get home to Blaire and stop being fussed over so much. He’d had to borrow a nurse’s phone to contact her since his had gone MIA. He couldn’t wait to see her. However, he’d been told his brother was in the wing next door, having successfully emerged from surgery to remove the stick from his belly. Since it would take Blaire at least fifty minutes to arrive at the hospital, he thought it best to get a visit with his brother over with.
Dressed once more in his filthy yellow wildland gear, his face still streaked with grime, his hands as clean as he could get them without taking a pickax to his fingernails, he strode along the hallway, following the blue and beige arrows pointing to the “Acute Care Wing.” The closer he got, the slower his footfalls became. He wasn’t sure what good could come of seeing Jake at this point.
Maybe I should postpone it and check on him when I’m clean and less angry at him. He stopped, leaning against the wall. You’re a chicken, O’Halloran. Get this over with. Then, when Blaire arrives to pick you up, this will be behind you. I don’t want this shit with my brother to get in the way of our evening. He pushed away from the wall. Okay, I’m doing this.
As he approached the door to room Four-Ninety-One, Jake’s room, voices floated through the open door. It sounded like Chase was in there, talking to him. He sidled up next to the door and listened.
“I’m such a shithead,” Jake said, in a weak-sounding voice.
“You made a mistake, baby,” Chase said. “Mistakes happen. You heal, you get back to sobriety, and we take it from here.”
“You don’t understand,” he said.
“Of course I do. You think I went stone-cold sober once I decided to clean up my act and never slipped up?” Chase said.
No reply came.
“Jake, what aren’t you telling me?” she said. “Jake, baby, look at me. What aren’t you telling me?”
Jackson frowned. Yes, Jake, what aren’t you saying?
“Nothing,” Jake said. “I’m tired. I need to rest. I’m still woozy from being put under. My belly hurts. Leave me be.”
A nurse appeared in the corridor, and she smiled at Jackson.
Rather than be subjected to more congratulations, Jackson slipped into his brother’s room.
Jake bore a pouting, sulky expression. It changed to wide-eyed panic when Jackson appeared.
Chase’s head jerked up.
“Jackson!” she said from her perch on the metal chair next to Jake’s bed. Her bright red hair was streaked with dirt. It hung limply on her scalp. Her eyes were ringed with dark circles. She clutched Jake’s hand, which rested atop the white blanket covering him. “I can’t thank you enough for saving Jakey’s life.”
“It’s my job to save lives. I’m happy we found him,” Jackson said, before turning his attention to Jake. “How are you feeling?” he asked numbly.
He stepped closer to Jake’s hospital bed. A strong odor of hospital chemicals and body odor wafted from Jake.
Jake blinked rapidly. “Jackson. What are you doing here?”
“What am I doing here?” Jackson said, trying to keep from erupting in anger. The last twenty-four hours came crashing down on his head. “I was airlifted here. That was one of the worst fires in one-hundred years.”
“How would I have known?” Jake said, his gaze slithering to the right. “I was in surgery or haven’t you heard? I almost died.”
“Yeah? Sorry to hear that. But seriously…you were high, Jake. You could have stayed put in your tent and not been high, and then we could have all made it to safety together.” He glared at Jake, but his brother couldn’t meet his eyes.
“Jakey knows he made a mistake,” Chase said in a chiding tone.
Jackson turned toward her.
“Is that what we’re calling it? A mistake? He was fucking high. But wait, I’m a little testy right now. I almost fried to death in the woods. We had to deploy our shelters. We got caught in a hell-storm of a fire tornado,” he said, surprised at the intensity of emotions blasting through him. He’d stayed calm, kept his cool through the fire, through the endless tests in the hospital, through all the “thank you for your service” comments, but now it seemed that the floodgates had dropped.
Chase gasped. “You had to deploy your shelters? Oh, my God, we had no idea.”
“You really haven’t been following the news. Every television in this hospital has had it playing.”
Chase pressed her hand to her mouth. Then, she picked up the remote and flipped the channels until she found the news.
A backdrop of roaring flames filled the background as a newscaster said, “In the worst fire of the century, eight firefighters risked their lives, nearly dying in the process. The firefighters of Clearfall County Fire Department were…”
Jackson reached over, snatched the remote from Chase’s hand, and switched off the television. “If you don’t mind, I lived through it and don’t care to watch it anymore.”
“Of course,” Chase said.
Red crept up her neck and along her face. She reached for Jake’s hand, but he pulled it away.
His eyes were moist with t
ears.
“Can you go away and let me talk to my brother?” he said in a strangled voice.
Chase’s brow furrowed. “Sure, baby.”
She stood, looked at Jake, looked at Jackson, and then shuffled out of the room, closing the door behind her.
Tears leaked from Jake’s eyes. He turned his head away from Jackson, pressed the side of his face into the pillow, and said, in a muffled voice, “I didn’t mean to get high, Jackson. I really didn’t.”
Jackson dropped into the chair, feeling like he weighed a ton. “Spare me the excuses, Jake.”
Jake sobbed.
Jackson waited, staring at the monitor displaying Jake’s pulse and blood pressure.
“I didn’t inject it this time,” Jake mumbled into his pillow.
“Okay. Are you saying that’s a good thing, sort of like a step in the right direction?” Jackson said, sarcasm dripping from his tongue. He shook his head.
“I didn’t inject it,” he said in a strangled whisper.
A chill frosted Jackson’s hair follicles as what Jake implied began forming a horrible picture involving a flame and aluminum foil.
“What did you do?” he whisper-hissed, pinning his gaze to the back of Jake’s head.
“I cooked it,” Jake said.
Jackson’s heart began to beat like a jackhammer. “Out in the dry woods…”
Jake nodded. “I couldn’t bring a needle. Chase might have discovered it. I wasn’t going to do anything with it, I swear. I brought it as a dare. I thought if I made it more difficult, I could pass my own test, you know?”
Jackson stayed silent, his mind reeling, not wanting to know what Jake’s “test” had been.
Jake finally turned to meet Jackson’s eyes. “I’ll turn myself in, I promise. I didn’t mean to. I got high. I got high in the woods using a candle to cook my dope. I hadn’t been high for weeks, so it came on strong. When I came to, fire was all around me. I panicked, Jackson, I panicked. I didn’t mean for it to happen, I swear.”
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