by Jenny Goebel
The ripples also meant the wind was picking up.
“Come on, Amelia Jean, keep going,” I said to myself. I hated how pitiful my voice sounded—small and terrified. But I didn’t stop. I searched and found a log large enough to tether the alpacas to, and close enough to the water’s edge that the alpacas would hopefully be out of harm’s way.
I met Julie on the path back to the pen, along with three more alpacas. “The next batch is waiting for you,” Julie said. “I think we can get them all, but we need to hurry.”
I nodded and darted off through the trees. Lulu, Benny, and Carl were haltered and penned when I returned.
“Come on, guys,” I said, and snatched up their leader ropes, thankful that at least three of my friends would soon be closer to the lake and the small amount of security it provided.
Julie and I tag-teamed like that until the last three had been rounded up from the fields. Each time I headed to the lake, I had to combat the unhurried nature of the sweet animals. They were nothing like Annie, who longed to run when I had her on a leash. Her enthusiastic face popped into my mind and squeezed my heart. Where was she? I pushed the image out of my head. I couldn’t stop to think about her now. Nor could I pay attention to the darkening sky and the fear gnawing at me. I focused only on tugging the alpacas along and delivering them to safety.
While I was bringing the last three pastured alpacas to the lake, Julie said she’d retrieve the ones penned near the barn. I met her on the path on my way back. She was leading Hazel. Hazel’s large black eyes were wide and flooded with panic. The sound she made was more like a whimper than a hum. If Hazel’s distress wasn’t blatant enough, one glimpse at Julie’s face told me something was horribly wrong.
I stopped dead in my tracks. “Where’s Samson?” I asked.
Julie bit her lip. “One of the rails on his pen is down. He squeezed through. I can’t find him anywhere.”
A fresh jolt of dread and fear shot through me. I took off running.
“Amelia, wait!” Julie called after me, but I was already gone.
I sprinted, my legs jarring on the uneven trail. I took a shortcut and bolted over rocks, through trees, and around the house and barn to get to Samson’s pen. Sure enough, one of the weathered rails was splintered in two. I feverishly scanned the area as far as I could see, but there was no sign of the cria. I was devastated. My chest felt like concrete. My lower lip quivered. I knew it. I knew I would only cause trouble. Samson had escaped, and it was my fault. I hadn’t gotten to this part of the fence yet, because I’d gone to the carousel with Cat and left early for the interview. Dad said I wasn’t ready for a job, that I couldn’t handle one, and he’d been right.
The harsh air made my eyes sting. My vision blurred. I was worthless. On adventures, at school, everywhere I went, I screwed up. My body felt weighted to the ground with guilt. It was my fault Samson was missing. He was so small and new, and unaware of all the dangers in the world. He was lost, and too little to outrun a fire. He would never survive. I had to find him or I’d never in a million years forgive myself.
Frantically, I scoured the area, darting this way and that. I searched in and around the nearby structures, and under tarps and tree branches—anywhere and everywhere I thought a baby alpaca might hide. All the while, his mother’s horror-stricken eyes haunted my mind.
Then, at last, I heard a soft, shrill cry coming from the forest beyond the ranch. I didn’t pause to think. If I had, I might’ve talked myself out of it. As it was, I took off in the direction of the noise. I took off in the direction of the fire.
As soon as I hit the wooded area, I started coughing. I gagged on the thick, smoky air. Deeper in the trees, the fire crackled. Branches sizzled and snapped, then whooshed as they fell to the ground. Panic surged in. It was even more suffocating than the unclean air. My thoughts turned foggy. My body wanted to freeze in place, waiting for someone to swoop in and save me.
I was alone, though. Far from my parents. Far from my brothers. Under the cover of the thick trees, no one would ever find me here. Not before the fire overcame me, anyway.
I had to save myself.
I told myself I was strong, I was willful. Maybe I did have grit. Breathing as deeply as I could, I thought, I can save myself. But Samson cannot.
I found the courage to push on. The forest was dark. Every downed log and rust-colored boulder resembled Samson. The ground cover made it impossible to see where I was stepping. I tripped on a stick and split the skin on my knee wide open. The pain caused tears to spring to my eyes, but I didn’t stop.
I searched and searched, praying Samson would make another noise. And then he did.
Rushing toward the sound, I found Samson bedded down behind a cluster of shrubs. He stared up at me with big, trusting eyes and hummed. My chest heaved with relief. He was fine, but he wouldn’t be if he stayed here much longer. Neither of us would. In one smooth motion, I gathered him in my arms and fled.
Julie met me on the path leading up from the lake. “Thank God, you found him,” she said. “I’ll take him to his mother. Go get Sky. She’s the last one.”
I flew back up the path, across the drive, all the way to Sky’s pen. No doubt sensing danger in the thick, hazy air, she was backed into a corner. Her hum was high and sharp, full of worry and fright.
“It’s all right, Sky.” I spoke in my most soothing voice while grabbing a halter and then opening the gate to her pen. It was all I could do to approach slowly, what with the panic still coursing through my veins. I wasn’t sure I could ever vanquish my fears, but I realized now that I could get past them. I didn’t have to let fear stop me.
When Sky shrieked in alarm, I halted. “Okay,” I said. “You come to me.” I dipped my hand into my pocket and fished out a small handful of grain. I held my hand as flat and still as possible—which wasn’t very still considering the circumstances. Trying as best I could not to tremble, and not to spook the alpaca further with my own apprehension, I said, “Sky, please, you have to trust me.”
She quieted but stayed with her haunches planted in the corner of the pen. Her ears moved back and forth, and then flat as though she was listening.
“I know,” I said. “New people make me uncomfortable, too. But … but I just want to help.”
Sky considered me. She blinked her long dark eyelashes. She took one tiny step forward, and then—
A horn blared.
Sky’s ears shot upright. She retreated and, at the same time, started humming nervously again.
No, I thought, not yet. I wanted to scream my protest but knew I couldn’t. Not with the wary alpaca calculating my every move. I’d promised Rachel I’d come immediately, but I couldn’t leave Sky here. She, and the baby growing inside her, would be trapped. The flames would burn the wooden barn to the ground with her inside.
I heard more crackling and sizzling—a chilling reminder of what was headed this way. It sounded as close or closer than it had in the forest.
Rachel laid on the car horn a second time.
I took a deep breath. The thick air clogged my throat and lungs. But I stood my ground. I extended my grain-filled hand once more. “It’s now or never,” I said calmly.
Slowly, miraculously, Sky inched her way forward. Her lips brushed my hand, tickled my skin, as she worked her mouth over the grain.
“Good girl,” I said. After that, she gave in fully. I thought she might jerk back when I eased the halter around her nose and clipped it behind her neck. But she didn’t. She knew the routine, and I’d finally gained her confidence.
Rachel was sounding the horn in a constant stream as I rushed Sky out of the barn. Thick, billowing clouds darkened everything around us, the smoke choking out the sun.
Julie darted from the car to meet me. “Come on,” she said. “There’s no time to bring Sky to the lake. She’ll have to come with us.”
A deafening crack sounded nearby as a tree fell, its trunk incinerated by flames. Its branches whacked against the
forest and the earth, splintering other trees and kicking up dirt.
I gasped. It was here. The fire was upon us.
“Hurry,” Julie wheezed as she ripped the back door of the SUV open and helped me usher Sky inside. Sky spilled awkwardly over the back seat—long legged and long necked as she was—leaving very little room for me. I squeezed in beside her anyway.
Julie ran around the vehicle and hopped in the passenger seat. Rachel hit the gas before her daughter-in-law had finished buckling in. The vehicle went barreling through the haze down the long dirt drive.
Beyond my window, pockets glowed orange as fire consumed the dry sagebrush, the trees, everything in its path. Flames sucked all life out of the branches and spread along the forest floor as we drove.
Sky’s ears moved back and forth, but otherwise she sat very still beside me.
“It’s worse than I thought,” Rachel whispered softly, horror-struck.
As we approached the entrance for the Stargazer RV Park, red-hot embers fell on the road in front of us. The temperature inside the vehicle skyrocketed. Of all the dangerous situations I’d been in, this was by far the worst. I’d participated in countless hair-raising activities, but I’d never been in a situation where the fate of so many was on the line. I silently prayed that none of my family members had returned to the trailer early. That Annie had somehow escaped the inferno. That our carload and all the alpacas would be spared.
We heard a loud snap and a blazing tree fell across the road ahead. Sirens blared in the distance—on the other side of the fire. There was no way to reach them through the wall of flames.
“Mom, we have to turn around,” Julie said, barely able to keep the hysteria out of her voice.
Rachel hit the brakes and threw the SUV into reverse. Then she spun around in a widened section of the road and sped off. “We’ll try Olde River Lane instead,” she said.
Julie clenched her jaw, then nodded in agreement. “It’ll be rough, but anything is better than this.”
Olde River Lane was a windy and unmaintained dirt road, with potholes, washboards, and tons of overgrowth. We bounced and jarred. Tree branches scraped at the window and the paint on Rachel’s car. I braced myself with one hand on the door and the other trying to secure Sky in her seat as we twisted and turned down the mountainside and were chased by the angry red blaze.
It was rough, as Julie said—the vehicle jostled the entire way. I bumped my head on the roof more than once, and my legs ached steadying myself. But, before long, it was no longer sweltering inside the vehicle. And the temperature kept dropping until it was back in a comfortable range. I inhaled deeply and noticed the air was lighter. I gulped in one sweet breath after another. As we steadily put distance between us and the orange glow consuming the mountainside, my heartbeat slowed, and I was overcome by relief.
We had outrun the fire.
A small crowd had gathered in the heart of Winterland—in the parking area shared by the market, the carousel, and the Train Car. Rachel parked near Fleece on Earth, and as soon as we stepped out of the car, Heath ran to meet us.
He enveloped Rachel and Julie in an ardent hug. I stood on the sidewalk holding Sky’s lead like a lifeline. The thing was, it seemed like a lifeline for her, too. She stayed close by my side as I worked my way through the sea of people, searching for my family. The air was fresher in town but still laced with smoke.
“Amelia!” Mom spotted me first and raced to reach me. Dad and my brothers followed close on her heels. They surrounded me, touching me as if to make sure I wasn’t an apparition. Like they were afraid I’d disappear right before their eyes.
Dad kissed the top of my head and came up coughing. “You smell like charcoal.”
“We were so worried about you,” Mom said, swiping soot from my cheek. “Thank God you’re okay.”
My brothers’ curiosity quickly turned from me to my furry companion. Neil reached out to pet her, and David walked around to get a better look. But Sky only sidled closer to me, still wary of strangers. Apparently, she no longer considered me one of them.
“Annie?” David asked, his voice steeped with concern.
“I don’t know.” Moisture gathered in the corners of my eyes. I felt so raw, so exhausted. “I’m sorry. I went straight to the ranch after school.”
We turned our attention to the gray cloud looming over the RV park. From this distance, the streaks of fire running down the mountainside looked like waterfalls painted red. We stayed like that for a long time—huddled together for strength and stunned to silence.
Information trickled in over the course of the evening while we lingered about the parking lot. The local volunteer fire department had taken the lead, but wildland crews from all over the state were streaming in to help. Heavy-duty off-road fire engines roared by, carrying hundreds of gallons of water up the road leading to the fire. Helicopters flew overhead carrying buckets of slurry to dump on the flames. Sky raised her head and hummed each time a vehicle or aircraft passed.
A spokesperson for the fire department informed the crowd that wildland crews were cutting a line around the fire. “Our priority is protecting lives and structures,” she said.
I was dying to know where Annie was and what was happening at the ranch. But the next words out of the spokesperson’s mouth were, “I’m sorry we cannot provide specific information regarding the status of personal property at this point. We’re asking that you please register yourselves on the Red Cross Safe and Well site, and a call center has been set up to report missing people.”
Unfortunately, there wasn’t a call center for missing animals. After the spokeswoman was done talking, my brothers and I approached her, and then two other officials. But nobody could tell us if the alpacas had been rescued, or if they’d seen a dog as red as a Utah sunrise. All the information we received was general—the firefighters were doing everything they could.
Fire containment was reported in percentages—first 10 percent, then 20, and so on. It was a slow battle, but the firefighters were winning. I tried to focus on the positive—that the fire would be put out eventually—but it was impossible not to obsess and worry.
From time to time, someone would approach me and my family. They came to share news or provide some element of comfort. Cat and her grandmother circulated the crowd with a giant box of mini doughnuts from the Train Car. Cat caught me watching her and offered a quick, sad smile but kept her distance.
Dan passed out blankets. Even though it was hot outside, I draped one across my shoulders. It wasn’t until the weight of it stopped my tremors that I realized I’d been shaking.
Kids I recognized from school said hello. Younger children walked up and asked if they could pet Sky. She tolerated their attention.
Everyone sort of drifted around, unmoored. Waiting for news.
We learned from Dad’s ex-boss that an evacuation center had been set up in the high school gym for those displaced by the fire. “I thought I’d never have to see that place again,” Neil said with a groan.
Before loading up in the truck and heading for the school, my parents walked with me and Sky the short distance to Fleece on Earth. Rachel, Julie, and Heath had opened the doors to their business to let in anyone needing to rest or use the bathroom. They planned to stay at the shop until it was safe to return to the ranch. I passed Sky’s rope over to Julie. “I don’t think they’ll let me keep her inside the gym.”
Julie patted the back of Sky’s neck. “She can sleep in the storeroom here. We’ll need to reunite her with the others as soon as possible. Alpacas are herd animals. They don’t like being alone.”
I met Sky’s eyes, and I could tell that it was true. As distant and aloof as she’d acted in the past, she needed the company of the other alpacas. “Have you heard anything?” I asked.
“Not yet,” Rachel said. “But I reported their location to the fire command.” She breathed deeply and straightened her back. “I have faith that they’ll be all right.” Then she turned to
my parents and said, “You have a very brave daughter. There’s no way we could’ve gotten our alpacas to safety without her.”
A look of surprise flitted across Dad’s face. Then he gave my shoulder a squeeze. “Thanks for bringing her back to us. If she was at the trailer—” His voice broke off. “She could’ve—” He stopped again. I think it was the most fear I’d ever seen in my father’s eyes. “I’m just grateful she’s here with us now,” he said, his voice thick and husky, as if the only way he could get out the words was by dropping it an octave.
Rachel gave my dad a hug and then my mother. “After this is over, we’d like to have your entire family over for dinner and dessert. You can see the work Amelia has done on the fence.”
I smiled as my parents exchanged a baffled look. I hadn’t told them about the fence.
Heath chimed in, “Yes, please come. You won’t regret it. Dad used to say, there isn’t a Winterlander alive who can resist Mom’s cherry pie. Three-time blue ribbon winner.”
Dad smiled and nodded, but the bemusement and curiosity in his eyes had quickly been replaced by a faraway look. The one he always got when he was thinking about the open road. I knew he didn’t want to be rude, but he also never planned on cashing in on Rachel’s invitation.
“That would be lovely,” Mom said politely.
I eyed her questioningly. It really would be wonderful. Even if Dad disregarded the invitation, was there a chance Mom was open to it? How long would we remain in Winterland? Obviously, we couldn’t climb the fourteener the next day—not with our hiking gear somewhere inside the evacuation zone. If it still existed. Honestly, I’d been dreading the difficult hike, but I never wanted something this terrible to be the reason it got canceled. Our future seemed more up in the air than ever.
“I almost forgot!” Julie said. “Let me grab Amelia’s bag.” She retrieved my backpack from behind the counter.
I couldn’t have cared less about the pack, but I ripped it open and dug out my scarf. “Thank you!” I gushed before burying my face in its softness, then wrapping it around my neck.
