Wildfire

by Rodman Philbrick

  Delphy swings along on her walking stick, examining the rocky ledge. “I see what you mean. The only way down is to build a ramp.”

  “Great,” I say. “I’ll fire up the bulldozer. Oh, wait, we don’t have a bulldozer.”

  Delphy sees the look on my face and laughs. “We don’t need a bulldozer, silly. We just need an inclined plane.”

  “Is that another ancient Greek thing?”

  “As a matter of fact, yes. By way of Egypt.”

  Over the next few hours, we pry a couple of long, sturdy planks from the walkway to the dock, drag them across the lawn, and prop them on the ledge. Then we roll a bunch of rocks into place under the middle of the planks, for support. On paper, an inclined plane is just a few pencil lines. In the real world, building one takes time and tons of sweat, especially when it’s so miserably hot.

  Delphy explains how some of the pyramids were constructed. “They hauled giant limestone blocks up very long, inclined planes. Took them twenty years and thousands of laborers.”

  “And this comes from your grandfather?”

  She laughs. “I saw it on the History Channel.”

  I collapse on the lawn, exhausted. The sun is about to dip below the tree line, and we both understand that inching the Jeep down the slope and onto the planks will have to wait until morning. It’s not a thing that can be done in the dark, or when we’re too tired to think straight.

  “First thing, right?”

  “First thing. Before I quit, I’m going to bring up the rest of the gas and fill the tank. Just in case.”

  “In case of what?” Delphy asks, uneasy.

  “Just in case.”

  When that last task is done, and the Jeep has a full tank with an extra can to spare, I unplug the distributor wire like before. Because you never know, and no spark means no steal.

  I’m so tired it feels like there are ten-pound weights around my ankles as I trudge back to the dining hall. We use wooden matches to light a couple of the oil lanterns and munch on some more cookies and drain glasses of cold milk. “Not exactly a balanced meal.” Delphy smiles, her eyes bright. “At Calusa, we had to earn desserts by exercising.”

  “You just exercised enough to build a small pyramid.”

  “I guess I did, didn’t I? Who knew? I totally hate gym, but when I really have to, I can move a two-ton Jeep.”

  “Mostly with your brain. You figure things out.”

  She mock punches me in the arm. “We’re a pretty good team.”

  “Yup.”

  “A toast to us, little brother.” She clinks her glass of milk to mine. “To getting home tomorrow.”

  “Tomorrow.”

  Delphy fishes through her backpack and takes out the little hand-crank radio. “Maybe there’s news about the fire. News about the world.”

  She works the crank, charging the battery, and when she pushes the on button, what do you know, WRPZ comes through loud and clear! Almost sounds like the DJ is in the dining hall with us, sharing milk and cookies while he tells us about his day.

  “… no idea who might be in range of my voice because, like I said, the broadcast radius of this little station is much reduced. The main power lines are down and we’re running on the backup generator. I say ‘we,’ but it’s only me, your host, Phat Freddy Bell. And to be honest, I wouldn’t be trapped here if I didn’t drain all the gas from my car to power the generator. Which is just about to run out of fuel anyhow. Bonehead move. I’m surrounded, folks. Fire on every side. And nobody trying to stop it. Not that I’m complaining. Our brave firefighters are concentrating on the populated areas to the south, where the flames have consumed part of Belfast, Belmont, and Waldo, resulting in fatalities for civilians and firefighters alike. So it looks like I’m stuck here at six hundred and one feet above groove level until the fire burns out. And if I don’t make it, I just want everybody to know—my listeners, my friends, my late wife in heaven, everybody—that it’s been a blast sharing my favorite tunes, connecting with listeners. I loved every minute of it. I’m the luckiest man in the world, and who knows, maybe my luck will hold.

  “This is Phat Freddy Bell, high atop the lowest official mountain in the great state of Maine, signing off.”

  We’re left with only our own silence to fill the room.

  Delphy wipes her eyes with the side of her hand. “Poor guy, he sounded scared.”

  “Somebody is bound to hear him and go to the rescue.”

  “I hope so.”

  Something the DJ said really shakes me. All this time I’d been worried about me and Delphy getting burned up, but it turns out the fire is eating towns and cities, not just forest. Belfast, Belmont, Waldo. Phat Freddy didn’t mention Portland, where my mother is in rehab, but I can’t help worrying that maybe she’s in danger, too.

  For the last few days, it’s seemed like the fire was concentrating on us, but it sounds like there’s a lot more going on that we don’t know about.

  Like the whole state is up in flames.

  Delphy has this expression on her face, like she knows what I’m thinking, and shares my concern. “Can I ask you a question, Sam?”

  “Sure.” I dread what she might ask.

  “What scares you most?”

  “That’s not fair, so I’ll go first.” Delphy takes a deep breath, and then she blurts out, “I’m scared I’ll never stop growing.”

  “Seriously?”

  “Silly, I know. Most girls stop growing by the time they’re fifteen. And I’m almost fifteen, and I haven’t grown recently. So I’m worried about nothing. Probably.”

  “What’s the big deal if you get a little taller?”

  She sighs. “A little would be okay, I guess. But I had this nightmare that I was so tall my head was bumping the ceiling. I was like eight feet tall. Everybody was staring at me and whispering behind my back. It was awful. When I woke up, I was afraid to get out of bed, in case my head bumped.”

  I’m not sure how to answer, so I go, “Wow,” and then shut up.

  For some reason, that makes her laugh. “Don’t worry, Sam. You don’t have to tell me your greatest fear just because I told you mine. That was unfair, putting you on the spot.”

  Her eyes are so sad and kind that something breaks inside me, and I find myself gushing the truth. “I’m afraid my mother is going to die of an overdose.”

  Delphy’s jaw drops. “Oh, Sam. No. That’s terrible!”

  The only other person who has any idea of what I really worry about is Mrs. Labrie, from Child Services, so it’s kind of a relief, saying it out loud.

  “When I wake up in the morning, I’m scared of finding her dead in her bed, or in the bathroom. When I’m in school, I’m afraid of what I’ll find when I get home.”

  “That really sucks. I’m so sorry.”

  “That’s why I was at Camp Wabanaski. So Mom could get treatment. She wants to quit, she really does. But it’s really, really hard. Like the hardest thing in the world. That’s what Mom said. She’s sick and in pain and her whole body aches for the medicine. She says the medicine is like a giant magnet and she’s an iron filing. And she says most addicts don’t make it the first time they quit.”

  Delphy reaches across the table and covers my hands with hers. “I’ll bet you anything she does. You’re a strong, smart kid, and at least half of that comes from your mother, right?”

  “Right.”

  “You know what’s really dumb?” Delphy says brightly. “Here we are in the middle of nowhere, surrounded by a deadly forest fire, and what do we worry about? Stuff we can’t control. When really the only thing we should worry about right now is how to stay alive! How do we get home?”

  Big questions. I wish I knew the answers.

  I wait on the front porch while Delphy goes to take a cold shower. Figure I’ll take one tomorrow morning before we get to work on moving the Jeep. Besides, it gives me a chance to be alone for a few minutes when I can maybe organize my thoughts, get my head straight. Also keep an ey
e on the far end of the lake, making sure nothing flares or sparks.

  So far so good. The usual scent of distant smoke, but nothing lighting up the darkness. Not yet.

  Delphy returns from her shower sounding disappointed. “I thought cool water would cool me down, right? But as soon as I dried off, I was sweating again. Can’t believe I’m saying this, but I’m looking forward to winter.”

  “Totally. Give me ice and snow.”

  The neat thing about being the only two people in a camp made for at least fifty, plus staff, is that we each get a cabin to ourselves. Real beds, with sheets and mattresses and pillows.

  We choose cabins closest to the lake. Great view. Not that we can see very much of it on a moonless, starless night. All we can really make out, carrying our oil lanterns, is the path that goes from the main building to the cabins.

  Delphy’s cabin is called “Fortitude.” Mine is called “Endurance.”

  “Real cozy,” Delphy says sarcastically as she holds her lantern up to the sign.

  “Must be like a message to inspire the campers. ‘This is what you need to survive.’ ”

  “What I need is a good night’s sleep.” She yawns. “First thing tomorrow, we get the Jeep down the incline, load it up, and head back to civilization. Part of me is almost sorry, you know?”

  “Not me. I’m ready.”

  “You know what I’ve been thinking about, when I’m not being scared to death? A cheeseburger with a vanilla shake. First stop. Okay?”

  “Deal.”

  We say our good nights and go to our cabins. Inside, I have my choice of bunks, and pick the one that’s the most neatly made. I lie facedown, expecting to fall asleep in an instant, but my head is swirling with a million thoughts. It’s like I’m too tired to sleep, which doesn’t make any sense.

  I turn the oil lantern off and sit on the edge of the bunk in the dark. Thinking about my mom and my dad, and now Delphy, who seems like part of the family somehow. How everything keeps whirling out of reach and I keep grabbing at it, but I can’t hold on. It’s so hard not to worry about things you can’t possibly control.

  Mrs. Labrie says that’s what life is all about, learning how to deal with stuff you can’t control. She’s probably right, but that doesn’t make it any easier. Not when I feel like I ran a marathon, swam the English Channel, and built the pyramids all in one day, and still I can’t sleep.

  I get up in the dark and walk to the window and there it is. A faint glow on the night horizon, maybe ten miles away.

  Fire, on the other side of the mountains.

  I finally fall asleep praying that the wind will change and blow the fire out like a candle on a birthday cake.

  In my dream, Mom and I are at the beach, sitting in folding chairs with our feet in the water. We’re watching Dad paddle around on a red rubber raft, acting goofy for our amusement. When Dad comes back to shore, the three of us will walk down to the hot dog stand and order extra-large onion rings with our dogs. It’s the best day ever, and can’t be spoiled, not even by the sound of crazy chain saws. I mean, who brings chain saws to the beach?

  I wake up with someone’s hand over my mouth. It’s Delphy, hushing me. “Quiet,” she whispers. “They’re right outside.”

  The dream was just a dream, but the crazy chain-saw noise is real. Not chain saws, but dirt bikes roaring through the camp, and somebody shouting, “IF YOU’RE FROM AWAY, STAY AWAY! FROM AWAY, STAY AWAY!”

  I sit up on the bunk, heart pounding. We crawl to a window and peep out at the main building. In the soft light of dawn, we can make out a biker doing a wheelie the full length of the porch, screaming his head off. No longer words, just a scream of rage.

  On the front lawn, the other biker cheers him on, chanting, “FROM AWAY, STAY AWAY! FROM AWAY, STAY AWAY!”

  Beside me, Delphy whispers, “It’s them, isn’t it? From Piney Pond? What’s that supposed to mean, ‘from away, stay away’?”

  “Not sure, but I think it means they hate out-of-staters. People from away. People with money who come here and buy up the best land and build expensive places like this.”

  “And they think it’s okay to burn them out, because they weren’t born here?”

  I shake my head. “I don’t think they care about ‘okay.’ I mean, look at them.”

  These dudes were scary when they were on the other side of Piney Pond, torching a summer house, but up close they are terrifying. There’s a madness about them, a violent fury at the people they’re attacking. No helmets, and blond hair, both of them, shaved close on the sides and long on top. The light is still pretty dim, so I can’t make out their faces, except for the beards, but from the way they act and move alike, I’m pretty sure they’re brothers.

  “Do they know we’re here?” I whisper.

  “Don’t think so. I snuck around the back to get to this cabin. They didn’t see me.”

  There’s a crash of breaking glass, and suddenly they invade the main building, on their bikes. We can’t see what they’re doing inside, exactly, but we can hear them zooming round and round, revving their engines. Every so often the bikes will pause, going to idle, and we hear the noise of something breaking, and their chant: “FROM AWAY, STAY AWAY! FROM AWAY, STAY AWAY!”

  “This is probably crazy,” Delphy says, “but what if we waded out into the lake? It’s still kind of dark, chances are they won’t notice us out there. And then even if the fire comes this way, we’d be safe.”

  “It’s not crazy and it might work. But what if they stay until after sunrise, and spot us? And what about the smoke? Narrow lake like this, with hills on either side, the fire will spread from side to side. We’ll be stuck, and we might not be able to breathe. Even if we can, how long will we last in deep water?”

  “I hadn’t thought about that,” Delphy whispers. “What’s your idea?”

  “We should get out of here, hide in the woods until they leave.”

  “What if they see us?”

  “We run. They won’t be able to follow in the woods. If we make it to the Jeep, we can get away.”

  “I’m worried they’ll spot me. Big and tall with a crutch, how can they miss that?”

  Before I can think of an answer, something changes inside the main building. The biker brothers have turned on the lights. Which is impossible, with no electricity. And then I realize they’ve discovered the lanterns and are scattering oil and lighting the place on fire, like they did to the house on Piney Pond. In less than a minute, the interior is so bright it hurts to look. The flames spread quickly, racing up the great beams of the cathedral ceiling and dripping down the beautiful wooden walls.

  The brothers remain inside, admiring their work. Racing their dirt bikes around the dining hall, shouting, “From away, stay away! Burn, baby, burn!”

  Any second, they’ll have to exit the hall, or be trapped by the fire they started.

  “Now’s our chance,” I whisper. “Their eyes are on the flames, they won’t see us.”

  We creep out the back door, keeping the cabin between us and the main building. I look around the corner—they’re still inside with the spreading flames, dangerous as it is—and we dash to the next cabin, and then to the next. Keeping to the shadows as we work our way around to the side of the camp where we’d propped up the planks and made an inclined plane.

  Part of me wants to carry out our original plan. Get the Jeep across the inclined planks and over to the gravel road, and go from there. But the biker bros will see us for sure, and be on us in an instant. They probably came in on the gravel road and know this country way better than we do. So the only sensible thing to do is escape without being seen. Get to the Jeep, put some logging trail miles between us and the bikers.

  I’m about to dash to the next cabin, when Delphy hisses, “Sam! Look!”

  She’s pointing at the lake. I’ve been so focused on the main house I haven’t bothered to check out the lake. Small, tight waves are crashing along the shore, driven by the wind, which s
eems to be increasing with each beat of my heart. But Delphy’s concern isn’t the wind, at least not directly.

  What’s attracted her attention is the fire. Not the fire set by the bikers, but the main fire, the big fire, the one that’s been chasing us for days. Last night, it was a faint glow on the horizon, miles away. This morning, the fire has speeded up. Now it’s coming around both sides of the lake, trees burning from the top down. It can’t be more than half a mile away, and moving fast.

  All the more reason to get to the Jeep. If the biker bros torch the rest of the camp, we’ll be surrounded by a circle of flame, with no way out. Do they know that? Do they even care?

  At that moment, both bikes fly out of the building, onto the lawn. Behind them, windows explode with the heat, detonating like glass grenades. Black smoke billows out. They turn to admire their handiwork. Inside, beams begin to fall, and with each crash the building shudders and groans.

  Now is our chance. We have to cover about a hundred yards of open lawn. If they glance back at the cabins, they’ll see us for sure. Dangerous, but we can’t stay where we are. Any place we could hide will soon be engulfed in flames.

  Delphy straightens up, tucks her stick under her arm, and gives me a nod. “Whatever happens, don’t look back,” she says, and takes off at a lope, a brave girl, strong and tall.

  We almost made it. The main building was burning so bright it must have blinded them to the sight of us crossing the lawn. Delphy on her stick, making speed, and me keeping up. I feel totally exposed, like if they had guns they could shoot us, no problem. But we finally make it to the ledge, clamber over it, and begin to climb the slope up into the woods.

  The smoke is starting to thicken, but we can still see the Jeep waiting on the trail above us. We’re about halfway up the slope—Delphy has more trouble on slanty ground—when the shouting starts.