Firestorm: An Everyday Heroes World Novel (The Everyday Heroes World)

by Ellie Masters

We try to never dress alike. That shit is for girls, but somehow, we always manage to wear something that ties us together. Not much to do about the jeans, but our shirts? Yeah, we didn’t plan that.

  “Hurry up.” I put my foot in the stirrup and climb into the saddle. Knight is ready, but I keep him in check with the steady pressure of my thighs.

  We ride together every day, in tune with each other. The reins are more for show. I don’t need them to control him. The gentle pressure of my legs, the soft nudges of my knees, and the tiny kicks of my heels, tell him exactly where I want to go.

  For the most part, he allows me to lead.

  Knight can be an ornery shit.

  Brody heads into the barn as the two girls exit. They look barely legal as they hold their heads together and whisper. Their eyes are wide and their mouths gape when they realize there are three of us. I shake my head because I know exactly what they’re thinking.

  We tried that once. It doesn’t matter how hot the girls, getting naked with your brothers and trying to get, and stay hard, is impossible. Banging the La Rouge triplets may be a bucket list item for many local girls, but none have ever managed it.

  Cage saunters out, leading Chesty by her bridle. He vaults into the saddle and stares down at the girls.

  “Ladies, thanks for a memorable morning.” He tips his hat then turns Chesty in a circle and speaks to me. “Last one there is a rotten egg.”

  Chesty launches and Knight isn’t letting a mare get the best of him. Before I realize it, we’re racing down the lawn and barreling between the vines stretching out before us. Cage gives a hoot and glances over his shoulder.

  I give him his lead and slow down to wait for Brody.

  I’m so far behind in chores, there’s no way I’ll catch up. What I should do is turn around and leave Cage and Brody to mom’s fluffy pancakes, while I deal with the family business.

  But I don’t.

  As much as my brothers can be shitheads, we rarely get time alone together. Brody’s horse trots up behind me and I flash a grin. Cage is nowhere to be seen, but that’s okay. We’re taking a shortcut. Brody and I zip around the vineyard and head to the road leading to mom’s tiny cottage. We’re in an all-out race.

  A hundred yards behind us, Cage’s garbled curse is too low to make out, but the thundering of Chesty’s hooves prove she’s not going to let the stallions win. She eats up the distance, but it’s too late.

  Brody and I thunder down the road and turn into the small lane leading to mom’s house. Neck and neck, we race. There is no finish line and we don’t care. All that matters is getting there ahead of Cage.

  Brody laughs as his horse pulls up short of mom’s porch. I vault to the ground as Cage draws to a stop.

  “You cheated.” He dismounts and comes at me, fists swinging.

  I meet him head on. We go down in a pile of limbs and laugh while we wrestle. He pulls his punches, as do I, and we wind up turning to our backs and laughing into the sky. Brody stands over us as our mother comes outside. She holds an earthenware bowl on her hip and stirs the thick batter inside.

  “Pancakes?” Her bright green eyes twinkle as she takes us in.

  “Yes, ma’am.” We speak in unison. Cage and I pop to our feet.

  “Wash up.” Her voice is stern, but filled with love. “I’ve been expecting you.”

  Our mother has a sixth sense about us.

  Bacon crisps on the stove. Stacks of fluffy pancakes sit in the middle of a fully set table. It’s like she knew we were coming and exactly when we’d arrive.

  While I pull out milk and OJ from the fridge, Cage snags the bottle of syrup. Brody gives Mom a kiss on the cheek and takes over at the stove while Cage and I sit at the table.

  “How was the party?” Mom wipes her hands on her apron and ruffles Cage’s hair.

  “Nice.” Cage smiles at her. “Wish you’d been there.”

  “Oh, you don’t want some old lady crashing your party.” She threads her fingers in his hair and gives a slight tug. “I hope you behaved.” She looks to me for confirmation.

  Mom knows us all too well.

  I lie through my teeth. “They behaved like angels.”

  “Devils are more like it.” She gives another yank.

  “Ow!” Cage sits straighter and grabs at her wrist.

  “As much as I can’t wait for the blessing of grandchildren, it will be after you’re married. You’d better have used protection.”

  Our mother is incredibly old fashioned. If it were up to her, we’d all be celibate monks up and until the night of our wedding. Fortunately, or unfortunately, she’s well aware of our reputations around town. We’re no angels.

  She releases Cage and turns. Before I can blink, her towel snaps out and bites Brody on the ass.

  “Mom!” Brody rubs his ass where she smacked him.

  “And you as well. If you sleep with them, wear protection.”

  “We always use protection.” Brody gives a grumble.

  “And do you treat them with respect?”

  His cheeky grin flashes for half a second, then disappears when she turns the full force of her disapproving frown at him. I hold back a chuckle while Brody withers under that glare.

  “As much as they give me. They use me as much as I use them. It’s a dog eat dog world out there. Not like when you were young.”

  “You can’t afford a surprise baby.” She jabs her finger at him. “And I’m not raising your rug-rat because you forgot to tie its mother to you with a ring.” She props her hands on her hips and spins to Cage and me. “That goes for the two of you as well. I want grandbabies, but not before you give me daughters-in-law.”

  I can’t help but laugh. “You have nothing to worry about from me.”

  “Bullshit.” Cage punches me in the arm.

  I rub out the sting. “It’s true. I’ve sworn off women. I’m done with them.”

  “Ah, my poor boy, Erin really did a number on you.”

  How the fuck does she know about Erin? I glance at my brothers but they return identical shrugs. Mom’s sixth sense is scary.

  “Don’t worry, you’ll find someone. It’s always when you’re not looking that the one you’re meant to be with walks into your life.”

  I shrug off her maternal pep talk. I really am done with women. I need a break from all of it, besides, it’s the busiest time of year and there are plenty of things to keep me occupied.

  “Ace is just pouting. Give him a week, or two, and he’ll be fucking anything with two legs.” Brody throws my words back at me, but I’m not dumb enough to take the bait. Not when Mom stomps over to him and smacks him upside the head.

  “You will not speak like that in my house.” She follows the smack to his head with a swat to his ass. We may be closing in on thirty, but we’ll always be her little boys.

  Cage snickers and I thread my fingers together behind my head in smug satisfaction.

  “Sorry, mom.” Brody rubs the back of his neck.

  “Sit at the table. You’re incorrigible, and I’m serious about using condoms.”

  We give a communal groan as she goes on a tirade about condoms, sexually transmitted diseases, and respecting the sanctity of our bodies as well as the women we sleep with.

  Her boys don’t have sex.

  We sleep with the women we fuck.

  Cage, Brody, and I exchange looks. We’d change the conversation, but when she gets like this, it’s best to let the tirade run its course.

  We shovel pancakes and bacon into our mouths while Cage tells her all about his latest assignment. We spend all day with our mother, taking time to fix things up around the house. Brody makes his famous burgers for lunch and Cage digs deep in the freezer and finds ribs to thaw for dinner.

  We shoot the shit all day, loving this time we get to hang out. Mom is beside herself, fussing over us, grilling us about life and our plans. She’s a mother hen, but she’s our mother hen. We play cards with her, put together one of her favorite puzzles, and l
et the long day pass.

  It’s been a long time since we’ve all been in the same place, and I miss my brothers more than I’m willing to admit. With Brody living in the city, and Cage gallivanting around the globe, home feels lonely.

  I field a few calls from my foreman, George, managing operations from my phone. The work never stops. Then, I clear the dinner dishes while Brody and Cage take up stations at the sink. They do the dishes while I head into the living room.

  “You seem distracted.” My mother places her hand on my arm. “And you’ve lost your smile.”

  “My smile is fine.”

  “Is it?”

  She wants to talk about Erin and make sure my heart is on the mend. I want to forget all of it and have been successful in avoiding that topic all day.

  “I need to take this.” I lift my phone. There’s no one calling, but that’s not the point. I need a moment away from the memories my mom won’t let me forget.

  When I step outside, the sun is down and woodsmoke curls in the air. I pinch my brows together and look around. It’s the end of the summer, dry season in California, and we’re on a burn ban.

  A tendril of smoke lifts off the hill behind my mother’s cottage and a shiver worms its way down my spine. I dial my longtime friend Grady Malone. He’s a firefighter in our hometown just down the road.

  He picks up on the first ring. “Hey, Ace, what’s up?”

  “Are you guys doing any controlled burns?”

  “Not that I know of.” Concern edges Grady’s voice. I’m not one to call out of the blue. “Why?”

  “I’ve got smoke on the hill behind my mother’s house.”

  “Campfire?” There are primitive permits issued by the federal and state park services. It could be a camper setting a fire for the night, but I shake my head.

  “No, the column of smoke is too thick. I think we have a problem.”

  “I’ll call it in.” Grady is a firefighter in Sunnyville, and I’m part of a tight crew of wildland firefighters. Most are volunteers like myself, and we provide manpower for the initial-attack on wildland fires across the nation. It’s one of the things I do when not trying to manage the family business.

  There’s no time to dick around. I call in the fire, knowing Grady is doing the same. All my gear is at home. I need to report to our staging area as quickly as possible, but first, I need to evacuate my mother. The winds are shifting, which means fire is coming down that hill.

  4

  Evelyn

  My head throbs with skull-crushing pain, and it’s hot, seriously hot. Awareness returns as acrid smoke fills my nostrils. Slowly, I raise my hand, or try to, but it doesn’t move. There’s tremendous pressure on my shoulders, and that’s when I realize my hands are bound behind my back. When I open my eyes, gray fog surrounds me.

  Not fog.

  There’s crackling all around me, a ruddy glow, and intense heat against my face. I blink against the caustic smoke and suck it into my lungs. This makes me cough until I feel as if I’ll hack up a lung. Flames surround me and panic sets in.

  I flop on the ground, struggling to get up, but with my arms tied behind my back, that’s not easy. I make it to my knees and gag against the thick smoke.

  I’m alone.

  Vulnerable.

  Scared.

  And in terrible danger.

  Most of the smoke heads up, but some of it swirls down where it lingers along the ground hugging burning bushes and rolling over rocks. It fills my mouth with the sharp, caustic taste of burning wood. My eyes sting and tears run down my cheeks. Everything is blurry. I cough against the irritating smoke, but there’s no getting away from it and it’s worse now that I’m on my knees.

  Flames crackle and pop all around me, devouring the dry scrub as it licks along bone dry limbs, crisps leaves to ash, and obliterates parched grass. The heat is unbearable.

  I don’t know where I am and it’s hard to see. I suck in a scalding breath and peer through the smoke.

  I’m in the middle of the primitive campsite, next to the fire ring. It’s the only reason I’m alive. For about twenty feet all around me, the ground is clear of vegetation, which gives me a fighting chance.

  But not with my hands tied behind my back.

  I’m in full on panic mode, but there’s a small part of my brain which slows down. It’s thinking, solving problems, and not giving up.

  It tells me to cut the rope binding my wrists.

  My panicked-self freaks out, but that small voice in my head is calm and tells me what to do.

  I lean back, arching awkwardly, coughing with every breath, until I find the knife strapped to my shin. It takes several tries, but I finally get it free of its sheath. With hacking breaths and blurry vision, I saw at the rope until my hands are free.

  The first thing I do is rub at my eyes. That’s a mistake, because it grinds soot into the delicate tissues of my eyes. But I need to see.

  A quick look reveals the impossible. My tent is pitched. It billows in the wind. My camping gear’s set up, as if I made camp, but I’m virtually certain I did no such thing. The fabric of my tent melts, disappearing slowly as the heat consumes it.

  Memories return.

  A man with the beard.

  He hit me in the head with a rock, but why did he set up my gear? That makes no sense, and I don’t have time to think because I’m surrounded by fire. The prevailing wind blows downhill, which sucks. There’s nowhere to go except up…into the thickest of the smoke. Smoke which will kill me before the flames, but if I stay, I’m toast; crispy, burnt, Evie toast.

  The fire gains strength, fueled by dry grass and scrub oak. I’m in a tinder box rapidly turning into a firestorm.

  I very much want to live, but I can barely breathe.

  My gear.

  The bastard went through my gear, setting up camp down to the last detail. Then I glimpse my hydration pack. I grab the water and a spare shirt out of my pack. After I take a quick pull of water, I wet the shirt and wrap it around my head, leaving only my eyes exposed. I grab another shirt, rip it in two, wet that, then wrap it around my hands. I’m trying to cover every inch of exposed skin because I’m going to have to leap over the small scrub which is on fire. My boots are thick and I hope that’s enough protection from the flames along the ground.

  If I move quickly enough, I might be able to escape this blaze.

  My heart thumps wildly as adrenaline surges in my body.

  It’s going to be okay.

  I’m strong. I can run. But I’ve already spent the day hiking up the hill. My muscles are sore, exhausted, and fatigue is settling in. A quick check of my things reveals I still have the bear spray, my fannypack but no revolver, and my knife. I don’t see my phone.

  Less than a third of my water remains and I douse myself with all of it.

  Then I run.

  There’s one tiny gap in the flames and I make a break for it. Most of the fire flows downhill, spurred by the wind coming up over the ridge and flowing down into the valley below. I have what looks like twenty feet of burning brush to cross before reaching the leading edge of the fire.

  I keep my arms tucked tight, my steps high, and sprint as fast as I can.

  Heat encapsulates me. I’m literally running into what feels like a furnace, but I don’t stop. Every instinct in my body says to turn around, seek the safety of the campsite, but I’ll suffocate if I do that.

  My boot catches a root. I stumble and my arms windmill, but panic is my friend and it powers my body as I regain my balance and keep going.

  Smoke sears my lungs. Tears blur my vision, but I don’t stop.

  I run.

  I run until I’m out of breath. My eyes sting and I’m blinded by tears. I hack against the smoke that makes it through my makeshift mask, and catapult myself right over the side of the ridge.

  The ground drops out from beneath me. My legs bicycle in the air.

  I fall.

  Dry limbs crack as I smack into the side of
the steep slope. A rock digs into my hip. A bush slaps my face, slowing my fall, but I’m tumbling.

  Completely out of control, I flip end over end down the rocky scree where I take out every bush and small tree along the way until I come to a bone-jarring halt.

  The only good thing is there’s less smoke down here, but I’m in a small ravine and see no way to make it back up the ragged slope. I can see where I fell. My body dug a line in the rock scree as I bounced to a stop.

  I do a quick check for injuries. I’m scraped, bleeding, and sliced from the fall. My arms are a little burned, but I’m alive. Nothing’s broken, but my ankle is tweaked. I pray it’s not a sprain.

  And I’m trapped.

  As long as the winds don’t change, I should be safe, but it won’t take much to change that. A pillar of smoke rises into the air and wind rushes over my skin. The hot column of air is sucking in fresh oxygen to fuel the burn.

  I’m not safe.

  I test my ankle, but it’s sprained. To get out of here, I have to hobble or hop on one foot, and I see nothing I can use as a cane. All the bushes are scrawny things, gnarled, twisted, brittle, and dry.

  So, how does one survive a firestorm?

  They don’t do it by sitting still. I’m in serious trouble. If I can’t get out of this little ravine, the fire will overtake me, suffocate me, and kill me.

  But what can I do?

  I take the wet fabric covering my head and rub at the burning sting in my eyes. I need to see. To think.

  I need to survive.

  Flames lick less than twenty feet above my head. The fire followed my mad dash. There’s not much here to burn, but the tiny scrub won’t put up much of a fight.

  Knowing nothing about wildfires, I have no idea what to do. I don’t have time to look it up in my wildlife survival guide. It’s up that ridge, probably burning by now.

  My stuff.

  Why did that guy put up all my stuff?

  The wind kicks up, drawn inward to feed the fire. Its low roar fills the air. At least it brings fresh oxygen. I have this to be grateful for as I scramble along the bottom of the ravine. I need someplace to hunker down, let the fire around me burn itself out.