Lies Like Wildfire

by Jennifer Lynn Alvarez

  “Good to meet you, Hannah. You all right? Here, have some water.” He reaches across me, his bare arm rubbing mine, and collects a canteen off the floor. “I filled it earlier but haven’t drunk off it yet. I promise,” he says.

  “Thanks.” I don’t know if I believe him, but I’m so thirsty I don’t care. I guzzle the fluid, then pour some into my palm for Matilda. Water spills onto the seat. My eyes flip to Justin’s. “Sorry.”

  He grins. “It’s just water. Nice-looking hound you got.”

  I pat Matilda’s soft head. “She’s the best but getting old.”

  He shakes his head at the unfairness of that, and suddenly I’m fighting back tears. I wipe my eyes and try to breathe normally.

  “You can cry,” Justin says, adding a wink. “I won’t tell.”

  His dashboard blurs as the tears fall. The time is now 7:18 p.m., and it’s summer, so still light out. The sky hangs over us, a ceiling of swirling ash. My throat burns, and I can’t stop coughing once I start. I feel sick. Then my phone pings with a new Nixle alert that makes my stomach churn:

  Stony Ridge area closed to traffic.

  Fire and medical personnel on site.

  Uncontained structure fires pose immediate threat.

  Do not return home.

  God, I hope Luke and Mo are safe. I’m grateful when Justin turns the radio up, a country station, and we ride the rest of the way to Bishop without speaking. “Where can I drop you?” he asks as we pull onto North Main Street.

  “The Holiday Inn.”

  He finds the hotel and parks at the curb out front. “Here.” He scribbles a phone number on an old receipt and hands it to me. “Call me if you need another ride, or anything at all.”

  His gaze lingers, and my stomach flips because he’s at least twenty-five years old. His body is much thicker than Drummer’s, filled out and mature, and I feel a blush storm my cheeks as I grab his number. “Okay.”

  He helps me lift the red wagon out of the truck bed, and when his hand grazes mine, I pull away. “Thanks for the ride.” I wave goodbye, heave Matilda back into the wagon, and hurry toward the hotel. Justin idles, watching me walk away.

  The first thing I notice is that wildfire evacuees are all over Bishop, driving their ash-covered cars or walking with whatever possessions they didn’t drop on the way here. Across the street is a Travelodge, and there’s a line of people waiting for rooms. We’re all dirty and smell like smoke. In contrast, the citizens of Bishop are clean and hydrated and scurrying like ants to help us.

  A woman approaches me out of nowhere with water bottles and a bowl for Matilda. “Hi, honey, I’m Giselle, from Christ Church,” she says. I stop as she fusses over Matilda and me, giving us water and wiping the mucous from Matilda’s eyes. Then she walks alongside us, just as Jesus would, I guess. “Do you have a place to stay?” she asks. “Our church has beds and food.”

  I nod toward the Holiday Inn. “Yes, here.” My voice comes out in a rasp. “My friend’s grandma booked me a room earlier today.”

  “Oh, that’s good. Most of the hotels are full.” She walks with me toward the lobby. On the way, I glimpse my dusty Jeep Wrangler in the parking lot and relief washes over me. Drummer made it. He outdrove the fire.

  Giselle stays with me until I’m issued a keycard and I’ve received permission from the manager to keep Matilda in my room. “Thanks,” I say to the woman.

  “You’re welcome,” she says, adding a sympathetic smile and a pat on my shoulder. “God didn’t start this fire, honey, but he’ll see you through it.”

  I gape at her because, yeah, I know God didn’t start it.

  Satisfied, she leaves me as the elevator door opens and then closes around me. I bend over and release a huge agonized sigh into my hands. Matilda snuffles my face, trying to lick it.

  When I reach the third floor, I locate my room, which is next to Lulu’s. I learned downstairs that she booked four in total, one for herself, one for her granddaughter, and two for my dad and me. I feel bad we’ve taken up so many spots when people are lined up for rooms outside, but then I realize Drummer needs a room too. I’ll give him mine and stay with my dad.

  I knock on Lulu’s door, and she lets Matilda and me inside. Violet and Drummer are sitting on the double beds, staring at the news on television. The poodles rush over to sniff Matilda, and my bloodhound gives me a worried glance.

  “Hannah!” Violet leaps off the bed, hugs me, and then drops to the floor to embrace my dog. “Matilda, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” she says, sobbing into her red fur. When Violet turns her face up to me, I notice her makeup is off, her hair is wet, and she smells like cheap shampoo. She’s changed into a horse-print T-shirt and looks about twelve years old. “I—I don’t know why I yelled at you like that,” she says to me. “I’m sorry, Han. Forgive me, okay, please. I was scared.”

  Her apology works on my fury like that pink fire retardant worked on the fire, snuffing it out. “None of us are having a very good day,” I offer, and we share a weak smile.

  She explains that a family picked her up right away and drove her to Bishop, which is why she’s here and showered already.

  Drummer leaps off the bed and holds me tight. “We probably shouldn’t have split up. I was so fucking worried when I couldn’t find you on the road, Han.” His voice is deep and ragged in my ear. “I can’t lose you.”

  I hug him back, smelling the hotel soap on his warm skin, feeling his lean muscles contract and his heart thrum in rhythm with mine. He says stuff like this all the time, though—when I talk about college, when I notice another boy, or when I’m mad at him: Hannah, I can’t lose you; I can’t live without you. How can he need me so badly and not want me too?

  I shrug, pretending that his words don’t drive me crazy. “Hey, you saved my car.” And he has no idea how glad I am about that, because on the ride here I decided to return to Gap Lake as soon as possible. I need to check the site for anything we might have missed: towels, beer bottles, backpacks, Luke’s missing pipe. If fire investigators find them first, we are truly fucked.

  Drummer releases me and I text my dad: I’m in Bishop at the Holiday Inn. We have a room for you.

  Good! Glad you’re safe. I’m staying here to help. Give my room to someone else.

  Of course he’s staying; he’s the sheriff. Okay. Love you.

  Love you too.

  “I could use a shower,” I say, noticing that everyone else is clean. “Has anyone heard from Luke or Mo?”

  “Mo called,” Drummer answers. “She found her parents, and they met up with Luke and his little brother and caravanned up here. They’re all fine, but their houses are gone.”

  Gone. I absorb that quietly. “What about Luke’s mom?”

  He scoffs. “She was at the casino, missed the whole thing.”

  “Their houses really burned down?” I had hoped Nixle was exaggerating.

  “Yeah. Luke got there on the four-wheeler in time to watch his collapse.”

  “Oh, wow, that sucks,” I murmur, a massive understatement.

  After explaining how I got to Bishop—You hitched? Drummer asked. Not exactly, I answered—I take a scalding-hot shower in my room and watch the ash and dirt turn to sludge in the bottom of the tub. I scrub my skin, shampoo my hair, and let the water flow over my raw flesh, but I don’t feel clean. I can’t wash away the fear and guilt multiplying inside me.

  8

  July 9

  Gap Fire: 0% contained

  Fatalities: 3

  4:00 p.m.

  We spend the next two days at the Holiday Inn, watching news stations, receiving Nixle alerts, reading social media posts, and viewing the damage to Gap Mountain on TV. Thirty-two homes, the post office, the high school, and the laundromat are destroyed, burned to their foundations. Three citizens are confirmed dead, and seventeen are missi
ng. Thousands of acres are scorched, and evacuation advisories are in effect for towns west of us. Firefighters from across California have arrived to help fight the blaze, now called the Gap Fire, as it lays siege to Yosemite National Park.

  Archeological and forensic students from Fresno State arrive to help detectives sift through the Stony Ridge rubble for human remains. Christ Church here in Bishop has turned into a temporary homeless shelter for those who didn’t get hotel rooms, and the Red Cross is setting up a disaster-claim area for wildfire victims. Victims. The word flashes in my brain like a neon sign. These people are our victims.

  The question on the public’s mind has already leaped to Who started this? A team of fire investigators arrives in Gap Mountain to answer that question, and I feel trapped in the hotel, helpless. I haven’t been able to return to the lake due to roadblocks sealing off the area. I can’t sleep, can’t eat, and my nerves hum, pulled as tight as bowstrings. I need to go back to make sure we covered our tracks.

  My dad is okay but busy. He sleeps in his office, and he’s transformed the K–8 school’s parking lot into a command center for all the organizations fighting the Gap Fire. They’re working in conjunction with the electric company, the propane companies, the Army Corps of Engineers, city council, Cal Fire, the Red Cross, the National Guard, and county planners to ensure that the power and gas lines are safe, the roads are cleared, and the toxic dust is cleaned from public areas so residents can return to Gap Mountain. My dad texted a photo of the tents they set up at the school. With its background of charred trees and blackened earth, it looks like a war encampment.

  When we’re not watching the news, Luke and I call animal shelters and animal rescue agencies to ask if my horses and his cat have been found. So far, they have not.

  The five of us haven’t been able to speak alone until today, because Luke’s little brother, Aiden, has been glued to his side. But now Aiden is napping and the monsters are in my hotel room, finally able to speak freely. Violet, Mo, and I claim the bed nearest the door, Luke stands by the window, and Drummer sprawls on the other bed with my dog’s head on his lap.

  “I burned down my own fucking house,” Luke says, smoking a cigarette in our nonsmoking hotel room.

  “I lost everything,” Mo whispers.

  I wrap my arm around her, and Mo sinks into me. She’s been picking at her skin, and small sores have erupted on her forearms. When she talks about the things she lost—hand-sewn dresses, photos, yearbooks, awards, custom dance outfits, her childhood blanket, her baby pictures, her stuffed animals, her laptop—each item is like a punch to the gut for all of us, especially Luke. “I’m sorry,” he says over and over, even though his house burned down too.

  “I have to get home,” Mo says. “I have to see it. I can’t believe my house won’t be there.”

  Luke also wants to go back, but my dad assures me there are barricades around the Stony Ridge neighborhood. “It’s toxic,” he explains. “There are power lines down and gas leaks and chemicals, and we’re still searching for bodies. Stay away.”

  Luke crushes his cigarette out on the bottom of his shoe. “My mom will beat the living shit out of me if she finds out I did this.”

  Mo and I gape at each other, because Luke rarely shares details like that about his mother. It’s bad at his house, we know, but we’re not sure how bad. “We won’t let her find out,” I promise.

  His eyes snap to mine, cold and sad and burning with regret. Does he blame me for grabbing his arm, or does he blame himself for lighting the pipe? I don’t know, and I’m not sure I want to know.

  I release a deep breath and speak: “Time for damage control.” My friends swivel to face me. Since I grew up with the law, I know the most about breaking it, and the monsters have always come to me when they think they’re in trouble. “Who knows we were swimming at the Gap on July seventh?” I start. “Did any of you mention it?”

  We’re quiet a minute, and then Mo clears her throat. “I might have told my dad.” She tugs at her long red hair. “I was packing the snacks and the muffins, and he asked where I was going. Wait.” She chews her lip. “I told him we were going swimming, but maybe I didn’t mention the Gap. Oh, I’m not sure.”

  “Okay, and maybe he won’t remember the conversation anyway. Did anyone else tell?” My friends shake their heads. “Mo, if it comes up, tell your dad our plans changed. Say we canceled because it was too windy and decided to meet up at my house instead. We can all agree to that, right?”

  The monsters nod and I stand, start pacing. “So this could be our alibi: Violet and I were riding horses and on our way back to meet up with all of you, we saw the smoke and galloped into town to tell the fire department. You three were waiting for us at my house. It’s simple and no one can prove it’s not true.”

  Luke grunts. “I stopped at Sam’s Market first. Should I mention that?” He doesn’t look up as he sketches on the hotel writing pad in violent, sweeping strokes.

  “What did you buy?” Mo prods.

  “Nothing, just gum.” Then he slams his fist on the desk. “And I swiped a book of free matches.”

  “Shit,” says Drummer. He peers at me. “Do they have cameras in Sam’s?”

  “They do, but I’m not sure they actually use them.”

  Drummer tucks his arms behind his head and his shirt rides up, revealing his flat, tanned stomach. “Why don’t we say we were at the movies,” he mutters.

  “That can be checked,” Mo argues.

  “Whatever.” He stares out the window, his jaw muscles ticking. Drummer has no stamina for discomfort, no patience for sitting around. He needs to be outside, hunting or working, and he needs physical touch—wrestling, sports, or sex. He wilts quickly without attention, and a jolt of desire rockets through me as I imagine giving it to him.

  “The story we have is fine,” says Mo.

  Drummer re-bunches the pillows behind his back, roughing them up and disturbing Matilda, who leaps off the bed. He scowls. “Can we just wait and see if anything comes of this? Who the fuck keeps track of their whereabouts anyway?”

  Mo shakes her head but gives up. If we push Drummer right now, he’ll just leave. The mood shifts as we fall back into our separate agonies.

  I return to practicalities. “Mo, did you clean up all the beer bottles and anything else we left behind like I asked?”

  Her chapped lips fall open. “Yeah, yes. I grabbed everything I saw.”

  My headache turns into a dull, tight pain that collects at the front of my skull. “Everything you saw? So you might have left stuff behind?”

  Her brows pinch and her eyes glisten. “I—I didn’t know I was cleaning up a crime scene.” Her words blast across the room, impaling each of us.

  I drop my face into my palms.

  Violet interjects, her lower lip quivering with stress. “What about photos and videos? None of you posted anything, did you?”

  “Crap!” Mo starts madly pushing icons on her phone screen. “When we were at the Gap, I put up a selfie of me and Drummer, but it wouldn’t post. When I got in range of a signal, it might have, though.”

  “You haven’t looked?” Violet shrieks.

  Mo shakes her head. “I’ve been following the news about the fire.”

  “Check!” I urge her.

  “I am.” She swipes and then her face freezes. “Here it is. It posted.”

  “Damn it, Mo!” I cry. “Which part of we were never here did you misunderstand?”

  We rush to her side and peer at the picture on her phone. There’s Mo, her eyes half closed, a beer bottle to her lips and the Gap glittering behind her. Drummer is visible in the background, jumping off a rocky plateau into the lake. His features are blurred, but the dragon tattoo he got on his eighteenth birthday is clear.

  The caption Mo wrote for the picture says SUMMER DAYZ! The photo has eight
y-two likes, and it posted to her account soon after the fire started on July seventh.

  My scalp tightens. “Delete it.”

  Her fingers fly. “I am. It’s done.” She drops the phone in her lap and throws up her hands.

  “But look how many people saw it,” Violet says, groaning.

  “Nice, Mo,” I grumble. “Underage drinking, swimming at the Gap. They’ll never catch us now.”

  Luke’s dark eyes flash. “Don’t be such a dick, Hannah. She deleted it.”

  I ignore him, glance at Mo. “I’m sorry. I’m—I’m scared.” My mind spins into overdrive. It’s tough enough covering up a crime you committed on purpose, but this one has too many unknown factors. “Look, we all need to check our phones and delete the photos and videos we took that day, all the texts too, and delete that stuff from the cloud. We don’t want any proof of where we were if this blows up and our phones are confiscated. Be careful what you say in texts from now on. If we have to talk about this, we have to call.”

  “I don’t feel good,” Violet says. “I can’t do this.”

  Luke releases a growl, stands up, and kicks the desk chair. It falls backward, smacking the carpet. Here it comes, I think, and sure enough, he charges me. “Why did you have to grab my arm, Hannah? I was being careful.”

  His face looms, inches from mine, but he’s five feet nine inches, so when I stand up, I’m taller. I stare down at him. “Why did you have to smoke in the woods?”

  He laughs through his teeth. “I do it all the fucking time.”

  Drummer slides to his feet and stands between us. “Sit down, man.”

  “Of course you take her side,” Luke snarls. He points a shaky finger at me. “She did this! She killed those people.”

  Mo sucks in her breath, and I recoil as if I’ve been struck. “I was trying to stop you,” I say, my voice low, since Violet’s grandma is in the next room.

  “I’m on probation!” he snaps.

  “I’m the sheriff’s daughter!”