by Karina Halle
But it’s what we do. It’s the ugly side of trying to save animals and people and forests and buildings. Sometimes you really just lose more than you should.
Once we reach the top, we get to work.
I have the drip torch, setting the back burn.
The trees in front of me, tall, stately, their needles a vibrant green not yet touched by this summer’s drought, go up like a row of roman candles. They pop one by one. Crackle. Whoosh. They roar. Heat sears the air and smoke billows up above the rising flames. I’m facing an inferno that I created.
I watch, leaning against my shovel, and as I often do, wonder just what the hell I’m doing. A snake slithers over my dirty boots as it flees but I don’t pay it much attention except to mouth “I’m sorry.”
I’m so sorry.
I’ve always tried to prevent death.
And sometimes I have to cause it.
We do this for the rest of the day.
The wind holds.
We do more digging than burning, which is harder work, especially when we’re working fast, but it’s better.
At three a.m. we hunker down in a circle on the ground away from the line and up further on the ridge for a few hours to get some sleep. Mad Dog watches over us, our supplies and equipment, and the fire that never stops raging.
As dawn breaks the sky, a dull pink glows through the smoke that sits on top of the pines like a layer of strawberry foam, we’re shoveling instant coffee in our faces and are back at it.
Another day of digging, burning.
Scrambling against time.
Monitoring the wind, the weather, working harder and harder while being extra vigilant.
My body is exhausted but somehow it still feels strong. It’s my mind that feels weak, tired. Everyone is in the same boat.
“Fox,” Roy says beside me, patting me on the shoulder. “Have some water.”
It’s two in the afternoon and I know I’m dehydrated. He hands me a canteen and I taste dirt and salt on the lip as I get the water down, spilling some over my chin. My helmet is hot from the flames, my brain feels like it’s melting. My headache wants to come back with a vengeance but I won’t let it here. It never happens here.
“Davis says the fire below isn’t burning on the ground,” Roy says to me when I give him the water back. “Climbing ladder fuels now, bunch of trees going up all at once. There’s a hot shot team from Idaho, the Red Eagles, they’re below us on the ridge and their line is fucked, it’s torching right by it. If the wind switches, we might have to evacuate.”
And as if Roy’s words have power, I feel a subtle change in wind. Just a push of heat against my face, coming from the side. The low, loud rumble that’s been building beneath us suddenly gets louder. Compared to the roar of the trees we had set fire to yesterday, it sounds like a jet taking off. Both of us look up and see embers and ash float past in the air.
Not good.
One of the embers goes over our heads and floats down onto the branch of a blue spruce. Dry as sand, it goes up in flames so fast that it takes Roy and I a second to react.
“Shit,” Roy says as we jog over to it. The tree is in the unburned section that we’re trying to protect, beyond the black matchstick forest of back burn, and we immediately try to put it out. It’s a strange feeling trying to quell a fire so close to the stand of trees you just purposely set flames to.
Roy coughs into his sleeve. I’m coughing too. Fresh air seems like a dream at this point. We’ve been doing this for twenty-four hours straight now on little sleep and I’m wondering if we’re beyond the point of fatigue. Somehow our muscles keep going though, our instincts and adrenaline propelling us forward.
Then more embers come, delicately floating in the air. We all stop what we’re doing and watch. It’s like watching snowfall in Hell.
They land and trees ignite. Not just one or two but three or four, then batches, then stands.
Pop.
Crack.
Hiss.
Roar.
Fuck.
We all start scrambling, even though I know that it’s too late, that this is going to get worse, that sometimes when you punch the fire, the fire punches you back.
Davis runs over to us with a hint of panic on his face. At thirty-five, he’s been with the hot shots for a while and he’s usually as cool as a cucumber, having done a few tours of Afghanistan with the Canadian army, so to see him look worried makes me extra worried.
“Garrett, the division supervisor, said they lost the line,” he says breathlessly, soot streaked across his face like war paint. “The Red Eagles are trying to get out. We all have to evacuate, now.”
As if on cue, Mad Dog gets on his bullhorn. “We’ve lost the line. Gather your tools and evacuate now.”
We get our stuff, everyone running everywhere. This isn’t anything new to us, to have to leave like this, but the forest around us is now going up like sparklers, section by section. The smoke is unbearable.
Roy is trying to get his chainsaw and it keeps slipping out of his hands and then his helmet keeps slipping over his face. He’s tired and showing it.
I start coming over to him when someone yells, “Snag!”
I look up.
A charred tree from the back burn is falling over.
It happens in slow motion or at least it does in my mind as I struggle to make sense, to realize what’s happening. It moves slowly, the long, blackened weight of the dead tree just tipping, tipping, tipping.
The tree is falling straight over Roy.
“Roy!” I manage to scream and start running toward him, my boots, pack, gear, everything has never felt heavier, my lungs burning from smoke, eyes stiff with fear.
Roy looks up at me, the helmet slipping over his eyes.
He doesn’t look up to see the snag yet.
It’s falling.
And I’m almost there.
My arms are out, ready to shove him out of the way, to take the hit if I have to.
Then he looks up.
Sees nothing but black tree trunk.
It comes down like a hammer and smashes Roy into the ground.
The blast nearly knocks me backward onto my ass and I’m staring, frozen, unable to think, to move.
Then, “Roy!” I scream again.
Others from the crew join me as I try and lift the tree off of him.
He’s not moving.
I can see one arm out, fingers curled in. Everything else is buried by the massive burnt trunk that’s still hot to touch.
The forest around us is igniting and yet we’re all staying amongst the flames, six of us spread out along the trunk, trying to lift it just a few inches.
With grunts and cries of strain and sorrow and frustration, we do and Mad Dog drags Roy out from under the tree.
We let go, dust flying from the impact.
But one look at Roy and we all know we’re too late.
Our helmets protect us from small snags, from rocks.
They don’t protect you from entire trees.
Nothing does.
Just luck.
And luck wasn’t on Roy’s side this time.
I’m beside myself.
Disconnected.
This can’t be happening.
Somehow we get Roy on a stretcher, even though Mad Dog just pronounced him as dead, and we head down the hill.
Foot after foot.
As quickly as we can.
The forest burns behind us, all our hard work for nothing.
Roy’s death for nothing.
The fire won this time.
It took more than maybe it meant to take.
It’s certainly alive. A living breathing thing.
It’s supposed to be neutral.
But when it takes my good friend, a man that was like a brother to me, how can I not think that it’s evil.
Or maybe it isn’t evil at all.
Maybe I didn’t get to Roy on time.
Maybe the tree should hav
e taken me out.
Maybe a lot of things.
All I know is that he’s gone.
A part of me inside is gone too.
Now the flames are twenty-feet high in the sky, shooting up columns of smoke and ash and we lost and we failed and he’s dead.
8
Delilah
“Where the hell is Fox?” Rachel yells. “Where is he, where is he, where is he?”
We’re currently in the upstairs bathroom of the Nelson farmhouse and she’s seconds away from slipping into a panic attack. It might have something to do with the fact it’s her wedding day and there’s not only a thunderstorm approaching, but the bartender called in sick, her makeup artist got the dates wrong, and Fox is nowhere to be found. Also the fact that the wedding starts in about thirty minutes and Rachel just tore a hole in the bottom of her dress as she walked past some brush.
Suffice to say, she’s just in her strapless bra and underwear now, panicking, fluttering her hands around her and I’m doing my best to dab the tissues under her eyes and keep her mascara from running down her face. “Honey, I don’t know. Damn, I wish Riley had used waterproof mascara on you.”
“Oh my god, it’s being ruined isn’t it?” Rachel sobs, trying to turn to get a look at herself in the mirror.
I hold her tight in place. “No, I’m fixing it, you look beautiful and everything is going to be fine.”
“Okay,” she sniffs. “Wow, you have like kung-fu grip man hands.”
I narrow my eyes at her. “They are not man hands, they’re just strong from opening so many bottles and throwing losers out of the bar. Now hold still or I’ll poke your eye out.”
Because the makeup artist didn’t show, Riley had to do her makeup this morning instead. Honestly, she did an amazing job considering she doesn’t wear too much makeup herself and isn’t a pro.
But that’s not making Rachel feel any better.
“This is horrible,” she whines.
“Everything is going to be fine,” I reassure her just as there’s a knock at the bathroom door. “Come in.”
It’s Riley, also looking gorgeous in her bridesmaid dress, with a stain remover pen in hand. “I found one. Actually it’s your mom’s, Del.”
Oh yeah, the stain remover is for me. I was drinking red wine earlier, trying to calm my own maid-of-honor nerves and I spilled it on myself, which didn’t help Rachel’s stress level.
“How’s the dress?” Rachel asks her.
“She’s almost done.” My mother has Rachel’s dress and is in the living room downstairs trying to sew up the parts that ripped, meanwhile Vernalee is running around the Nelson property trying to keep the circus together. “It’s going to be fine, Rach,” Riley adds. “Dress looks perfect.” She hands me the stain remover pen and looks at me, impressed. “Your mom is all sorts of genius, Del.”
I take it from her and start dabbing the pen on the bodice of the dress, right over the red wine stain. I’ve already blotted out most of it with warm water and luckily Rachel put us in navy dresses so it’s not as bad as it could have been. “My mother was a professional nanny taking care of me and three rambunctious boys. She’s fucking Mary Poppins.”
“Wow,” she says softly.
It’s rare for Riley to say anything softly so I pause my pen in mid-dab and look at her. “What?”
“Nothing. It’s just…I know I haven’t been here all that long but being with Mav and you guys, it’s just sort of amazing that your mom was able to raise them and they all turned out to be such normal, good dudes.”
“To be fair, Hank raised them too. He did most of it. My mom was just there.”
She has this dreamy look in her eyes. “Still. To think of all three of those boys being here growing up, to see them get bigger, smarter, stronger. I envy you both, you know. You both got to grow up with them, see them how they were and how they are now.”
Rachel snorts. It’s the first time today she’s sounded remotely amused. “Riley, you’re seeing Maverick’s highlight reel. Believe me, you wouldn’t have wanted to be there through all of their awkward boners and voice changes and sibling dramatics.”
“I don’t know,” she says with a sigh. “You all have this history and it feels like I’m starting from square one.” She goes to the window and looks down at the fields as if she’s imagining our childhood. I glance over and see the crowd, hear their murmurs float up. All the chairs have been set up for the ceremony, the altar by a lone pine tree with the backdrop of the river and town behind it. Tents are currently being erected for the reception, which is adding to the chaos. They should have been set up before but, well, that was another thing that went wrong. Now people are hustling trying to beat the oncoming storm.
“But that’s just the way you and Mav found each other,” I tell her, grabbing a hand towel and blotting the rest of the stain remover from my dress. “You wouldn’t have worked if you had met him back then. I mean, the other day Fox told me that he had a crush on me in high school and that he thought we would end up together but in the end it just didn’t work out.”
A thick silence falls over the room, the only sound the dripping tap. I look up to see them staring at me.
“What?”
“Fox told you that?” Rachel asks in disbelief.
“I am so not surprised,” Riley says, folding her arms across her chest and making her boobs practically pop out of the V-neck halter of the dress. I definitely don’t fill it that well. “When?”
I tell them cautiously, not sure how much to share, “Here, the other night. When I acted like an idiot and ran to the barn because apparently I’m not very good at hiding my emotions.”
“What did you guys talk about?” Riley asks. “Like, how did it get on that topic?”
“And wait a minute,” Rachel says, holding up her hand. “Wait a minute. You just said you were hiding your emotions. What emotions, Del?”
Ah shit. I did just say that, didn’t I? Sometimes I forget what I’ve admitted to people other than myself. The list is very short.
I sigh and lean back against the wall, dabbing my dress out of habit now. “I, uh. I wasn’t a fan of Julie. Let’s put it that way.”
“Because…” Riley coaxes me.
“Because… I was jealous.”
“Because…” Rachel adds.
I take in a deep breath and exhale noisily. I look at the both of them and display my hands. “Because I like Fox and I want to be with him. I mean…I love him. I’m in love with him. I’m hopelessly, terribly in love with that man and I think I’m losing my mind every fucking day.”
In unison they both make this little squealing sound, stamping their shoes on the bathroom floor, big, smug smiles on their faces.
“You guys, this isn’t a good thing,” I tell them quickly. “This is in fact a very bad thing.”
“Love is never bad, Del,” Rachel says.
“Easy for you to say! You’re getting married in like, shit, ten minutes to the love of your life. Love is great for you.” I point at Riley before she can say anything. “And you, missy, you’re standing here complaining that you didn’t get to grow up with the love of your life. I mean, talk about looking for something to get upset about. You guys just bought a place together, it’s only a matter of time before you guys get married too, or whatever.”
“We’re not getting married,” Riley says and though she’s rolling her eyes, there’s a hint of tension in her voice. “Maverick isn’t that type.”
“Yeah right!” I exclaim. “He’s crazy for you and you know it. Whatever way Mav was before, he’s a different man with you.”
“But this isn’t about me,” she says.
“No, it’s about Rachel.”
“No, it’s about you and Fox,” Rachel says. “What the hell, Del? Do you know how long we’ve been waiting for you to finally admit that you like him? This is huge!”
“It’s not huge.” At least, that’s not the part that’s huge.
“So he’s no
w single…” Riley says innocently.
“So?”
“So go and make your move.”
“Riley, you don’t just make your move on a guy you’ve been friends with forever.”
No, in my case, they apparently make the move on you.
Then act like nothing happened.
Then disappear.
“You know Fox feels the same as you,” Rachel muses.
“Why? How?” I say, a little too quickly. “Did he say anything to you?”
She shrugs and pulls up her strapless bra a little higher. “No, he didn’t say anything to me. I doubt he’d say anything to anyone. I doubt he even knows it himself. But you know we’ve all thought you guys have had the biggest, maddest crushes on each other and if you’re finally admitting the way you feel, then you should maybe admit it to him.”
“Or at least tell him you want to jump him and get yourself laid,” Riley says.
“That’s a terrible idea,” Rachel chides her.
“Why?” I ask, my skin growing hot.
“Oh come on,” Rachel says. “You sleeping with Fox would be a major mistake.”
“Why, why, why would that be mistake?”
“You can’t just sleep with him, not when you’ve been in love with him your whole life.”
“But if he feels the same way…”
“Guys get confused when sex enters the picture. It makes them feels things in a different way. I just think you should sort your feelings out for each other first before you do that. Otherwise, you might be setting yourself up for heartache. I mean, can you imagine if you have a fling with him and it doesn’t go anywhere? How awkward that would be for you guys. And us.”
I press my lips together, feeling like she just dumped a whole vat of ice water on me. Thank god I didn’t discuss this with her earlier, before I had spoken to Fox and thank god Fox seemed to want our relationship to go back to the way it was. Okay, well maybe I’m not thanking god for that because I do want more but I guess it could have been worse.
“Del,” Riley says slowly as she peers at me. “Del, did you sleep with Fox?”
“Oh come on,” Rachel says but her smile fades when I don’t immediately say anything. “Oh my god. Delilah Gordon, did you have sex with Fox Nelson?”