"Are you warm enough?" Tyler asked.
"As warm as one can be in twenty-degree weather," I said.
"Did you get any good shots of me, Ellie?" Watts asked, pretending to flip back the long hair he didn't have.
"I'm pretty sure I got at least three hundred of everyone," I said, lifting my camera to click through the shots again. I was impressed with myself. Every time I snapped the shutter, the result was better and better. My adjustment time was faster as well.
The hotshots walked in a single file line to the trucks, the lights on their hardhats piercing the dark. The smell of smoke was all around us--in the air, on our clothes, saturating our pores--I wasn't sure I would ever smell anything else.
An animal scurried through the snow-covered brush just feet from us, and I startled.
"I think it's a bear, Ellie," Taylor teased. "You're not scared of large animals with teeth that could rip the flesh from your bones lurking in the dark, are you?"
"Knock it off," Tyler said from behind me.
I readjusted the straps on my pack, unable to stop smiling, and relieved Tyler couldn't see it. My new love for what Chief called adventure photography wasn't the only thing that made me feel I was on the right path. The fires and photographs were a thrill--surprisingly, Tyler's presence had a calming effect. Together they replaced the risks and narcotics I'd been destroying myself with since I was fourteen.
I frowned, unhappy with that revelation. Did I have to replace old vices with new? I was digging one hole to fill another. That didn't seem right, either.
"Do you want me to carry that?" Tyler asked.
I tightened my grip on my pack. "I've got it."
"We've still got a few miles to go. If you need me--"
"I've got it, Tyler. Don't coddle me."
Smitty looked at me over his shoulder and winked, but his expression fell when his gaze drifted behind me to Tyler. I wasn't sure what exchange they'd had, but Smitty turned back around in a hurry.
The hotshots in the long line ahead had already started the trucks and had them toasty warm by the time we reached fire camp. The tents had been broken down and the equipment and generators loaded. Tyler opened the door for me, and I climbed in, scooting close to Taco to give Tyler plenty of room.
The engine revved, and the cab rattled before we pulled forward, heading for the back mountain road we'd taken there. Tyler fidgeted, barely able to sit still, as if each second sitting next to me was torture.
I clicked through the different pictures, deleting the junk and keeping my favorites. After a few miles, Tyler finally tapped my knee and leaned close to whisper in my ear.
"What did I do?"
I looked into his russet eyes. He was confused, and maybe a little hurt, but I couldn't explain something I didn't understand myself.
"Nothing," I said.
I started to mess with my camera again, but he gently touched my chin, tilting my head to meet his gaze. "Ellie. Tell me. Was it when I pulled you back? You know I'm just trying to keep you safe, right? If I was rough, I'm sorry."
"No, I know. It's fine," I said, shrugging from his touch. "I'm not mad; I'm tired. I'm sorry I snapped at you."
He scanned my face, trying to discern if I was telling the truth. He knew I was lying, but nodded, choosing to let it go while we were riding in a truck full of his crew. The hotshots were being lulled to sleep by the rumble of the motor and the vibration of the tires against the uneven terrain.
Tyler looked out the window, vexed and frustrated. I touched his arm, but he didn't move. After another ten minutes, his body relaxed. His head was propped against the glass, bobbing with the movement of the truck. I returned my attention to my camera, assessing the remaining images and hoping Jojo would be happy with at least a few.
Taco was snoring in the front seat, his head tilted back and his mouth hung open. The engine was so loud it almost drowned out the sound, and the others didn't seem to notice.
I tapped on Jubal's shoulder. "You're driving the whole way?"
"I like to drive home. Clears my head."
"It was a good run," I said.
"Any day without injuries or fatalities is a good day."
Jubal was smiling, but I sat back, stunned. The hotshots went out to each call hopeful, but never truly certain, if they would all return. I couldn't imagine a sadder family unit than that, and I finally understood why a group of men from all over the country--some of them strangers--were so close.
"What kind of injuries?" I asked. "Aside from burns."
"I've seen a lot of guys get hurt by snags--the trees still standing in the black. They can topple so silent, you never hear them coming. Lotta guys hurt that way. We work with a lot of sharp equipment--the saws, pulaskis--not to mention the drip torches and flares. Pretty much everything we do can get somebody hurt, and we're operating on little sleep and physical exhaustion."
"Why do it?" I asked. "Loving the outdoors and physical labor is a given to even think about this job. But when you're exhausted and surrounded by fire in the middle of nowhere, what makes you think, 'This is worth it'?"
"My boys. Doing something so difficult for months on end makes for a tight-knit crew. We're family. Some days I think I'm getting too old, and then I remember there's nowhere else you can find what we have. Soldiers, maybe. That's all I can think of."
I scribbled in my notepad, straining to see in the glow of the dashboard light. Jubal told me stories about the different crews he'd been on, how Alpine was his favorite, and how he'd decided wildfire fighting was his calling. Then he recalled the day the Maddoxes walked into the station.
"The closeness and trust level of a crew is paramount, but those boys ... they came in and were the glue. I don't know what we'll do if they move home."
"Where's home?" I asked, a sinking feeling coming over me.
"Illinois."
"Why would they move back?"
"They're dad's gettin' older. He's a widower, you know."
"Tyler mentioned that."
Jubal thought about that for a while. "They've got two younger brothers there, too. They've talked about moving back to help."
"That's sweet, but I can't imagine either of them doing anything else."
"Neither can I, but they're a close family, the Maddoxes. I've just heard Taylor and Tyler talk--I've never met any of 'em. The rest of the family doesn't know the boys fight fires."
"What?" I said, stunned.
"Nope. They don't want to upset their dad. Those boys are rowdy, but they're softies on the inside. I think the twins would light themselves on fire before they'd let anyone they love get hurt."
I looked up at Tyler sleeping deeply, his face peaceful. I leaned over, barely touching my cheek to his arm. Without hesitation, Tyler reached around my shoulders and hugged me against his side. I stiffened at first, but then relaxed, feeling the warmth of his body thaw my frozen bones.
I met Jubal's gaze in the rearview mirror. His smile touched his eyes, and then he looked forward. "Ellie?" he said. Just the reflection of his ice-blue irises seared through me. "Do you know what's coming?"
"Goodbye?" I said, only half-joking.
Jubal smiled, concentrating again on the road. "Maybe not."
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Finley's duck-lip selfie popped up on the display of my cell phone, but I pressed END and let my voicemail talk to her instead.
"Your sister again?" Tyler asked, patting his face with an old ratty hand towel. The rest of him was still dirty, as were the rest of us.
I'd forgotten what my hair smelled like when it didn't reek of smoke, or how my sheets felt against my skin. I pulled my camera off my neck and fell onto the raggedy sofa of the Alpine duty station, deep in the Rocky Mountain National Forest. Fire season had started early, and I'd been camping with the Alpine Hotshots for fourteen days while they fought a fire that dug in so deep the smoke jumpers from all over the country were deployed. According to the Alpine crew, it was their biggest fire in two seasons
.
The crew headed for the kitchen, and I sat, my limbs sprawled in every direction, watching them pass by. Every muscle in my body hurt, every joint, even my insides. I'd started my period our second day in fire camp, but it was barely present before it went away, most likely from the sudden surge in activity and decrease in caloric intake. My pants were loose. I wasn't sure if I wanted to look at myself in the mirror.
Smitty high-fived Taco before opening the fridge and leaning in to weigh his options, his face smudged with soot.
"That got intense for a second there," Tyler said.
"Thanks for babysitting me ... again. And for helping me with my tent. I can't believe the guys slept on the fire line for three nights. Some of the guys didn't even have coats."
"They're bigger guys. It's called flight weight--sort of like a weight limit. Sometimes, the helos fly us to the more remote locations, so we don't have to hike so far on foot. Between equipment, our fuel, and the crew, the helos can only carry so much. Sometimes, Runt will bring one of those aluminum sheets the mountain climbers use for camping because he's skinny, and he has the flight weight to spare."
"So you huddle?"
"Huddle, share blankets, spoon ... it's fucking cold up there. Whatever works," he joked.
"Then why do it?"
"Sleeping on the fire line means hazard pay. Some of the guys prefer it to sleeping at fire camp."
"The generators were pretty loud," I said.
"You should have said something. We could have hopped in a truck and driven a little farther out, away from the noise."
"It was fine. I was fine."
"For a rich kid, you don't complain, do you?"
"I loved it out there. I really did."
Tyler leaned over and sniffed my shoulder. "You smell amazing."
"Shut up."
"I'm serious. Wildland smoke is my favorite smell. On a girl? Makes you strangely appealing."
"I've been called worse."
Tyler frowned. "Not in front of me."
I managed a tired smile. "My hero."
The hotshots had already peeled off their suits and packs in the truck bay, but we all smelled like old cheese that had been smoked in a giant campfire. Tyler kneeled, pinching the laces of my snow boots and pulling apart the knots. He slipped them off, one by one, and I leaned back even further, wiggling my toes a few times to celebrate their freedom. He pulled off my socks slowly, grimacing at the new blisters, the seeping blisters, and the healing blisters.
"Christ, Ellie. We talked about this."
"I don't mind. Makes me feel like I'm earning it."
"Gangrene isn't an award." He jogged over to fetch the first aid kit and began doctoring the mangled mess I'd been walking on for ten days.
I tried to blink, but it took a while for my eyes to open again. They felt like they weighed a hundred pounds. I could have taken a nap right there.
Tyler finished slathering antibiotic cream and taping gauze to my wounds, then took a blanket from the back of a recliner and unfolded it, spreading it over me. I bounced when he plopped on the sofa next to me, wearing jeans and a long-sleeved thermal, the three buttons at the top open. I preferred him in his ill-fitting, flame-retardant clothes and blue hardhat, but he would never let me forget it if he knew.
"You never complain. No training, you just jumped in there and hiked miles and camped out in the dirt and snow in freezing temperatures," he said, relaxing next to me. "I'm impressed. All the guys are."
"I don't care," I said, resting my cheek against his shoulder. I was frozen and exhausted, unsure how my fingers continued to function as the days went on. True to his word, Tyler had kept me close. It was a beautiful but difficult trek, up inclines and through the aspens. In some places, the snow was still ankle-to-shin deep, and we walked for almost an hour to the site through the underwood and slush. My feet and face were numb before we ever reached the fire, but I was distracted from any discomfort when I looked through the lens of my camera.
I could barely move, and the rest of Tyler's crew were chatting and making sandwiches. After fourteen days on the mountain, they were owed forty-eight hours of mandatory R & R. Even though they were all worn down, their version of a weekend had arrived, and they were restless.
"How are they so ... peppy?" I asked, my words slow, my voice hoarse.
"Adrenaline," Tyler said, picking up my camera and clicking through the various shots.
"How can they still have an adrenaline high? The ride home took forever. I thought we were never going to get back."
"Every time we leave for a fire, there's a chance one or all of us might be injured or worse. Returning as a complete unit means a lot." He handed me the camera. "Nice pics."
"Thanks."
He rested his chin on my hair. "Jojo is going to be happy."
"Thanks. She texted me today. She wants to see what I've got."
"So you're going to show them to her now?" His eyebrows pulled in. "Does this mean you're done?"
"I guess we'll find out."
Tyler was watching his friends wrestle and joke in the kitchen, but he looked unhappy. "Ellie?"
I heard him call my name, but I was at the bottom of a barrel full of water, warm and unwilling to move. The sound of the guys in the kitchen faded away, and all I could hear was the sound of my own heart and the steady rhythm of Tyler's breath. I sank deeper into myself, comfortable under the blanket and against Tyler's arm.
"Shut the fuck up!" Tyler hissed. He jerked, and I blinked, seeing a blurry Watts jump over whatever Tyler had thrown at him.
I sat up and rubbed my eyes. "Wow. How long was I out?"
"Three hours," Jubal said with a smile. "Tyler didn't move a muscle the whole time so he didn't wake you up."
"Did you get dinner?" I asked, looking up at him.
"I brought him a sandwich," Watts said, throwing the small square pillow back at Tyler. "He'll live."
Tyler caught it and held it to his chest, pouting.
"What's up with you?" I asked.
Watts jutted out his lip. "He's pissed we woke you up."
"Knock it off," Jubal said, handing me a glass of ice water.
"Thanks," I said.
Smitty turned up the television, and Taco fished for his ringing cell phone, standing up to take the call in the office.
Tyler stood. "We should probably get those shots to Jojo and you home, huh?"
"Yeah. I should probably call Jose."
"I'll take you," he said immediately.
Jubal watched us with amusement, although I wasn't sure why. The rest of Tyler's crew seemed to be going about their business, while still keeping an ear open to whatever I might say.
"Uh, sure," I said. "Thanks."
All nineteen hotshots, from Fish to Pup, gave me a bear hug before I left, all asking me to come back soon. Chief made a rare appearance outside of his office to tell me goodbye, and then Tyler walked me to his truck, patiently keeping pace with my sloth-like speed.
"Fuck," Tyler said under his breath. "I should have started the truck so it was warm."
"It's fine. Really, no big deal. I think I've proven myself by now not to be high maintenance."
"That you have." He opened my door but paused when he noticed me staring. "What?"
"What are you doing?"
He shrugged. "Opening the door for you."
"Why?" I said. His gesture made me feel awkward.
"Just get in."
I climbed inside, hugging myself to keep warm while Tyler slammed the passenger door and jogged around to the other side. He was brooding, unhappy about something.
He drove us down to the magazine so I could drop off my flash drive to Jojo. She greeted me with a smile, eager to upload the pictures to her computer.
"Daddy is loving these," she said.
"Yeah? Does that mean I'm done?" I asked.
"Maybe. I need you to write up what you've learned so far, and I'll clean it up for you. We might need some pork."
"Um ... pork?"
Her finger tapped the computer mouse. "You know ... material we might use later." She scanned me from head to toe. "Go home and get some rest, Ellison. You look like hell."
"On my way," I said, taking back my chip and heading for the door.
Tyler's truck was still running, the exhaust fumes billowing into the night sky. The moment he saw me walking toward him, he leaned over the console and pushed open my door. I climbed up again, and he rubbed my leg quickly.
"We need to get you home. You're exhausted."
"You've been working a lot harder than me."
"But I'm used to it. Jojo should give you a few days off. You're going to get sick."
"I feel better than I have in a long time, actually."
Tyler put the gearshift into drive and pulled away from the curb, heading toward my house. He lit a cigarette and handed it to me without me asking, and then lit his own. We didn't talk much. Instead, I left Tyler to the seemingly millions of thoughts in his head.
Tyler pulled his truck into my drive and slowed to a stop at the gate. I leaned over him to press in the code, and the gate whined, beginning its slow journey open. Tyler pulled forward and drove the mile-long path to the house.
It was dark, and I assumed Maricela and Jose had gone home for the night.
"Thanks for the ride," I said, gathering my things and climbing down to the concrete below. I walked around the front of the truck, took a few more steps, and then froze.
"What are you doing here?" I asked.
"Ellison, she knows," Sterling said. He stepped out from the shadows, looking thin, his whiskers a few days past a five o'clock shadow. He stumbled down the steps, his tie loose and his shirt stained.
Tyler's door opened and closed, and his footsteps crunched against the snow and rock until he stopped just behind me.
"Hey, Sterling," Tyler said. "Good to see you."
Sterling's eyes were wet. I could smell the whiskey from ten feet away. "She fucking knows, Ellie. She won't answer my calls."
"I've told you, she never answers your calls when she's on holiday."
"She fucking knows!" he spat.
"Hey," Tyler said, stepping between us. "I'm not sure what's going on here, but I bet it will make more sense in the morning. Let me take you home, Sterling. You look like you've had a rough day."
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