by Cassie Cole
Trace laughed hysterically. “We did it. I can’t believe we did it.”
I grinned up at the big man. It was a nice change of pace to see him laughing so deeply. “Don’t sound so surprised!”
“It was a huge tree,” he said. “My backpack pump is nearly empty. We stopped it because of you, Haley.”
We fell into each other’s arms, exhausted and happy and still laughing. Two colleagues leaning on each other for support.
“We still have a lot of ground to patrol,” I said. “But it feels good to get a win.”
Trace slapped me on the arm, then touched his radio. “Sherpa, we’ve contained the flare-up. Confirm visual.”
“Negative, Donaldson,” came the reply. “The flare-up is still spreading south from the breach point.”
He looked at me. “That’s impossible…” Trace trailed off.
We both turned to the north.
It didn’t take long to find what the spotter was talking about. We walked for twenty seconds before the glow of a new wall of flame shone through the forest. The fire was spreading to our left, to the west, on the “safe” side of the handline. It was a massive stretch of swirling flames, too large to see the other end.
“There was more than one breach,” I whispered. “We’re too late.”
28
Haley
We sprinted south along the fire road like our lives depended on it.
“This is Donaldson,” Trace said in between gasps. “Confirming flare-up on the west side of the handline. It’s too much to contain, and advancing fast.”
“No fucking way,” Foxy replied.
I heard the spotter curse. “All fire teams! There’s a breach in the handline at position one-six-six-one-five by two-six-nine-two-five. All fire teams fall back to your anchor points and prepare for evacuation.”
The radio became a chorus of curses and wails of frustration. My foot caught in a hole in the handline and I stumbled, but recovered after three steps. Beside me, Trace glanced to make sure I was okay but never slowed down.
“The breach is spreading rapidly,” the spotter said. “It’s moving west, but wrapping around to the south. Fire Teams Four and Five—you are in danger of encirclement.”
“We need to get to the evac point,” Trace muttered. Then, into the radio on our private group channel: “Sale, Fox. Confirm that you are proceeding to the base camp.”
“Fuck that, boss,” Foxy replied. “We’re waiting for you two.”
Trace clenched his jaw while we ran. “Negative, Fox. Proceed to the base camp at once to gather the equipment. If we all get encircled, we’ll need you two to start digging protective areas in case we all need to deploy our fire shelters.”
“Fuck me,” Foxy said.
“Sale confirming orders. We’re on the way,” Derek said. “See you two there?”
“Working on it,” I said.
As we ran down the handline, I was glad for our morning training runs. I’d been on my feet for forty-eight hours with little rest and inadequate food, fueled by adrenaline more than anything. We’d been going to the bathroom in the woods. We’d been sweating in the same clothes the entire time. But once we started jogging, muscle memory took over and my legs did all the work. I didn’t have to think about it—I just went. Which was good, because I was so sleep deprived that any task more complex than covering a twig with dirt would have been impossible.
In its battered and weary state, my brain fired with random thoughts and emotions. I felt despair at knowing that the last two days of work had all been for nothing. We had let down our teammates, who were all coordinating their own retreats on the radio and sounded defeated, like we had just lost the war. All of us had worked ourselves to the bone and it didn’t even matter. The fire was going to win. Everything around us was doomed. The urge to give in to my exhaustion and curl up in a ball was strong.
“Come on,” Trace said, either to me or to himself. “It’s not much farther. We can do it.”
“We can do it,” I repeated, though I had my doubts. How much farther did we have to go? Two football fields? Three? All the while, the wildfire raged just a few feet from us, blasting us with heat as it railed against the boundary of fuel-less ground we had created.
We were halfway to the base camp when we came to a new breach. A new mass of swirling orange and red and yellow blocking our path like a curtain of death, running perpendicular to the handline across territory on the “safe” side of the road.
We slowed to a stop and Trace made a sound like an angry bear. “Sherpa, we’ve got a new breach halfway down our handline blocking our position! Confirm you have eyes on it, and how far we have to run to get around it.”
“Negative, Donaldson. I see no other breach on your handline.”
“The fuck you don’t,” he replied. “Our path is completely blocked.”
“Donaldson, we don’t—oh,” the spotter said. After a brief pause they continued, “Visual was blocked by the ridge as our Sherpa came around. Confirming new breach in your handline. It extends about seventy… no, more like eighty yards to the west.”
“Can we get around it?” he asked desperately.
“Unclear, Donaldson. You’re close to encirclement.”
The smoke was burning my throat and making me cough, so I took my respirator out of my PG bag and twisted the nozzle to allow air flow. Cool, clean air filled my lungs. I removed my helmet so I could strap the respirator over my face, then looked to Trace for what to do next.
He stripped his backpack pump, moved his Pulaski to his left hand, then took my hand with his right. “Come on!”
I didn’t want to keep running. I was so tired. If not for Trace holding my hand and pulling me into motion, I would have stayed there and let the fire consume me.
Through the forest we ran, along the edge of the advancing wildfire. But fires didn’t move in a straight line—they spread out in all directions at different speeds, depending on the fuel and wind. We started out running due west, but slowly had to curve north to avoid the ever-encroaching wall of flames. The wind roared and swirled like a hurricane, fueled by the heat on all sides, and there was so much ash and embers rushing past my vision in the air it felt like an apocalyptic blizzard. The kind of storm you would see in Hell.
I clung to my own Pulaski out of a determined sense of loyalty. It would have been easy to toss it aside, but the tool had performed dutifully up to this point, and I couldn’t bear to leave it for the flames. It’s one of the good ones, I thought as we weaved through the thick pine trees. Brinkley gave us the good tools because we’ve proved ourselves as smokejumpers. I can’t lose it now.
Eventually Trace slowed, then stopped. The wall of flame curved ahead of us and back around to the east. There was no gap in it to escape.
We were surrounded.
Trace’s eyes were white and wide as he gazed around. “Over there! A low point!”
It was a small ditch in the middle of a clearing, lower than the surrounding terrain by maybe half a foot. Not enough to save us, but the air would be just a little more breathable here.
“Donaldson? Hinch? You two are encircled,” the spotter said.
“No shit,” Trace replied. He pointed to me and said, “Deploy your fire shelter while I stir up the soil!”
I dumped my PG bag and removed my fire shelter. It was folded up in a compact aluminum brick covered in protective plastic. My training kicked in. I ripped off the red tab to remove the protective plastic, revealing the folds of precious metal and fabric. There were two gripping tabs sticking out, labeled right hand and left hand. I grasped them and shook out the shelter.
It was like a thick sleeping bag, with one fold we could step in for entry. In a flash, I remembered the training from McCall. Commander Wallace’s voice filled my head:
“Grasp the handles and shake out the shelter, holding tight to avoid losing the shelter in high winds. Step into the bottom of the shelter and lie down with your feet facing the flames,
as the hottest part of the shelter will be the side facing the advancing fire. Keep your head and airway away from the high temperatures. The hold-down straps are sewn into the floor panels of the shelter. As soon as you are into your shelter, slip your arms into the straps up to your elbows. It is critical to be on the ground, under the shelter, before the fire arrives. When you are secured on the ground, push out the top and sides of the shelter so its volume is as large as possible. The air between you and the sides of the shelter will act as insulation against the fire. Be sure that the shelter is fully unfolded and not bunched underneath you. Keep your nose and mouth on the ground. Temperatures just a few inches off the ground are dramatically higher than at the surface. If you have a face and neck shroud, pull it down into place.”
Realizing that this was really happening, a wave of panic threatened to cripple me. I fought it down and shook out my shelter.
A strong updraft from the flames buffeted us, catching the shelter like a sail. It slipped from my hands. I clawed at the air but it was too late, and I was forced to watch it fly into the flames and disappear.
“No,” I breathed. “No, no, no!”
Trace glanced up, then lowered his Pulaski. “Haley, no!”
The fires were spreading, circling, closing in on us. And I’d just lost my fire shelter.
I’m going to die.
There was a strange moment of peace right after losing my fire shelter. The wind roared like a hurricane and stung my eyes with dirt and heat, but I stood and took it. I watched as Trace dropped his PG bag and removed his own fire shelter, shaking it out and immediately stepping a boot inside to keep it from blowing away. To my left, a new pine tree suddenly went up in flames like the wick on a birthday candle.
None of it mattered, because it was over. I was going to die. There was no way out.
Trace was shouting something at me. I turned to him slowly.
“I said come on!” he shouted. He was beckoning me into the fire shelter.
That shook me out of my stupor. I removed my respirator and said, “I can’t take it from you!”
“We can share!”
Commander Wallace’s voice filled my head again: “Shelters are designed for one person. Sharing a fire shelter greatly increases the risk of injury or death. If you are forced to share, both people should keep their heads away from the oncoming fire and stick as close together as possible, in order to maximize open space in the shelter as insulation.”
“Haley!” he pleaded. “Please!”
“We’ll run out of air!” I replied. “You’ll die too!”
The passion in his eyes was the most powerful thing I’d ever seen in someone before. “I don’t give a fuck. I’m not leaving you out here!”
He extended a hand out to me. And like a drowning woman reaching for a life preserver, I took it.
Trace pulled me to his body, then chucked my respirator away since the O2 tank could rupture under the intense heat. Still holding me against his body, he lowered us to the ground and into the shelter, folding the flap over us until it connected with the half on the ground, creating a seal.
We twisted until we were on our sides facing each other. Just inches from him, I could make out all the details in his face. The lines of his jaw, and the dimple in his chin that was filled with ash. The grime and sweat mixing with two days of beard growth. The veins in his eyes, and the brown irises with pupils dilated with adrenaline.
Then he pulled his face shroud up to cover everything except his eyes. I did the same for me, aligning it with the mouth hole.
The ground started vibrating like an earthquake, which suddenly terrified me even more. Just what we need in the middle of a wildfire. Then I realized it wasn’t an earthquake—it was my own body shaking. I was trembling violently. Like I was freezing to death.
Trace’s hand found its way between my shoulder blades and he pulled me against his chest. “Shh, it’s alright,” he said while rubbing my back. “We’re going to be okay, Haley. I’ve got you.”
I clenched my eyes shut and listened to his comforting words, even though I knew they were just sweet lies.
29
Trace
Circumstances be damned, having Haley pressed against my body was like being in heaven.
I’d been watching her since she arrived at Redding Base. A bundle of energy packed into a Forestry uniform. She was funny, and could dish out as much shit as she took. Unlike some of the other jumpers at Redding, she was a generally positive person. Looking on the bright side of things rather than being pessimistic. She was fantastic at her job.
And that was before talking about her body.
Yeah, I wasn’t supposed to look at her that way. I’d worked with female smokejumpers before, and they were always like sisters to me, in the same way that my male jumpers were like brothers. We needed to share a bond that went deeper than family, or friends, or romance. We had to rely on one-another for our lives out here.
But I couldn’t help but see Haley for the gorgeous woman that she was. Lean with muscle. A sexy curve to her hips, and a waist I wanted to wrap my hands around. Breasts that were perky and full even when she wore a sports bra on our morning jogs. Thick lips that I couldn’t help but imagine wrapping around my manhood…
I shivered despite our cramped, steamy shelter. After watching her for over a week, admiring her from afar, having her entire body pressed against mine was everything I’d ever wanted.
Thank God I was too exhausted to get a hard-on.
What a stupid thought right now, I scolded myself.
I stroked her back while whispering soothing words. She was still trembling in my arms. It was probably the after-effects of the adrenaline rush from running through the forest and then getting encircled. She couldn’t help it.
Still, I did my best to calm her, because doing so helped calm me as well. It gave me something to focus on rather than the wildfire that was going to overrun us at any moment.
All things considered, there were worse ways to die than in the arms of a beautiful woman.
But we’re not going to die, damnit, I thought stubbornly.
Fire shelters weren’t meant to be shared. There needed to be enough open space inside to create a barrier of insulating air, as well as enough oxygen to survive until the fire passed. They were made of reflective material on the outside to protect against radiative heat, and the internal fabric would help shield against convective heat, but the odds of survival inside a fire shelter were not great. The odds when shared between two people were minuscule.
But none of that mattered when I saw how helpless she was. I couldn’t leave her out in the open to die. She had to join me in my shelter, even if it meant I was less likely to survive. There was no mental math to do on the odds, no pros and cons to weigh. Saving Haley was an automatic decision.
“Shh,” I whispered, running my gloves hands through her hair. “I’m here. We’re going to be okay.”
Calming her down was crucial. The first thing we learned in smokejumping school was that panicking was the best way to die faster. A panicked person consumed oxygen faster. Increased heart rate stimulated blood flow throughout the body, warming the muscles and making it more difficult to dissipate heat. If we were going to have a chance at surviving, I had to calm her down.
Eventually, her breathing slowed. She still clung to my body like I was the only safe thing in the world. It made me feel needed. It made me feel important.
She’s relying on me. I have to be the leader.
The first clue that the fire was upon us was my feet getting hotter. Gently, I twisted Haley’s head away from my chest and toward the ground. The air was coolest the closer we were to the ground, so it was crucial to breathe that air rather than the air above us that would soon heat to painful temperatures.
I twisted my head and did the same. Some of the stirred soil had gotten inside the shelter when I closed it around us, and it smelled earthy and fresh. It reminded me of boot camp back at Parris I
sland, doing push-ups in the mud. Getting so dirty that I couldn’t wash away the earthy scent no matter how many showers I took.
I clenched my eyes shut and held Haley close while the fire ran over us.
*
I woke with a start.
Everything was dark. My cheek was pressed against the fabric of the fire shelter. The air tasted like smoke and ash.
I was sweaty and hot, but not too hot. Uncomfortable rather than deadly. I wiggled my boots at the other end of the shelter, pressing them against the fabric. It wasn’t hot at that end, either.
It took me a few seconds to feel around for the seam in the shelter. I opened it a crack. Cool air rushed into the shelter.
Ignoring caution and training, I threw open the flap of the shelter. The smell of smoke intensified, but the air was mostly clean. I could see the treetops and the sky above.
We did it. We survived!
Haley stirred and shifted her body so that it was draped across mine, but her eyes never opened. I grinned to myself there on the forest floor. I couldn’t believe it.
After a little while, my brain turned itself back on. The fire had definitely passed over us—the pines looming over us were charred black and devoid of needles, and the ground all around held a grey ashen hue. How long had we been sheltered? Certainly not long. It was quiet. Why was it so quiet?
I remembered that I’d turned off our radios to help keep calm. I flicked mine back on and was bombarded with a cacophony of voices.
“Jump Team Two is staying ahead of the burning edge en route to the north evacuation point.”
“Brinkley and Cortez are unaccounted for. Does anyone have eyes on them?”