by Jack Riggs
It's hard to put it all together with all the heat and fire that's out there. But Cassie's my wife, and there's something that brings our bone and blood together. It ties us tight and makes cutting her loose something akin to tearing half my soul out of my body. It just can't be, I keep telling myself. I need my soul whole, I need Cassie back home.
At first light on Tuesday, I ease myself off the cot and walk out into the station in my underwear. Lori's already in her office, and I can smell fresh brew as I head out the door to find old cutoffs in the bed of my truck. She catches me in my boxers, smiles, and when I act like I'm going to shoot her the moon, she doesn't even flinch, almost challenges me to go ahead and do it. But I chicken out, slip through the door acting embarrassed, waving a finger in the air, a playful scolding for looking at me like that. It feels good to play with Lori. It eases the tension that's already building with the morning heat. Outside, I change into the cutoffs and then grab my board, walk back in to tell Lori I need some time at the beach before we go in to fight this fire. The station is ready, everything packed and loaded. “I'll come get you, if I need you,” she says, handing me a paper cup full of hot coffee for the walk down.
All along the beach, the air is smoky like the fire is just on the other side of the marsh, but I know it's a long way inland from here, no chance of it getting all the way to the coast. We'll have to go to it this time. So far, nobody's died, but thousands of acres have been singed and burned. The television news showed us houses last night, farmland burned away, a trailer park that was destroyed. Everyone made it out, the fire slow enough in its movement that emergency personnel were able to evacuate and keep people alive. There's talk of the winds changing. A southwesterly shift will keep the fire from coming toward the beach, but it will also fuel the flames inland. Everyone who's going in is getting his mind right for the changing conditions. Fast fire is just too unpredictable, too hard to contain.
The sun peeks out from the horizon down toward Myrtle Beach, its rays a colorful plume. I've never seen such beautiful colors, the way they reach out of the water, yellow and orange, deep reds and purple streamers, smoke- filled air giving the whole strand a show. When I get to the water, there is a lone body already waiting. Teddy's beat me again. I wave, throw on some fresh wax, and hook up with him before he can catch his first ride in.
“Thought you were in the mountains.” Teddy's looking back over his shoulder, watching the swells form.
“I was,” I say, “but I came back.”
“To surf with little old me?”
“Yeah man, is there any other reason?”
“Not that I can think of.” He pushes off, paddles fast, but pulls back when his move is too late to catch the front side of the swell. “You get Kelly back to camp?”
“I did,” I say. “There's been a lot of rain up there, so she hadn't missed too much.”
“Lot of rain, huh?” Teddy's shaking his head. “Did you bring any of that back with you?”
“Nope,” I say. “I was hoping it would just roll on down here behind me, but looks like that didn't happen.”
We both catch the next wave. I'm on the inside of the break, let my arms extend to hold me above the board, guiding it, edging down into its trough before I set my feet. It closes out fast into foamy soup, the ride short as I kick out. Teddy works the wash for a little more distance in and then he kicks out, dropping down on his board to paddle back out beyond the break.
We sit there in the early light, quiet for a moment just thinking about surfing, looking for the next ride in. “You should have brought some of that rain back, bro,” Teddy says, finally. “It's getting serious down here.”
I nod in agreement, tell him we're going in later today.
“Where to?” he asks.
“I don't know yet. Strachen's going to tell us in a couple of hours.”
“Goddamn, Peck, you better be careful. They're saying ten thousand acres are burning, thirty maybe, before the rain gets here.”
“Is there rain coming?” I ask.
“Hell, I don't know,” he says. “They've been talking about rain since Easter.” He looks out behind him, sees something good coming. His eyes widen, his face pulls all that skin up into a big smile. “Jesus,” he says, “now there you go.”
When I look back, I see it, a wave much larger than the rest, a rogue wave that pulls both of us up as we paddle onto its front. I'm up fast, make a cutback, pull off the top, and let my board slide down the face. Teddy's right behind me. He's on a long board so he's just cruising, whooping and hollering. I watch him go low to try and take me out, to swing around me, make me pull up and kick out of the best wave I'll ride today, but I'm not having that. I cut back at him. The surprise move loosens his feet, throws his balance off, and then wipes him out, the words “Son of a bitch!” lost in the wave that pounds along the beach. I laugh at Teddy when he finds his feet, his pants nearly at his knees. “Fucking A,” he says, his middle finger high in the air, so I know the bastard is all right.
“Never try to cut off a fireman who knows he's going into fire,” I say, walking up the beach to get Teddy's board. “You need to wear a leash,” I tell him, but I know he never will. Teddy's old-school out here. He just smiles.
“I'll get a leash when I get a dog,” he says. We laugh hard. I love Teddy like a brother. I'd walk through fire for him and he'd do the same for me. We paddle back out into the surf together.
I figure I've got a couple more rides, if I want to wait, and then I'll head back to the station. Lori will tell Partee I'm on the beach, but he always figures that one out for himself, so I'm not worried I'm being missed right now. I tell Teddy about Lori seeing me in my underwear, and the story turns his face into a grin. “Bro, you be careful with that one,” he says. “You've got to fight fire today.”
“Hell, I could be talked out of doing that,” I tell him.
Teddy looks for something out beyond us to ride in, but the water's flattening under our boards. “Leave the young to the young, bro,” he says. “Lori's too good for old waterlogged civil servants like us.”
“Probably so,” I say, “but I'm not that old.” We get a good laugh talking like this, feeling the ordinary trying to seep back into our lives. I need that. I need Cassie and Kelly back home. I need Pops well. I need the ocean smooth and predictable again.
After a few short rides, the waves die out and we call it quits. Teddy ties my board to his patrol car and gives me a lift back to the station. Everybody's up when we get there. Partee's been to the pancake house up on 17, so there's good food waiting for us all. Teddy, of course, invites himself to the meal. The coffee's rich and hot. Teddy changes clothes right there in the Quonset, in front of Lori when she dares him to do it. She should know better than to dare Teddy to do anything. She runs and locks the door to her office, pulls the little shade over the window before he can get his pants down. We're all standing there laughing our asses off when the call comes in, giving us the time to report to Surfside.
It all gets serious after that. I go inside, take a shower, put on a pair of blue khakis, standard issue, and a station T- shirt. I don't even look for the button- down and my lieutenant bars. Today, I'll be a fireman. I'll fight like everyone else. If they need me to be a lieutenant, then I will, but I won't ask for any favors because of rank.
Before I leave the bunk room, I find one of Pops's pennies. I roll it around with my fingers then let my eyes drift out the window toward Myrtle Beach, some seventeen miles away. “Help me be lucky, Pops,” I say. I slip the penny inside my sock, feel it rest snug against the arch of my foot, then I tie my boots tight.
We load up into the truck, say good- bye to Teddy, who pops his siren for us a couple of times when he spins out, headed toward Surfside for his own roll call. I let Partee drive, J.D. ride shotgun. I'm in the third seat when we pull out. The roads near the beach are already filled with traffic, but I don't mind it this time. I'd rather not get there at all because I know after the meeting, we'l
l go fight fire. I tell Partee to take it easy to not be too anxious. “We'll get there when we get there,” I say. He looks through the mirror at me like he thinks I'm joking, but I'm not. I nod, tell him to keep his eyes on the road.
It's nearly ten by the time we show up, hot as hell, barely any wind coming off the water. I hear someone say that might be a good sign and we're all encouraged until Strachen tells us the weather's going to change over the next couple of days, high winds and heat until the rain can get here. Then he levels with us. “We'll all get a turn at this,” he says. “I've been working with Georgetown County. We're going to blend our crews up and down the strand.” He pulls out a rolling blackboard, the one we use when there's a training class, search and rescue, or first- aid safety. This time he's attached a map, black lines and colored sections dividing it up like the thing might be carved, cut up, and served to us for lunch.
“The state's brought in some fire jumpers from out west,” he says. “They won't work as a unit, but will split up in the worst areas here to lead local fire crews. There's a handful going in up off Highway 9 out of North Myrtle. But most of them will be down here where the fires are burning the worst.”
When someone objects to the plan, some commonsense reason that we all understand since we live and work down here, Strachen holds up his hands to quiet us down. “These boys might not be homegrown,” he says, “but we're going to let them run this one since they got the experience. Local rangers will get you to your location where you'll meet up with these guys. They've already been fighting fire for a couple of days, but there's still a lot to do. You need to be careful walking in.”
I ask Strachen if we're taking the trucks in. “We spent a lot of time prepping yesterday,” I tell him. “I'm hoping it's not all for nothing.”
“You can drive down to the access points of course, but after that, it's a walk in. There will be supplies waiting for you, equipment you'll need in hand to work on a fire like this. It's beyond putting water on it, boys. We're just trying to control it until either rain comes or it decides to burn itself out.”
He pulls out another large piece of paper, tapes it over the map to show us the schedule he's come up with. How, I have no idea. “Litchfield and Surfside are going to stay put for now. Garden City Beach, you're going in with Pawleys Island to fight fire.” He points to an area I'm not familiar with, something way off Highway 378, past Pee Dee Crossroads. The area is shaded bright red, a hot spot burning out of control right now.
“Garden City Beach and Pawleys will pull out on Thursday night, Litchfield and Surfside will go in, three days in, three days out until we extinguish this fire. Peck, when you get back, you'll be responsible for working any emergency down toward Murrells Inlet and Litchfield. It's hot and smoky and still dangerous everywhere around here. Nothing is out of reach of a spark, so everybody stay on their toes. Peck, you boys be careful and come back here safe. Listen, keep your heads up and fight a good fire.”
We all mill around, talk about things that don't have a connection to what we're about to do. Teddy shows up with a small stray pup he's found wandering Highway 17. It's peed on his seat, but he doesn't give a shit. It's got fleas, ticks sucking blood off the soft meat of its ears, probably needs to be dewormed. He's feeding it half of a Krispy Kreme donut.
“You're going to kill that dog if you feed it shit like that,” I say.
“This little thing just ran across Highway 17,” Teddy tells me. “A truck and two cars nearly flattened the little fellow. He can eat a donut, Peck.” I smile at Teddy. It's funny to see such a big man holding something so small and feeding it. “You can keep it out at my place if Mo gives you any shit,” I say.
“Hell, she'll probably want to keep the dog and make me stay out there,” he says, his grin pulling his face up into wrinkles. We laugh about the dog, the little pup chewing on Teddy's finger, but then something hits him. He looks at me hard. It's a seriousness I don't often see coming from Teddy. “Peck, you got to be careful out there,” he says. “Lot more fire than any of us are used to seeing.”
We shake hands, Teddy pulling me in close. Strachen comes out of dispatch, and when he sees we are still here, starts in on us. “You should've been gone fifteen minutes ago,” he says. There's no screaming, just Strachen being Strachen. “There's a crew waiting for you, so get out of here.”
I pet Teddy's head, the dog's too, tell him I'll be back. We climb in the Pirsch and I ride in the third seat again, let Partee and J.D. get us to where we're going. I sit behind them with a lot on my mind. I'd like to call Cassie, tell her where I'm headed, let her know I love her and Kelly real bad. Pops is there too. I feel lost without everyone even though I'm sitting among men I call my brothers. I pull the radio, let Lori know that we are 10- 76, moving and responding. “You all be careful out there,” she says, her voice strong and full in the radio's speaker.
“10- 4 that,” I say and then hang the mike back up.
We turn on our emergency lights because we're on a call, but don't use our siren. The inland traffic is light—maybe the fire is getting to people down here after all. It's almost noon and it's pretty much a clear shot out to Conway Partee moves without effort, something that seems strange to us all, though no one remarks openly about it. We just watch the road, look at each other when we pass an intersection where there should be a fist of traffic. We move up Highway 707, much farther inland than we've ever taken a call, hook up with 544 and then 501 into Conway. I think about Pops when we pass Kingston Convalescent Home, but he's not there, not now anyway. He's safe in Myrtle Beach.
The smoke in Conway is thick, no wind yet. It hugs the ground, building into a dense cover that's almost impossible to see through. We make the turn onto 378, going slower now because of smoke. When we pass Pee Dee Crossroads, it doesn't take long for us to run up onto the first roadblock. They're not letting anyone through here right now except firemen and locals who live up and down this road. No one's been evacuated in this section, but it's near impossible to breathe good air, so I know the call is coming soon.
We're waved through, the Pirsch crawling along the road, our emergency lights bouncing off white air. The smell of fire is starting to burn our throats and noses. We cross the Little Pee Dee River and things get worse. The staging area shows up near the intersection of Highway 378 and 41, an old cornfield already plowed under because of the drought, the crop a total loss. Partee pulls up alongside trucks and emergency vehicles from Pawleys and other stations working out of three different counties. A lot of firemen have already gone out into the field. It's a walk in from here.
The scene's really nothing like Strachen said. There's no crew waiting for us, only a ranger, a boy who seems too young to be telling us what to do. He's wearing a yellow hard hat and is covered in ash, his face marked with black soot. He's been here awhile. There's little equipment, most of it already out in the field, we're told. The boy shows us where we can pick up side packs. There're canteens full of water. We hook four around our belts as we are told to do. He hands us drip torches, hand-held fuel tanks to be used for starting backfires. “We're headed out in a few minutes to set a fire,” the boy says. Then he gestures to our air tanks. “Won't do you no good to carry all that. It'll just slow you down when the fire starts to run.” He points to buckets on the ground filled with dirty water. “You might want to get a couple of bandanas over there and soak them down real good.”
At the truck, Partee comes up to me with worry on his face. “This don't feel good, Chief,” he says. “Who's in charge out here?”
“The fire,” I say. I look around, see signs that tell me we're not where Strachen told us we'd be. “You know we're in Marion County. I didn't hear Strachen say this thing was all the way out here, did you?”
“Not a word,” Partee says.
He's shaking his head about it all when I tap him on the arm. “Don't worry,” I tell him. “We're going to set a backfire. In my mind that sounds pretty good. At least we won't be trying to knock o
ne down.”
“Have you ever done this before?” he asks.
“Nope, never.” I test my air mask, make sure the flow is properly regulated, then I look at Partee and J.D. “We're carrying air in,” I say. “Rather have it on my back than fire in my lungs. Get hooked up and let's go see what the Boy Scout wants us to do.”
A triage unit is set up in a small field. There are men coming out who are burned, one man carried on a stretcher with a broken leg. J.D. looks over and I can see he's interested. “Hey” I say, when J.D. looks my way. “Go over there, see if they can use your help.”
He looks at the triage unit and then back to me. “I think I ought to be fighting fire today, don't you?”
“I think you ought to do what you do best, show them who's boss.” I smile, tell him we got the fire handled. “You'll have your chance a little later. We'll go set this backfire and then come get you if we need you. How's that?”
“Whatever you want, Chief,” J.D. says.
“Well I want to go surfing, and I'd love to see Kelly throwing a softball right now, but that ain't going to happen, is it?” He smiles at that and then leaves me and Partee with the Boy Scout ranger. I watch him for a moment longer, the triage unit happy J.D.'s there.
The boy tells us then that we're going to hook up with a crew that is already out in the fire. “There's a main burn coming from the south,” he says, pointing out in front of him, “back over behind those trees. It's going to get them, no doubt, so they want us to start a backfire, see if we can use the woods to contain it all, burn it out if we can.”
“Is that all the fire?” Partee asks.
“Hell no,” the boy says. “This thing is more than thirty thousand acres, I've heard.”
I look at Partee. “Big fire,” I say.
“You could say that,” the boy says when he thinks I'm talking to him. “We're trying to contain it until the rain comes, but we're having little luck. The timber's too dry. It's like we're walking on top of matches out here.”