“It’s not my first wildfire, Autumn. I’ll be just fine, and your dad? Well, I’d worry more for the fire than him. He’s a genius at stopping these things.” He gives my shoulder a light squeeze.
“Right.” We hop out of the truck. I shouldn’t even let him take the time to open my door but I do. My head’s on completely backwards.
“I’ll call you tomorrow when everything’s fine. Thanks to you, we’re catching it early. There’s nothing to worry about. Hell,” he chuckles as his lower hand finds its spot on my back, “if I don’t hurry, I may miss the show.”
He kisses my forehead. His lips are soft with heat.
“We’ll talk in the morning.”
“Text me? Just so I know…” That everyone’s okay.
“You got it.”
Colt’s pickup throws dust into the air as he blasts toward the flaring horizon to the north. I’m alone except for the night stars. Only an hour before they were so comforting, but now I can’t help thinking of them in their true form as dangerous balls of gas and flames. Their beauty is no longer found in their twinkle, but in their force.
I sit down, failing at keeping my mind off Dad and Colt at the edge of the battle. Hopefully they’re just driving the water trucks. Darkness seems to take over more of the horizon in the hour I stay watching the sky from the porch. Finally, the raging yellow and orange relaxes into a soft glow. Good, they should surely be safe now.
Exhausted, I return to my room. I roll into bed, not even bothering to change out of my tank top and jeans. I pull up my sheets and smell my shirt—fresh pine and Tide detergent. Colt. Butterflies tickle as I lose myself in the scent, being overcome with almost a drunk feeling.
I swear I can feel the warmth from his hand on my back too. My muscles relax with simply the memory of his touch. I fall asleep, embracing the change between us and for once not frightened of what it may bring.
***
Dad throws a log into the crackling fire. Marshmallows roast on the tip of my stick. An edge kisses gold so I rotate it. Burned marshmallows really taste disgusting.
“Why does Mom have to spend another week in New York?” I ask.
He takes off his work gloves and wipes his brow. I wipe the sweat from mine too.
“Well, Bug,” he says as he sits at my side and messes up my hair. “She’s getting things in order.”
“Why?” I pull my marshmallows out of my ember cave, a perfect gold crust. Dad takes his time sandwiching them between graham crackers and chocolate. He hands me the S’more. “Why Dad?” I ask again as I take a bite. Melted chocolate drips from the side, rolling down my hand and onto the collar of my favorite purple shirt.
“Well, I know you’re worrying about us.”
“You’ve been fighting a lot.” I hate saying it, but it’s true. They used to watch stars together out back. Now they go there to fight.
“And we’re sorry about that.” He wraps his arm around me and pulls me close. “We don’t want to fight anymore. Not around you. So your Mommy is looking for a place for you both. To stay.”
“Stay? Like…” A lump grows in my throat and tries to block the question’s exit, but I need the answer. “Without you?”
“Yes, baby.” He sniffs then he’s crying. He’s not supposed to cry.
“Don’t cry, Dad. You can come visit. Maybe if we ask, we won’t have to leave. Just ask her, okay?” I hug him. “I don’t want to go either, Daddy. Ask her, please?”
“I will, Autumn. I promise.”
“Good. I’ll ask her too.” I kiss him on his rough cheek before plunging my hand into the bag for more marshmallows. Instead of finding plump puffs, I meet hot goo. We never cooked these. I search through the heat, finding one intact marshmallow. I touch it and immediately it disintegrates. The inside pours out, boiling hot. Ouch. I yank my hand out of the bag. The horrible burning smell dives into my lungs, choking me.
Dad grabs my shoulders and leans in, whispering, “Wake up, Autumn.”
I cough and he brings his face close to mine. His eyes are wide and his voice trembles. “Now, Autumn. Wake up!”
My eyes fly open. I’m still in bed, but the darkness is wrong. I choke, my lungs searing. There’s a thick haze hovering above. Rolling from my bed, I press myself against shaggy carpet below. A swirl of whites and greys hangs inches above my head.
Holy shit.
The fire’s here.
My door’s closed, but smoke pours from the crack under the door into my room. The window is my only option. It’s so frickin’ hot. Adrenaline takes over as my fingers somehow find the window. I yank on it but it won’t budge.
It hasn’t been open in over seven years.
I grunt as I pull up once more. It doesn’t budge. No!
I duck below the smoke line again, gasping for air. Black tendrils now snake through the hinges. The door isn’t an option, and I’m not burning in here.
A roar erupts from within a core I never knew existed, a rage I’ve never felt before. I’m not dying today. I swat above the smoke line, finding my chair and pull it down to the floor.
To hell with this death air.
I drag the chair to the opposite side of the room.
Okay. Last breath before I have to stand in this thick gray haze.
Guided by a single light, I grip the chair like a jousting stick and my adrenaline throttles me across the room. I ram the window.
I duck down and suck another breath. My lungs ignite like they’ve been tossed into hot lava. There’s no oxygen left here.
No. This isn’t happening. I can’t end like this.
My shoulder finds the window, and I ram and ram. Finally, my flesh tears and I fall out of the window, meeting the fresh, sweet air. I slam against the ground where small flames join the prairie. My feet find the dirt and suddenly I’m darting across the field. I’ve got to get to the barn before the flames do.
I glance back; the speed of the fire is terrifying in the tall, dead grass. A huge wall of flames moving like a semi truck. Another second later, and my home is completely engulfed. I can’t dwell on that right now. The animals need me. I grip the iron handle and pull the door open, remembering an old piece of advice. Let the animals run free and they’ll know where to find safety.
I tear open each stall. The calves totter out, following the darting goats out the front door. Please, let them find safety.
I make my way back toward the horses as the smoke seeps in through the cracks in the barn walls. Every step strangles my breath. I set a few horses free as my head pounds and the world spins with a new coughing fit.
I skip a stall, desperate to get to Howdy. He’ll get me away. I throw open the latch, reaching for his neck, but slides past me, bolting from the barn. Shit. How can I blame him though? Terror is here.
A frantic neigh calls from the stall I skipped. Shadow kicks at the doors.
He’s my only chance.
The fire crackles outside the barn now, popping its threat while more smoke pours in through the windows.
Please God, free me from this hell. I slide open the stall only a few inches. I grab his mane and prepare for a near impossible vault. I hold on as he bolts, using his speed to throw my weight so I can fly up on his back. My shoulder feels like it’s being torn apart, but my bottom slams against his back. I’m on! Thank the Lord for my days in the rodeo.
I dig my face into his mane as we escape the barn. The fire rages next to us. He bolts away to the left. My legs grip tight as he prances sideways, trying to decide how to handle the flames.
I give him a swift kick.
Go boy, go!
Horses either dart or freeze in danger.
Please, Shadow, don’t freeze.
He lunges forward and breaks into a gallop.
Yes. Finally!
My thighs squeeze tight, and I try to catch my breath. He’ll bring me to a river or a road. He’ll know where to go. Right?
A coughing fit takes over again, my fingers falling loose from his mane. I swallow ha
rd, grasping again. I grab a big chunk of mane, wrapping my other arm deep around his neck. The coughing makes it impossible for fresh air to reach me. It’s like I’m drowning in the middle of a drought.
Shadow jerks s with a vicious whinny. He throws himself back with a scream. I’m flying and now there are flames here too. My head hits the ground and the world bounce in and out. Blackness to fire and back again.
Someone’s shouting, Hold On. My hands find the dirt, my sweaty palms making mud.
Fire. Blackness. Gray. Smoke.
Weeds... burning weeds.
The shouting grabs me again. HOLD ON!
The heat is too close. It hurts so much.
I pull myself up and try to encourage my legs to move, away from the flames. Pain rips at the skin between my shoulder blades. My skin pops as I stagger.
My lungs scream for air. Air, please God, air.
A fit of coughs paralyzes me at the edge of the flames.
I drag my legs away for a few feet before I collapse.
This is it.
Death by flame.
Dear Mom, I love you.
Dad, please know I love you too.
I pull my finger through the dust scrolling–– love you.
No! Hold on! Don’t give up! The voice grows louder and louder.
It’s right.
I dig my finger into the earth and attempt to crawl.
They need to see how I tried, how I care about my life.
On my knees now, I move forward, wheezing for air.
A flame whips my shoulder. Scorched flesh adds to the burning smell of weeds and dust. I’m within its grasp. I glance back, ready to face this enemy. Maybe there’s a hole. Another way?
Please God, let there be another way.
The fire spits hot blue with orange and purple curls. It’s taller than a man and endless in both directions. I hold my arms open, and scream silently to the heavens. Save me.
Suddenly, a horse shaped hole appears. It bolts through the flames toward me. A hand extends down, ripping me off the ground and into the air. I’m thrown against a chest.
“Autumn. I got you.”
Dad?
He winds a white mane around my fingers. “Hold on tight.”
Howdy?
I’m coughing as the smoke blinds me. Flicks of cascading embers scorch his hide. I beat them away from his neck and shoulders with my remaining strength. We fly across the field away from the blasting light.
Into the darkness we flee, and then I meet the air.
I breathe and sweet, fresh air fights its way in.
***
A rhythmic beep calls me out of the darkness. The back of my throat is raw, like I was screaming at a concert all night long. Water. I need water. I reach for my glass on my nightstand.
“Here she comes,” says a foreign voice.
A woman. …Why is there a woman in my bedroom?
I struggle to open my eyes but they feel like fifty-pound weights. Something tickles my nose and I rub it, finding a tube in its place.
“Autumn, leave that there.” Dad says. I concentrate, lifting my eyelids carefully. Ugh, it’s so bright. I recoil back into the darkness.
“Take your time. Try when you’re ready,” he says.
I do and this time opening my eyes isn’t like trying to move a boulder with my face. The rooms shocking though, too white, bright, and blurry.
“-ar-amI?” The back of my throat stings as I speak.
“The hospital, Bug.”
“You passed out. You were in a fire and got burned,” the woman says.
Burned? The coughing… the fire.
The nightmare.
My throat sears with the memories.
“-a-er.” I smack my lips.
“Here.” A cup appears under my nose and I wrap my lips around the straw. “Start with a little sip.” The coolness slips through, the relief smooth and sweet. I try to turn over to see who’s holding the cup, but a large pillow blocks my hips from rolling.
“Hold on there,” Dad says as his hand stops my movement and he returns me to face him. “You don’t want to do that just yet.”
“The fire burned your back. We’ve got you bandaged up,” the woman continues, taking a seat on my bed and lightly touching a large bandage on my shoulder. “You also had a small surgical procedure here to remove glass and repair your muscle.”
Just a flinch of movement results in sharp pain. I move my shoulder blades, and my back burns like the worst sunburn of my life. Oddly, there are a few spots up near my shoulder where I don’t feel anything at all. My head pounds with the effort of it all. Sleep is easier now.
I can’t decide which burns I hate most. Itching second degree burns and blisters decorate my upper back, and under a bandage on my left shoulder lies a mass of my flesh that a third degree burn turned into thick, brown leather. It’s a painless scar I will never escape, a lifelong souvenir of this dreadful summer.
“You ready?” Colt asks from the hallway. I swing my legs off the side of his bed. Well, now it’s my bed as I don’t have a home anymore. Colt bunks with his brother downstairs and Dad sleeps in the guest room while Grace and I share the top floor.
He helps me up from the bed. I take it slow, not wanting to use my inhaler again. I want to be healthy and be back to normal. This recovery is getting old.
“Chris asked me to bring you out to the ranch to meet him. He thinks you need to see the house, with him being there.”
I cringe. I’ve avoided the ranch like the plague since the fire, using my need for the inhaler and staying away from dust as an excuse.
“You can’t avoid it forever. If you’re not ready today, he’ll understand." Colt’s hand finds the sweet spot, below my burns, in the middle of my back. Instantly, I relax. Even breathing's easier with Colt near.
“No, I really should go.”
“There she is.” Colt smiles at me as he holds my arm to help me down the stairs.
“Who?”
“The fearless girl who stared a wildfire down.” He leans in and his lips grace my brow. There’s been a lot of that lately, but only that. I haven’t had the energy to interpret anything that’s been going on between us, so I stopped trying, allowing myself to enjoy the relationship I have with Colt. Yes, it can’t be defined, but for now that’s fine. Dad doesn’t even seem to notice there’s something happening with us anyway. He’s so quiet now. Grace sees us though—I swear I can feel her eyes on us all the time, even when she’s not home.
Colt opens the truck door and I gaze up. My arm muscle is still weak after being shredded with glass and the third degree burn feels so tight I’m afraid I’ll rip my skin if I use my left arm. Even getting in a truck is impossible right now.
“I’ve got you.” His strong arm wraps around my waist, lifting me up into the cab.
“Thanks,” I say to Colt. He’s always knows what I’m thinking, sometimes even before I do. The leather’s hot behind me, so I shift forward to sit on the edge of the seat. The few clumps of trees that used to landmark our land are now stripped down, black on the earth and there’s a burning scent still lingering in the air. Colt takes a turn, and my heart wants to scream. There’s no way this is the driveway toward the main ranch. All that’s left of the barn is the metal frame of the railroad car, the attached house now in black, gray, and brown shambles on the ground.
“Did the horses…” It's a question that is too heavy to complete. The seat belt digs into my shoulder, and I have to wiggle so my surgical wound doesn’t weep. The metal frame of what should be Howdy's stall is melted together and slouching against the black sheet metal of the railroad car. It’s almost like living out my nightmares, except this time there are no carcasses on the ground. Thank God. I’ve been too scared to ask what happened to the animals, to what happened to Howdy. The answer can’t be good because no one’s even mentioned the animals to me, so the nightmares keep coming and I live with the scent of hay nauseating me as I battle the what if’s ar
ound me.
“The horses survived. We were missing two, but four days ago they came wandering back. Howdy has a few burns, but nothing that can’t heal with time. He’s at the university vet still, but he’ll be returning soon.”
I swallow the lump in my throat. The tight band that’s been crushing my chest releases as I gaze out the window. He’s alive. I search the ground, trying to see underneath the charred grass and dust. What path did he take to escape that inferno anyway? There’s no sign of hoof prints, but a few two-pronged footprints scattered near the gravel road remain. “And the goats?”
“Some came back.”
“The calves?”
Colt taps the steering wheel, taking a beat before he responds. Finally, he turns to me. “We discovered a few dead in the field and others are still missing.”
“That was weeks ago though.”
“Yeah, so…” he shrugs.
“They’re dead.” I nod. That little brown calf didn’t even have a chance at life. It’s not fair, but then again what is fair on a cattle ranch if you’re a cow? It’ll just get sent for slaughter anyway.
“What are you thinking?” Colt asks.
“That I’m never eating beef again.”
“A cattle rancher who doesn’t eat beef?” He nudges me, flashing me that adorable crooked smile. I force myself to grin back through the sting of his tease. When he looks away, I sink my teeth into the sweet swollen flesh on my inner cheek that I’ve been gnawing on for days.
I’m not a cattle rancher!
Strangers who visit us act like the whole fire thing is part of the job like I’m now christened a real cowgirl. Leathery old people with their watery tater-tot hot dish and slimy green bean casseroles expect me to share my tale, but I refuse to relive it for their fun.
No one gets it. I’m a frickin’ Manhattan girl stuck in a dust bowl world. I miss the city, fearing mugging over fire and I can’t stand the constant taste of dust in the air here, or how the world goes to sleep by nine. Dad barely speaks to me now, like he knows how I feel about the ranch. Logically, it makes sense for me to feel closer to him after the fire, but it’s like the fire made a grand canyon between us. When we’re in the same room together, I want to run. I can't look at him without going through a thousand different emotions. It’s easier to slip out the back door than face whatever’s going on in that silent head of his.
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