FireWatch

by Scott Blade

  Widow walked the winding mountainous highway until he came to an off-track road. It was paved, but had long since needed a facelift. A sign posted above an entrance on two high poles with the sign crossing over indicated that it was the path to the Gray Wolf Mountain Observatory and Ranger Station.

  Widow turned onto the dirt road and glanced back one more time to look for any signs of cars, but there were none.

  He did not have to walk long before he saw two vapor lights, set up high on poles just inside the trees. They cut cones of yellow light out into the darkness. Moths, and probably other insects, collided and crashed and danced around at the lights’ origin.

  A loud howl cut the ambient silence in the distance and then another and then another. Widow’s first thought was that it had been a coyote, but then he realized it was a wolf’s howl.

  Gray Wolf Mountain Observatory.

  About twenty seconds later there was a fourth howl, followed by a fifth and then a sixth. The animal kingdom’s version of Public Service Announcements, perhaps.

  There’s something about hearing the howls of wolves in the wild at night. Even though Widow was a big guy, it still sent chills down his spine.

  Farther up the road, he came to a fork. One way led off into the darkness, toward deeper forests and hills. The other path led only a hundred yards ahead. The second had more vapor lights up on poles and more cones of yellow and more insects. The track was wide and drivable.

  At the end of the road stood one small building built of wood that appeared to be cabin inspired, but two stories and narrow. A second building loomed behind it. It was much bigger, with wooden planked catwalks and big bay windows. It was built from wood and brick.

  The second building was also two stories, but much larger in terms of area. The second building looked completely void of life. Everything was dark. Even the vapor lights around it were dead.

  The first building had a stone fireplace climbing up out of the rear. Smoke trickled out. Widow saw a large antenna raised and sprawled out on the rooftop. It had three intersecting poles, thin and triangulated up toward the sky. A serious radio antenna, he presumed.

  There was a short sign out front, staked into the grass. A ranger station sign, most likely. He couldn’t read it, not yet.

  Widow could see a light on coming from a small window on the front door, behind a thin curtain.

  As he closed the distance, he saw a ranger truck parked along the opposite side of the hut. Nose faced out. The truck was parked tail back.

  He walked up the track and was right. The sign read: Ranger Station. A station call number was printed at the bottom.

  The porch lights plunged on, dousing him with more yellow light, and the front door swung open. A giant holding a forty-five-caliber Smith & Wesson Magnum stepped out onto the porch.

  CHAPTER 14

  “STOP RIGHT THERE!” the giant said.

  Widow couldn’t see much of his face because a wave of light blasted from behind him in the open doorway, blinding him. Looked like the giant had switched all the lights on in the hut with the porch light when he saw Widow approach. They must’ve been all on the same panel, inside the door, mounted on the wall, most likely.

  The giant stood just a couple inches shy of seven feet tall, but he was as thick as a tree trunk. His shoulders were broad enough to take down a brick wall. Each of his legs was like a barrel from a tank. The guy’s arms were huge. His fists were like mailboxes, and his forearms were about as thick as the mailbox posts below. He didn’t need the gun.

  Widow was a big guy, but this guy was like the monster that gave him nightmares.

  The giant stepped all the way out to the end of the porch, stopped just on the end of the first step down.

  He said, “Step closer, now.”

  The only detail that Widow could make out was the silver gleam of the barrel of the gun. He had fired a Smith & Wesson before, plus plenty of other forty-five calibers, but Widow had never been shot by one. And he didn’t intend to start now.

  Widow stepped forward, slowly, and raised his hands to the surrender position. Universally known.

  He said, “Calm down. I’m not a threat.”

  The giant said, “Who are you?”

  “Jack Widow.”

  “What the hell are you doing here? It’s the middle of the night.”

  “Actually, I’m looking for you.”

  “Me?”

  “Not specifically you. But a ranger station.”

  The giant said nothing.

  “You’re a ranger, right?”

  The giant stepped down off the front porch. Every single board squeaked under his weight with the personification of utter relief.

  “I’m a park ranger,” he said, and lowered the gun, but kept his finger near the trigger housing.

  Widow got a look at him. He was older than Widow by about twenty years, but had plenty of muscle and girth to him. Widow didn’t want to be in a situation where he’d have to fight him for that gun. Something told Widow that the odds were not in his favor.

  The giant was dressed in a park ranger’s uniform. Brown button shirt, dark pants, and a hunter brown windbreaker. He had a full beard with silver streaks in it. His face was worn and slightly blistered. It was a memorable face. It probably would haunt his nightmares.

  The giant looked more like a mountain man than someone born of this time. He was out of place in that uniform, but in his natural habitat with the solace and isolation of a grave-shift park ranger.

  He said, “I am. What you doing out here? Your car break down or something?”

  “My ride ditched me. Back on the 101. I tried to catch another, but no one’s out this time of night. I saw the signs. And came here.”

  “Why’d your ride ditch you?”

  “He was disagreeable.”

  The giant nodded and said, “You can use my phone if you want.”

  Widow shrugged and asked, “Where’s the nearest town?”

  “There’s a coastal town south. About seven or eight miles. But it’s very small. Not much of a twenty-four-hour kinda place. The closest city is Eureka. That’s farther.”

  Widow said, “I doubt that a taxi will come this far out.”

  “I doubt it.”

  Silence fell between them. They stood there for a good long minute, until another wolf howled and broke the silence. The giant looked around and peered north.

  He said, “Well, I can’t have you wandering around out there all alone. I guess you’d better stay here until morning.”

  Widow nodded.

  The giant kept the forty-five in his hand. At first, Widow thought it was because he still saw him as a threat, but then Widow saw the giant wasn’t wearing a holster.

  He said, “Come on in.”

  They walked into the ranger station. The first floor had a sofa, two armchairs, a fireplace, and a kitchenette with a round eating table. The floor was made of long, wooden planks that creaked in regular intervals under the giant’s weight, which made them already worn in for Widow. To the right, was a split-level that stepped down through an open doorway. Inside, there was a set of office desks and business machines. The walls were postered with wildlife images, maps, and two calendars. One was old and still hanging, maybe to take up wall space.

  There was a makeshift mudroom area near the entrance. The giant stopped there and looked down at Widow’s feet. Looking for mud, he guessed.

  Widow stomped his boots until they were as clean as they were going to get and then he just slipped them off. He picked them up and held them in his hand. He didn’t want to leave them behind. Two things you didn’t want to be caught was with your pants down or your shoes out of reach.

  The giant turned to a wall of hanging coats. Suspended from one of the empty hooks was a gun belt, black leather and creased. He pulled it off the wall and holstered his weapon, but did not return the belt to the hook. He took it with him over to the armchair closest to the fireplace and dumped himself into the seat.
He strung the gun belt across his lap. He craned his head over his shoulder, and asked, “You hungry?”

  “No.”

  “Well, don’t just stand there. Come in. Make yourself at home.”

  Widow walked deeper into the station, feeling a little like he was in the principal’s office.

  The giant said, “Sorry about the gun. I’m out here all alone tonight. It’s unusual to get a visitor coming down the track.”

  “Don’t you have campers out here?”

  “Sure we do, but not this time of year.”

  “Why not? It’s beautiful land.”

  “Oh it’s gorgeous, but no one comes this time of year. Hunting season is over. Camping season ends tomorrow.”

  “You have a camping season?”

  “Of course.”

  “I never heard of that before.”

  The giant said, “You’re not from around here, are you?”

  Widow shook his head and said, “I’ve never even heard of this place before.”

  “Not many people have. It’s the most unknown of the parks in the area. You got Crater Lake and others within proximity. Why would you come here?”

  “Why is this one separate?”

  “Because of the gray wolf.”

  “The gray wolf?”

  “Yeah. A section of this park doubles as a sanctuary for them. You know one of our number one priorities as wildlife officials is conservation of endangered animals.”

  “Is the gray wolf endangered?”

  “Not really. But hell, to those bleeding hearts in Congress they’re all endangered. But don’t worry. We got plenty of them here.”

  “So why does camping end tomorrow?”

  “First day of summer.”

  Widow shrugged.

  “Out here, like a lot of national forests, the temperatures and the winds and the humidity get just right for wildfires.”

  “So campers aren’t allowed here in the summers because they might set off a fire?”

  “Not “might.” They will set one off. We have them almost every year.”

  “Every year?”

  “Sure. That’s just a part of nature. We get a lot of purging fires. They come once a year, normally. The firefighters will come out and monitor them.”

  “Monitor them?”

  “Yeah. They don’t put them all out. They usually set up a control fire to keep them contained. They only put them out if they get out of control or are headed toward civilization.”

  “I didn’t know that.”

  The giant said, “You don’t have to stand around. Make yourself comfortable.”

  Widow joined him and sat on the sofa across from him.

  In case the giant forgot, Widow said, “My name is Jack Widow.”

  “Mine is Gordon. Henry Gordon. Sorry again about the gun.”

  “No sweat. It’s understandable.”

  “Truth is I was sleeping when you knocked. I don’t normally do that. It’s my last night. I’m retiring tomorrow.”

  Widow looked around the room. None of his coworkers were there to throw him a party. Widow didn’t know the SOP for retiring professionals for the Wildlife Department. But he knew about camaraderie and fitting in. Wildlife rangers weren’t that different from regular cops. He was surprised that no one was there surprising the guy. The giant seemed bummed out about it.

  He must’ve guessed what Widow was thinking because he said, “They’re forcing me out. It’s a long story that barrels down to they want to portray a friendlier image to the public. And I ain’t that image. I’m the last of the old staff to go. They’ve brought on all new guys.”

  Widow nodded along like he understood and agreed, like he was saying, “Yeah, the man is always doing that to us.”

  Right then and there, Widow realized that it wasn’t exactly what he was saying. He saw the reason why they were forcing the giant to take his retirement. He pulled out a black liquor flask and twisted the top off, carefully, painstakingly slow because his fingers were far too big to be operating it. It was like watching someone using heavy building equipment to build a dollhouse.

  Finally, he got it open and took a swig. He offered Widow some, without a word.

  “No thanks.”

  “What? You don’t want to celebrate my retirement either?”

  Then Widow thought about his gun. Thought about the unknown factors about him.

  Widow shrugged, reached his hand out and took the flask. He took a sip. It was whiskey. He had drunk whiskey before. He had been in the Navy, after all.

  After another moment, Widow tried to lighten the mood.

  “Is that hand cannon government issued?”

  Gordon chuckled, tapped on it with his fingers.

  “Old Mary here is from my private collection. Of course. We’re allowed to carry personal weapons. In fact, we have to have something. Like I told you. I’m from an older generation. This is the gun for me.”

  Widow nodded.

  “Wanna know why I named it Mary?”

  “Why?”

  “Mary Tyler Moore.”

  He chuckled again, and said, “She was my muse. You know what I mean?”

  “I do.”

  He looked at his wristwatch and said, “Hey look, Jack. You’re a good guy. If you want to catch some sleep. I understand. We got rooms upstairs. There’s beds. All clean. Use the one down on the end. It’s got a shower in it.”

  Widow stayed quiet.

  “Hey. It’s not a four-star hotel or nothing. But beats wandering along the highway this time of night.”

  Widow shrugged.

  “Go on. Go ahead. I’ll wake you in the morning. There’s two more coming.”

  “Two more what?”

  “Fire lookouts?”

  Fire lookouts? he thought. That was exactly the book he had been reading. It was the job he had had all those summers ago. Suddenly, he felt fate. He got that rare feeling that he was on the path he was supposed to be on. Like destiny giving you a glimpse or road sign.

  The giant said, “Oh yeah. It’s a cool gig. If you like the wilderness and complete isolation.”

  “I know. I did it once.”

  “Did you?”

  “Yeah, I worked as a relief. One summer.”

  “That’s a strange coincidence. Most people have never heard of it.”

  Widow stayed quiet.

  The giant said, “You know today was the first day of fire season. We’re actually missing two lookouts. They’re supposed to come tomorrow. Or they don’t get paid.”

  Gordon yawned, rocked, pressed his hands on the arm of the chair, and hauled himself up. Then he stretched a moment and said, “Look here.”

  Widow got up off the sofa and followed him. He led Widow down two steps, carpeted, and into the office, which was also carpeted.

  On one wall, underneath a huge window that faced the observatory station, there was a table with a chair and a large CB Radio. The radio was on and the gauges were lit up. All that came over the speakers was static.

  Gordon walked over to a desk in the corner and plopped his gun and belt down on the top. He went over to a bulletin board on the wall, turned his back to Widow. He jerked a pamphlet off the wall, thumbtack and all.

  Gordon handed it to him.

  “Take this upstairs with you.”

  Widow looked it over. It was a pamphlet about the position of fire watch. It looked all official. It was marked with the seal of Wildlife and Rescue on the back.

  “Thanks,” Widow said, even though he already had the book. Then Widow said, “Guess I’ll take you up on that room then.”

  Gordon agreed to it because he wanted to go back to sleep on the sofa.

  “Sure thing.”

  Widow walked back to the main room and looked left, looked right.

  “Where’s the stairs?”

  Gordon pointed to a door in the corner.

  “Through there.”

  Widow nodded and walked to it, opened it. There was a short
hallway that led to a staircase.

  “Go on. I’ll wake you up at seven a.m. When the last two arrive. Then I’ll drive you into town.”

  Widow nodded and walked up the stairs. He shut the door.

  Widow flicked on a light at the top of the staircase and went to the last room, as Gordon had instructed him to do.

  All the doors were open and moonlight trickled in through the windows. The last bedroom was small, but larger than the other two.

  He flipped on the light and found a made-up cot with a thick wool blanket neatly canvased across the top and two pillows underneath.

  He dropped his boots onto the floor.

  The room was warm from heat blasting in through floor vents.

  Widow locked the door, just in case. Gordon did not seem like someone he would trust in normal circumstances.

  Widow went to the bathroom, flipped on the light. It was a simple enough set up. A shower and tub. A basin. A circular mirror. And a toilet. All he needed.

  He stuffed the pamphlet into the book like a bookmarker, tossed them both on the bed, and went back to the shower. He turned the knob and listened to the pipes sing and strain. Then a mist of water sprayed out of the showerhead, followed by a strong enough spray. Widow wrenched the knob until the dial was all the way in the hot direction. With two fingers, he gauged the temperature. It was cold. He left the bathroom, left the water running to heat up, and pulled off his clothes.

  He slipped his socks off first, setting them at the foot of the bed, then a pullover he’d just bought, a black undershirt and last his pants. He folded them all neatly and left them on a pile on the bed.

  He turned down the covers about halfway and returned to the shower.

  There was a toothbrush, heavy-duty-looking thing. It was still in a package, resting on the corner of the sink. There were two of them. And a tube of toothpaste. No razors.

  There was one single bar of soap.

  Towels were folded and piled behind the door.

  Widow grabbed one and wrapped it around his waist. He felt the shower again, still too cold.

  He went back to the bed and looked over the pamphlet.

  What a coincidence? he thought again, like he couldn’t help it.

  The pamphlet was an advertisement for the job of fire lookout. There were neat photos of a watchtower that looked like a cabin built on sturdy legs. Three flights of stairs wrapped around the base of the tower to the loft above. From the watch, there were panoramic views that were breathtaking, which would make sense.