At six o’clock the horizon is a wall of white smoke punctured by bursts of flame darkening the evening sky. He sits on the stoop of the house, lights a cigarette, and waits.
Myron returns with Anna and the children. Perched in the back of the wagon is the chicken coop. Lesya sits at its doorway, cooing at the clucking hens locked inside. The rooster ran off and was left behind. The black cat and her kittens hid under the barn and refused to come out, even with an offering of a fresh mouse. The cow tied to the back jogs behind, pulling at the halter, its eyes and nostrils wide, smelling the danger. The horse stomps and snorts, protesting Myron’s command to stop.
Maria greets them when they arrive and offers supper. Anna, wrapped in a full-length cloak, declines. Lesya and Petro swallow down their hunger and Maria insists. She threads her arm through Anna’s reassuringly. “You have to eat.” Anna suddenly craves dill pickles and wild blueberries.
As the hours tick by, the children join Teodor on the stoop. They curl up against his legs and spread their blankets on the ground beneath his feet. They silently watch the night sky. Half of the stars are obliterated by the unnatural darkness. A pulsing red glow looms in the east. Lesya and Katya snuggle together in a blanket, their heads covered. Katya furtively rolls the doughy ball of Christ between her fingers. Sofia coughs sporadically. Dania licks away the taste of smoke on her lips. The boys sit stoically, mimicking their father’s posture. Elbows on their knees, leaning forward, hands clasped, watching. Ivan struggles to keep his eyes open. It’s well past his bedtime. They all feel the low thump of danger in their chests and the need to stay close.
Teodor estimates that it’s ten or fifteen miles away and the wind is picking up. When a sprinkling of white ash showers down, Ivan takes his father’s hand. Teodor looks to Maria. “We have to go now.”
Maria claps the sleepy children awake. “You heard your tato, grab your things.”
She doesn’t look back when she shuts the door, afraid that she will run in and barricade herself inside.
Teodor leads the caravan of children and animals by the light of the kerosene lamp, down the hill, over the field; he skirts the rough ground of the firebreak and sets up camp in the clearing a few hundred feet from Bug Lake. The coop is hauled off the wagon and the cow tethered to a tree. Three more barrels are filled and strapped down in the back of the wagon. He chooses Dania and Myron to go to the east border with him. He needs two more and scans the faces of the children. They’re all too small.
“Sofia.” Her head is down and her shoulders drop when he calls her name. Lesya steps forward, standing as straight as she can. “And Lesya.”
“And me!” Ivan takes his place beside Myron. Maria signals Teodor, No.
“You stay with Mama, I need you to protect the cow.”
“I’ll go.” Anna climbs aboard the cart, pulling herself up heavily.
“You can’t.” Maria looks to the bulge poorly concealed by the ill-fitting cloak. “I need you here.”
“We’ll be okay,” Teodor promises. “If it reaches the firebreak, get everyone to the water. Cut the animals loose. Don’t wait.” And he is off.
“Don’t you wait!” Maria hollers after him, but Teodor doesn’t hear.
SPARKS IGNITE THE SKY NOT TWO MILES AWAY. THE wheat bows in the breeze as if in retreat. The horse, tethered to a stake in the ground, yanks at its restraint. The cart rocks back and forth, jostling the water. Teodor stands in the middle of the firebreak, surrounded by buckets, barrels, and soaked blankets. He is flanked on his left by Myron and Sofia, to his right, Dania and Lesya, and at the far end, Anna. Water barrels dot the east perimeter every twenty feet.
Myron surveys the hundred feet they barely cover and glances back at the six acres stretching behind them. He plants his feet deeper in the earth. Billowing black smoke rolls toward them, searing their eyes. They hear its crackle first, like a splintering of trees.
“Hold your ground,” Teodor calmly directs, but Sofia has already taken a step back. They can see the fire now, running on a southeast course. The flames seem to jump and leapfrog, fanning themselves wider. It looks like it’s going to pass by with maybe two hundred feet to spare.
They feel its devouring heat. Partridges explode from the bush; flames lick up the branches. The fire converges in a muskeg knoll and ignites the tops of the trees. A burst of wind drives the sparks toward the firebreak. They watch them float to the ground like fireworks, a gentle rain extinguishing itself. The few that make it to the earth alive pulse red on the ground. Teodor stomps them dead.
“Myron, water!” Myron grabs a bucket and drenches the throbbing embers.
“Over there, there’s more,” Lesya shouts.
“Stay in the firebreak,” Teodor hollers as he rushes to the next threat. It is the southeast corner that might get hit.
“Water it down!” Teodor yells to Anna. She pushes against the barrel, a sharp pain stabs her side. She pushes harder and the barrel slowly tips and topples over, drenching the ground. The fire catches in the thick underbrush and smothers low. A rabbit bursts from the trees, zigzags madly across the firebreak, and charges past Anna into the wheat. The flames roll across the spruce trees and wrap away from the field.
“Keep going, keep going…” Teodor wills it onward.
A snake of flame shoots up the trunk of a hollow, dead tamarack. It flares alive, writhing to the upper limbs. The wood pops and snaps, a burning torch illuminating the upturned faces. The trunk cracks and branches crash to the ground, shattering into fire. Teodor grabs a bucket and races toward the tongue flickering through the weeds. He hurls water on the beast, cutting off its head. Around him dry grass erupts into halos of flame. He jumps on one, crushing it back. Another erupts to his right. A gust of wind swirls around him and a trail like spilled gasoline whooshes past. The wind slams Teodor in the face, directly from the east.
“Get back!” he screams to Myron. “Get back!” The fire rears its head behind him. They scramble for the firebreak with flames biting at their heels.
“Drop the water!” Teodor orders.
Lesya and Dania push their barrel over and run for the next. Anna strains to topple the third. The barrel groans over and slams against the earth. The ground is so dry that the water skims the surface and spills into the cracks disappearing instantly. Sofia struggles to overturn her barrel, but she can barely jostle the water. She leans against it. The fire rolls toward her, floating low across the prairie, a cascade of iridescent orange. Myron slams against her barrel. Water splashes over her shoes, soaking her stockings. “Get more water!” Myron yells at her as he runs to the next barrel.
The horse tugs and snorts against its restraints as Sofia climbs aboard the cart, tossing her onto the floor. She struggles to fill the bucket, slipping on the boards, as she is jostled by the horse’s fear. “Hurry!” Myron screams. She is running back with the bucket clanging against her knees, water slopping down her legs, when the flames reach the firebreak. The fire roars upward, screaming against the impasse. It climbs straight up, twenty feet, howling its rage. She can see its eyes, looking straight at her. Sofia falls to her knees, unable to move. Teodor hurls water at the demon; it sputters and groans, before opening its mouth wider. Dania tears the bucket from Sofia: “Get up!” Sofia buries her face into the dirt and covers her head.
A deer, its coat singed, leaps through a hoop of flames, its hooves crash into the ground beside Sofia. Its eyes wide, its sides heaving, it bolts sideways and plunges through the wheat.
Lesya passes a full bucket to Anna and runs back for another. Sparks spit across the dirt barrier, igniting half-buried, tangled, dried roots. Anna’s cloak trails through sparks. They grab the fabric and flare up her leg. She watches mesmerized as a blue-yellow flame circles her. “Mama!” Lesya screams, the word sounding foreign to her ears. Teodor reacts instantaneously, smothering the flames with a blanket.
“It’s cold,” Anna marvels. But he doesn’t have time to ponder her words.
“Ta
ke her to the cart,” and Lesya leads her through the wheat, not understanding the smile on her mother’s lips.
The fire licks along the firebreak, rushes to the southeast corner, and surges around the rock wall. Dozens of snakes slither from their hiding place. They writhe across the ground, coiling over Teodor’s boots. Wild daisies curl and shrivel in the heat. The ground steams and hisses, grows hot underfoot. The fire twists upward and slams down, stretching across the barren ground, its fingers groping for the wheat. Teodor beats it back with wet blankets. With each waft of the cloth, sparks rage upward. His face wears the fire’s reflection, red and twisted, filled with hate, two demons dancing in the screaming light. Teodor pummels back the flames.
The children rush to his aid, hurling buckets of water, tripping and falling, sparks raining down on their arms and hair, stinging them. They stumble over one another. Myron grabs a bundle of soaking burlap and unfurls it over the southeast corner. The wheat collapses under the weight. The smoke blinds them. They choke on the heat.
“More water!” Teodor yells, losing ground, his back pressed up against the wheat.
Lesya and Dania reach the cart simultaneously. They jump onboard. Lesya rams her knees against the sidewall but doesn’t feel the pain. They force their buckets into the barrels and yank them out full.
“More water!” he screams as the fire rears up behind him. Dania jumps over the side, her foot rolls in a gopher hole, and she crashes to the ground. The bucket slops over, emptying its contents. She looks to her father, knowing she has failed. The fire howls and spirals downward, a crashing wave of flame. It barely licks the tips of the grain… and the wheat ignites. With blinding white intensity, the stalks explode.
“Go to the lake!” Teodor tramps down the wheat to intercept the flames. “Now, goddamn it! Now!”
And they run. Dania grabs Sofia and hoists her into the cart. Lesya drags Anna, who is riveted by the fire’s wild beauty. As far as the night reaches, the flames rage. The entire world is on fire.
“Cut the barrels,” Teodor yells as he unrolls wet burlap behind him. Myron rushes in with another wet blanket to carpet the wheat.
Teodor tears the blanket from his hands. “Go with your sisters!”
“I’m staying here.” Teodor shoves him, knocking him to the ground. “Get the hell out of here!” He kicks him in the ass. “Go!” In that moment, Myron hopes his father fucking burns to death. He runs blindly to the wagon and wrenches the reins from Dania. The horse bolts even before Myron whips it. Lesya and Dania throw themselves on the barrels to keep them upright.
“Let them go!” Teodor calls after them. “Drop them!” Dania pushes over the first barrel. Water floods the cart and pours off the back, soaking the crushed wheat flattened by the horse and wheels. The cart cuts a swath through the grain. Fire crashes against the firebreak. Only the southeast corner has been breached. Dania looks back at her father, beating down the grain, shrinking against the backdrop of flames.
The water trickles to a drizzle. The empty barrel bangs and rolls against the cart. Dania clings to the side as the horse gallops madly through the night. “Drop it!” she yells. Lesya squeezes between the barrel and the side and heaves. The wagon slams into a hole and jolts upward, driving the loose, empty barrel against her crippled leg. The pain explodes white in her head.
“Drop it!” Dania screams.
Lesya strains against the weight pinning her leg, she throws her body against the full barrel. Again and again she slams into it, until slowly it teeters and falls, releasing a stream of wetness that slicks a glistening trail behind them through the flattened grain.
“GET UP!” MARIA SHAKES KATYA, CURLED UP ASLEEP IN a blanket on the ground, and pulls her to her feet. Katya groggily looks up at the night sky turning into day and the stars falling from the sky like angels. She feels the ball of Christ warm and sticky in her clenched hand.
“Go to the water, wait for me there.” Maria throws a cold wet blanket over her shoulders. “Go!” Katya stumbles a few steps toward the lake, then turns back looking for her mother. She sees the fires of Hell bursting from the earth. “Go!” Katya runs.
Ivan and Petro fumble to untie the knot that the cow has pulled tight, anchoring itself to the tree. Their small fingers tear against the twine. “Cut it,” Petro wheezes. Ivan scrambles for the ax. Maria reaches the chicken coop and pries open the door. She grabs a squawking hen and stuffs it into a gunnysack.
The horse and cart burst from the darkness. The horse’s head is pulled back, its teeth grimacing, as Myron reins it in hard. It fights to keep running, but Myron holds on and the cart rumbles to a stop. Water drips through the floorboards.
Maria scans the sooty faces and wild hair. “Where’s your father?”
“He wouldn’t come.” He spits the words.
Behind them the horizon flares white and they feel its hot breath. Maria tosses the gunnysacks into the wagon. Lesya jumps off and her foot gives way under her. She crumples to the ground but slaps away Dania’s proffered hand and scrambles to her feet. Sofia, huddled in a corner of the wagon, doesn’t budge. She grips the sides, her arms shaking from the exertion, her eyes fixed on the fire chasing them.
Maria and Dania throw utensils, shovels, pots, and blankets wildly into the back of the cart. Myron warily gauges the speed of the fire. “We have to go, soon,” his voice cracks. Mice scamper wildly around them. Birds scattershot into the sky, screeching their warnings. Grasshoppers catapult and ricochet.
“Get that cow out of here!”
Ivan chops through the rope. “Let’s go!” Petro grabs the halter and pulls. The cow plants its feet and refuses to budge. Ivan slaps its rump as Petro hauls on the rope. “We have to go,” Ivan pleads with the cow. He talks to its eye, trying to make it understand. “You’re going to die here.” He can see that it can’t hear past its fear. He grabs its tail and twists with all his might. The cow jumps, kicking its heels, and lurches ahead. Ivan and Petro chase it, clapping and whooping, herding it forward.
From the wagon, Anna calmly watches the chaos. A blur in the bush catches her attention. The rustling branches part and a coyote steps out. It freezes at the sight of the humans and the noise and commotion. It looks back to the bush, its ears and nose twitching, and back at the humans blocking its path to the water. Anna stands and slowly steps down from the cart. She walks toward the wild dog. The coyote growls, it lowers its head and snarls. “It’s me. Don’t be afraid.” She holds out her hand, but the coyote bolts back into the bush. She hears it crashing through the undergrowth, skirting the water, and she follows.
KATYA STANDS AT THE WATER’S EDGE, WAITING FOR HER mama. The smoke hangs low, obscuring her view. The sky throbs red and orange. She holds Christ cupped in her hands, wishing she had more of him and if he was going to wake up and save them, now would be a good time. She hears a whishing sound. “Mama?” The long grass sways. A stick falls onto the shoreline, and then another, and another. They wriggle alive and glide across the bog toward her. It is not until they are a few feet away that she realizes they are snakes.
She backs into the water, up to her ankles, then her knees… still they come. Slithering toward her, thin golden streaks, curling and uncurling. A tightening in her lungs reminds her that she can’t swim. Her dress hem touches the water and she instinctively lifts it up. The snakes reach the water and keep coming. Katya stumbles backward to her waist, her chest. The snakes float on the surface, their heads arched up, their tails and bodies propelling them forward. The water ripples behind them. Katya stops when the water reaches her neck. The snakes’ heads level with hers, she raises her hand and holds up the doughy ball of Christ. A white paste oozes between her fingers, drips down her arm, and spills into the water. Jesus dissolving all around her. The brigade of snakes part and dart past her ears, their tiny wake lapping against her chin.
MYRON STRUGGLES TO HOLD BACK THE REARING HORSE. “We have to go now!” The fire surges toward them in long strides, smelling its prey.
> Maria throws on the last of the load. “Where’s Lesya?”
Lesya fights to shove another chicken into the sack. It kicks free and the birds tumble out. “Leave them!” Maria screams at her. The hens careen in all directions. She drops to her knees and crawls into the coop to retrieve Happiness. The bird pecks at her hands.
“Leave it!” Dania pulls on her legs. Lesya grabs the hen by its feathers as Dania drags her out. She tucks it under her arm and they run. Myron snaps the reins and the cart hurls past them. Maria glances back to see the flames bleed across the clearing, searching for the woods. She runs faster, her arms laden with pots and pans clanging wildly.
From the safety of her holy water, Katya sees her family emerge from the smoke and flames. The horse charges for the lake. The wooden wheels slog through the mud. The horse lunges against the harness, driving it forward. A few feet from the water’s edge, the wheels mire down completely in the bog. Myron jumps off and pushes. The cart rocks an inch and rolls back. He sees Sofia still crouched inside.
“Get off.” And when Sofia doesn’t respond, he drags her out. She lands hard on the dirt. “Push!” Myron yells and his fury shatters her paralysis. Dania, Ivan, and Petro join them. The fire funnels toward them. Maria sees her children, feet away from safety. “Leave it, get in the water!”
Myron jumps into the cart and hurls the empty barrels, shovels, and supplies into the water. “Push!” Maria drops her pots and pans and throws her weight against the back. The wagon breaks free and rolls a few feet into the water, before bogging down again. The horse’s hind legs sink in the slimy bottom. It loses its footing and falls on its side, flailing in the water. The cart slowly tips over, twisting the horse’s head underwater. Myron splashes to the front of the cart, knife in hand, he gropes underwater for the harness. He saws at the wet leather. The wagon slams down. The horse rises from the water in a spray of moon and flames. It spins around and swims to the opposite shore. The fire roars behind them.
Under This Unbroken Sky Page 11