The Fire (Northwest Passage Book 4)

by John A. Heldt

  The Palouse winds, of course, had been a problem all day, pushing a tsunami of fire from the Clearwater to the Coeur d'Alene and creating chaos even in town. In the last two hours, gusts had snapped trees like twigs, overturned wagons, and knocked even the largest men clean off their feet. If the firebreaks and backfires didn't stop the fire's advance, nothing would now.

  Kevin left his waterlogged house and fetched his jacket and hat, extravagances he was not quite ready to discard. As he headed north on King, with the wind at his back, he thought about how the night had started, how it had gone, and how it might end. Would history repeat itself? Or had the presence of a time traveler somehow changed the course of events?

  He continued to ponder the possibilities as he walked several blocks to the main assembly at King and Bank. As he drew closer to the group, he noticed that many men seemed embroiled in a lively discussion. Many looked and pointed his way. He didn't know what the fuss was about until he heard the words "south" and "wind" and "homes." He detected an edge in their voices.

  Then Kevin noticed something else. The wind at his back had become the wind at his side. When he turned around he saw the reason for the fuss. Flames once bound for King Street now raced across the south hill toward the unprotected east end of town.

  Kevin arrived at the intersection just as the mayor consulted with his advisors. Recognizing a new and greater threat to his city, the mayor, standing in the middle of the assembly, ordered a complete evacuation. Within minutes, available men were divided into three large groups.

  This time Kevin went willingly. As much as he wanted to grab Sarah and bolt, he knew he couldn't do it. He was in the thick of things now and had a moral obligation to lend a hand. So he joined the first group to leave and headed toward the downtown core at break-neck speed.

  He wasn't sure what he would find when he got there, but he knew what he would do when he did. He would get people to safety and put them on trains. That was all that mattered when a city was burning. His long night was about to get longer.

  CHAPTER 71: SARAH

  When Sarah entered City Hospital at six forty, she walked into a crowded lobby and a sea of activity. More than a dozen volunteers tended to those waiting for medical treatment.

  Most brought water, food, and wet towels to firefighters and others who had suffered the ravages of fatigue. Two pacified crying children. Still more moved a few bedridden patients from their rooms to vehicles that would take them to the relative safety of Osburn, five miles to the west. Though no one seemed to believe that the fire would reach the hospital, no one appeared eager to take any chances.

  Sarah assisted where needed. She moved critical supplies from wagons outside to cabinets inside, filled out forms, answered phone calls, and eventually treated the patients in waiting, whose numbers increased from twenty at seven o'clock to more than fifty at eight.

  Many came in to escape the suffocating smoke, including a few of the hundred or so miners who had been recruited to build a firebreak around the vulnerable back side of the hospital. A few came in to escape, period.

  Sarah found one such man at eight fifty. With a dirty face, a defeated expression, and vacant eyes, he looked like he needed not only a wet towel and water but also a hug.

  "How are you doing?" Sarah asked as she handed him a towel.

  "I'm better now," the man said. "Thank you."

  Sarah looked at the new arrival and couldn't tell whether he was a forest ranger or one of the hundreds of unskilled men who had joined the firefighting cause in search of wages and meals. She suspected the latter. The man looked lost and overwhelmed but thankfully not injured.

  None of the men who had walked into the hospital, in fact, appeared to have serious injuries. Even better, none had serious burns. That suited Sarah just fine. If she made it through the night without seeing a serious burn, she would count herself among the luckiest people in town.

  Sarah had once dreamed of becoming a nurse. As a girl, she had often read magazine articles detailing the heroics of women who wanted to follow in the footsteps of Florence Nightingale. She could think of nothing more rewarding and exciting than helping to save the lives of others.

  Her enthusiasm for the noble profession dimmed, however, when she read about nurses who treated patients with serious burns. It was one thing to dress bloody wounds and change bedpans. It was another to watch someone's skin fall off.

  "Where did you come from?" Sarah asked the man.

  "I was with a crew on Bad Tom Mountain. We got out when we could."

  "How bad is it out there?"

  "It's the worst, ma'am. It's the worst."

  "Drink some water then. It will do wonders on a day like this."

  Sarah gave the firefighter a glass of water and watched him gulp it down. When she was convinced that he wouldn't die of heatstroke before the nurses made their rounds, she moved on to a second man and then a third. She didn't mind the work and, in fact, felt good about donating her time on a night when many Wallace residents would be asked to do the same.

  She didn't feel good about sending Kevin into harm's way. She worried about his safety and longed for the moment that they could escape 1910 and again enjoy the wonders of his scary, exciting, and now strangely comforting world.

  Sarah was about to get more towels when she saw Marie Denton walk through the doors carrying a stack of blankets. She watched her give the blankets to a nurse at the reception desk and then called out to her when she headed toward the exit.

  "What are you doing here?" Sarah asked.

  "I could ask you the same question."

  "We ran into a group of men who decided to enforce the call for able-bodied men while we were walking on Sixth Street. They didn't give Kevin a choice. He's helping the firefighters," Sarah said. "When I learned that the hospital needed help, too, I came right over. What about you? Why are you here?"

  "I come here all the time," Marie said. "I usually bring cake and cookies. Tonight I brought blankets. From the looks of this place, I may have to get more."

  "People have been coming in all night. Fortunately, most don't require serious treatment."

  "That's good. I'm starting to get worried about what I'm seeing on the street."

  "What do you mean?" Sarah asked.

  "People are panicking. That's what. I'm not sure what's going on, but something is different. I saw about fifty people walk down Sixth Street with suitcases and bags. I think they were going to the train station."

  "Have the fires reached town?"

  "I don't think so, but it's hard to tell. It's so dark out there that you can't see ten feet in front of you. There are embers falling from the sky, though, and I can hear trees crackling. If it's not here, then it's really close."

  Sarah didn't like the sound of that at all. For the first time since she walked to the hospital at First and Cedar, she believed that her evening would not end with a quick and happy reunion.

  "Have you seen any of the firefighters?"

  "I have. A large group of them ran toward the east end of town. I think they were ordered there, but I don't know why," Marie said. "I also saw the Marshalls."

  Sarah dropped a towel.

  "You saw what?"

  "I saw the Marshalls. They arrived just as I left. I gave them your message, but they refused to leave. They wouldn't even consider it. They said they were tired and ready for bed."

  Sarah closed her eyes and balled her fists as anger took hold. She couldn't believe they could so cavalierly disregard her warning in light of what was happening around them.

  "Did you notice anything that might suggest the fire is getting closer to that part of town?"

  Marie shook her head.

  "The smoke and wind are awful, but I didn't see any flames. Why do you ask?"

  Sarah paced back and forth as she tried to reconcile her promise to Kevin with an obligation she felt to save the lives of two people who had provided her a home. Life could be so unfair.

  "Things are g
oing to get bad really fast. That's why. Wait here."

  Sarah walked to the desk and grabbed the phone the second it was available. She dialed the Marshalls' three-digit number but didn't get an answer. When she called the operator, she was told that some of the lines were down.

  Sarah started to dial the Marshalls' number again when she saw a man burst through the front doors and ask for a doctor. She put the receiver on the hook when he rushed to the desk.

  "Get ready for more patients," he told a nurse. "The fire has reached town. It's jumped the south hill. It's hit the east side. It's on Garnet Street now!"

  CHAPTER 72: KEVIN

  When the leaders of the first group from King Street reached their destination at Seventh and Bank, they divided their charges into two groups. Those asked to help the firefighters went south. Those asked to help residents get to the trains stayed put.

  Kevin joined the latter group. While he had no qualms about picking up another hose, he wanted to do something that was immediately gratifying. Helping women and children get on a train as their city burned to a crisp had more appeal than shooting a squirt gun at a fire.

  Told to wait until the masses hit the streets, Kevin made the most of his short reprieve. He leaned on a streetlight and thought about two men who had gained even more of his respect over the course of the evening.

  Though Grandpa Roger and Walking Walt may have added spin to stories that didn't need it, they hadn't embellished a thing in describing this night. They had nailed every detail from the sun-blocking smoke to the falling embers to the shifting winds. Walt had even correctly recalled the time the mayor had declared a state of emergency.

  Kevin made a mental note to give Walt a big tip the next time he saw him or, better yet, buy him a drink. They would have much to talk about.

  The time traveler thought about what the inferno had presumably already done to isolated towns like Taft and Grand Forks and to firefighters in the area, including Ed Pulaski's men, who were probably just now emerging from the safety of a tunnel, and the doomed Lost Crew near Avery. All twenty-eight men in that unit had died, at least the first time around.

  Then Kevin thought about what the fire might still do, would still do, to Wallace itself. He remembered that the fire on the east side of the city had started late and not on the perimeter, as many had expected, but rather in the middle of town.

  The horrifying particulars came to him the moment he glanced at his watch and then at the Wallace Standard building a half block away. Like the Chicago fire of 1871, the Wallace fire of 1910 had had its own catalyst, its own Mrs. O'Leary's cow, and that cow was on its way.

  Kevin looked at the dark sky just as an ember the size of a campfire log drifted over the newspaper building and landed on a pile of greasy rags, used cans of solvent, and scraps of newsprint. The combustible mix exploded, right on schedule at nine fifteen, igniting the building and everything around it. Within minutes, half the block was in flames.

  Kevin rushed to an exit and helped reporters, editors, pressmen, and others escape to the street as the fire spread to a nearby hotel, hardware store, and cigar factory. He thought again of Roger Johnson, who had described this scene to a T, and of Andy O'Connell, who had made the wisest decision of his life in July. Kevin hoped that he was safe and sound in Spokane and didn't do anything stupid like grab the first train to Wallace.

  He escorted a shaken linotype operator to the corner of Seventh and Hotel Street, where soldiers and police had established a presence and guided the wounded and the weary toward the center of town and relative safety. After releasing the man to an Army medic, Kevin started across the street but didn't make it three steps before he heard several more explosions.

  The blaze that had started outside the Standard building had spread to a railroad siding in front of the Sunset Brewing Company, setting off boxcars filled with malt, sugar, and grits like a string of giant firecrackers. From there the fire moved to the loading platform and then the rest of the four-story brick building.

  What followed was a scene from science fiction. The flames that raced from side-to-side and floor-to-floor set off a cacophony of pops, fizzles, and booms that both shocked and amazed. Within minutes two thousand barrels of beer flowed out of windows, doors, and vents and onto the street, creating a river of foam two feet deep and two blocks long.

  People and animals that couldn't go around the stream went through it. One man waded through the beer with a boy on his back. Another drove a horse and buggy blindly through an intersection, nearly striking a woman who had slipped in the muck. A half-block away, a large dog pushed through the foam like it was plowing through snow. All moved in the same direction with the same purpose: to escape with their lives.

  Kevin looked on in horror as building after building went up in flames. The fire played no favorites, consuming whorehouses, warehouses, shops, offices, and homes. Firefighters rushed to save the new county courthouse, wedged between Hotel and Bank streets, and formed a line from Cedar to Pearl. In less than thirty minutes, Seventh Street became the new line in the sand. The second defense of Wallace, Idaho, was under way.

  Even burning buildings, however, couldn't compete with the spectacle on Sixth Street, where hundreds of residents raced toward bridges like passengers racing toward the dry end of the Titanic. The shifting winds had done more than send an inferno to another part of town. They had triggered a massive exodus that one historian would later call "controlled chaos."

  Kevin retreated to Sixth and Bank, a block from the fire, and looked for people he knew. He saw a few of his students and their families but not many others. Most of the refugees traveled in groups. Many carried suitcases, bags, birdcages, and bottles of soda and beer.

  Concerned that ashes and dead animals had polluted a reservoir and a flume, the mayor had declared the city's drinking water unsafe. He had issued an order temporarily rescinding a law that prohibited the sale of alcohol on Sundays, clearing the way for Wallace's many saloons to stay open past midnight. Most saloon owners happily complied.

  Though the mayor, Kevin remembered, would not declare martial law until midnight, he had already secured much of the town by ordering police, firemen, deputized volunteers, and units of the 25th Infantry to strategic locations around the city. Those closest to the fire lines often doubled as auxiliary firefighters. When the flames moved along Seventh Street, several soldiers traded their rifles for buckets and doused wooden window frames in buildings at greatest risk.

  Kevin stood on the corner and pondered his next move. He had come here to help others and still wanted to help others, but now he wondered whether he could help anyone. He felt small and useless, like a riot cop watching order slowly slip away.

  Once again, he considered running. With his handlers nowhere in sight, he had the chance to exit for good. He knew he could live with that decision. This wasn't his time. This wasn't his fight. He was an interloper in a human drama that had already played once. If anything, he had an obligation to let history run its course. He could leave this place with Sarah in tow and leave it in less than thirty minutes.

  Then the moral compass that had brought him this far pointed north again – north toward the trains. When Kevin walked across Sixth Street, he saw two toddlers cry for their mother. No one came for the girls. No one seemed to care. For all practical purposes, they were alone in the world with no one to hear their cries but a time traveler who didn't belong.

  Kevin hesitated for a moment and then acted. He scooped the girls in his arms and carried them a block to a policeman who said he knew their parents.

  When he was certain the toddlers were safe, he glanced across the street and saw another crisis in the making. A frail woman struggled to manage three small children and a large suitcase as she slowly worked her way toward the depots.

  Kevin grabbed the suitcase and the hand of one of the boys and accompanied the family to its destination. He knew there were a hundred better ways to spend a Saturday night but none came readily
to mind. This was his calling on August 20, 1910, and maybe his calling in life. It was time to set aside his own interests, at least for a night, and do what he knew was right.

  CHAPTER 73: KEVIN

  The control in the "controlled chaos" ended where the road hit the rails. When many residents crossed the bridge and reached the tracks, they bolted for open railcars like they were the last available lifeboats on a sinking ship. The parallels to the Titanic tragedy, still twenty months off, were just beginning.

  Kevin couldn't blame people for running. The blaze had gotten worse. The fire to the south had become the fire to the west, east, and north and now laid siege to a city that was running out of options and defensible real estate.

  Flames from the east, in fact, had already jumped the river and started bringing down each of the Oregon Railroad and Navigation Company depots, forcing refugees out of the buildings and off of a flammable railway platform. Those wishing to board the train now had to do so from open, uneven ground fifty to a hundred yards away.

  Kevin saw another problem as well: many of the passenger cars waiting to carry residents to safety were not passenger cars at all, but rather boxcars and flatcars. People all along the length of the train fought each other for limited coach space, with the strongest and meanest winning most of the time.

  Some of the strongest and meanest included businessmen who had left their chivalry on the south side of the river and bullied their way into cars specifically designated for women, children, and the sick. When Kevin saw one man knock a pregnant woman to the ground in a race to reach a coach, he tackled him from behind and pushed his face into the dirt.

  Driven by moral outrage, Kevin kicked the man in the side twice – once for the woman and once for her child – and then looked for someone else to hit. He really wanted to find Preston Pierce throwing babies off the train but instead found a few women behaving as badly as the men. He wondered what it was about trauma and tragedy that brought out the worst in people.