Running Hot

by Rachel Hanna

  Maybe he really had heard something.

  I went still as any forest creature, sniffing. I didn't smell anything more than the distant smoky scent I'd gotten earlier from the fire I could see at a distance. So maybe I was hearing birds? Quail moving in the underbrush? Or – badgers? There were coyotes on the mountain, of course, but coyotes didn't scare me. In their own environment, they probably wouldn't bother me if I didn't bother them. I'd been in coyote country in my own Reno foothills lots of times and never even seen them. They're shy. But I'd seen lots of birds and squirrels and even a rabbit or two. None of those scared me. I'd rather not run into a badger, and I thought we had them in the mountains, but what were the chances of something like a badger, puma or bobcat?

  Plus? These weren't any of those things. These were sounds caused by fire. Even as I watched the white smoke of active burn began to rise.

  It was directly in front of me. The trail was narrow enough the fire could easily jump it. It could be burning on both sides if it wasn't already. My heart pounded. Breath came hard though I'd been breathing easy.

  Panic. I took a quick look back up the mountain. The descent from summit was 23,000 feet. Every time I read that I thought it was wrong. Right or wrong, I wasn't prepared to go back up. Up meant more rocky, less foliage, but it was the Sierra Nevada mountains: up meant forest fire. It was no better.

  Down was less effort. I could move faster. Fatigue was a factor. I'd never run for more than 24 hours. My legs and feet hurt. My breathing had been OK till the panic. Now my chest was tight. The twisted ankle scared me.

  Down was also the direction of the fire. If I started pacing the flames to either side of the trail, I could get lost again. This time I would be lost while moving through fire.

  Panic again. There should be other runners coming up on me by now. Three hundred crazy runners going over the mountain. Surely some of them were slower than me, and those should be catching up. I was standing still, and I'd spent all that time with Cody.

  Cody. I put one hand over my eyes and scanned the direction he'd gone. The only sign of him was the rapidly graying smoke from the original location.

  That was good, if the fire was out. And if the line of flame led directly from there to here he'd show up, wouldn't he? Or other firefighters would.

  If the flames were from a spark, one he'd missed, it could be hours. Or maybe no one would come until the fire blazed.

  I started up the mountain, undecided, needing to move. It was too steep, too crazy rocky. My legs ached, then slipped, and my ankle twanged again. It had been holding me, but not with any great enthusiasm. Weakened, it could injure again easily.

  I have to get out of here.

  Down, then. All I could see was white smoke. But where it had been delineated it now blurred across the trail. A light breeze had come up. That could mean spreading fire. And smoke.

  Panic made me start gagging for air. My head filled with the last 18 months, Jason, job, Melody telling me to do something to commemorate, to be victorious.

  "Go, Rory, run through a fire," I snarled, and started coughing. The air wasn't that bad. I knew that. The smoke hung ahead of me, like wood smoke I ran through in Reno on fall nights. One patch and out the other side.

  It's just that out here? I didn't know how far it was to the other side.

  I spun around again. Still nobody on the trail. Cody had said this was the trail. I believed that. Even if it wasn't, I needed to move. If other runners caught up to me, good!

  First step my ankle sent up a warning flare. Didn't matter, I had to go forward. Next step wasn't so bad, next step even better. I moved fast but didn't run. I'd get through the smoke. I'd scope out where I was. I'd run back off the mountain. And I'd never, ever do anything like this again.

  I plunged into the smoke. My eyes burned and watered. The world went away, then reappeared in patches. There was visibility through the smoke and tears. The trail was still under my feet.

  Keep going.

  I blinked down the distance. Looked like the smoke cleared in about 50 feet. It stank, and so would I, but if this was all the worse it was, OK.

  Pulling my t-shirt up over my nose and mouth, I started moving forward again. And instantly stopped. A line of flame burned to my right. Coming from the direction of the original fire.

  I gasped, dragged in smoke, coughed and couldn't stop.

  Drop, I thought. Smoke rises, right? Down on my hands and knees in the dirt, gravel biting into flesh. Theory sucked. The smoke was thickening. Even the ground was smoky. I couldn't move fast this way.

  I stood. My head reeled. Dizzy, with dark spots in my eyes. I put out one hand but there was nothing to grab. Looking to my right again, I saw a line of flames headed toward me. Now I had no clear idea which way was which. Downhill would lead me, but I'd hit a plateau. Fire to the right.

  … right?

  I couldn't breathe.

  But the day had been clear, with a very light wind. I could only have stumbled into a patch of smoke. A finite patch of smoke. I just needed to move forward.

  The retching started again. My chest felt like an elephant was sitting on it.

  Keep moving. Isn't that how I'd always gotten somewhere?

  One foot after another. My lungs burned. My eyes were shutting on their own. I couldn't see for the smoke. Except for the flames. They danced too bright to ignore.

  I hadn't survived Jason just to die on this stupid mountain. I'd come to run. I'd run.

  Fifteen steps later I heaved for air. The smoke wasn't getting thinner. I didn't know what to do. I felt for my phone on my arm band, not surprised to find I had no reception.

  My hands went to my knees. My head hung. I gave another gasp for air.

  A figure came out of the graying smoke. Strong arms wrapped around my waist, straightening me back up. A voice said loud in my ear, "Breathe," just as a plastic cup went over my mouth. I gagged on the sudden fresh air, gave a sputtered cough, and breathed again.

  My eyes wouldn't open against the smoke. I couldn't force myself to stand upright.

  "I'm going to carry you," the voice said.

  Cody?

  Strong arms wrapped around my legs, hoisting me over a broad shoulder. Probably not a great look, being carried this way.

  I so didn't care.

  Running down the mountain on my own two feet? Vastly preferable to the jouncing journey over the muscled shoulder.

  I still had the mask, and it was still delivering fresh air. My lungs were kicking out smoke, or something, so I coughed and jolted even more over the firefighter's shoulder. No proof that it was Cody.

  Didn't care about that, either.

  Snatches of trail appeared and disappeared, becoming more frequent and lasting longer as we went down the mountain. Whoever was carrying me, I wasn't a huge burden for him. I watched the white smoke get thinner, graying around the edges as we reached a place where figures, distinct in the summer sunlight, shoveled dirt and sprayed foam fire retardant on the baby flames.

  Then we were clear of the burn area. My ride jogged to a stop, said, "All passengers must disembark," and slid me almost gracefully to my feet.

  My knees and one ankle promptly buckled. He caught me, but only as I slid down his muscled chest, kind of grabbing for a hold. My legs felt like rubber and my ankle felt like an eggshell filled with nails.

  "Hey, there," the voice said, catching both me and the very small tank of compressed air, and steadying everything.

  I looked up into those piercing blue eyes. My head swam. Probably because of the panic and smoke. But those eyes made an impression even now. I started to say something, but he beat me to it.

  "Told you you'd get lost."

  I shoved away from him. "I have a race to finish."

  That would have been more impressive if, having shoved myself backwards, I didn't keep going. And if he hadn't caught me again.

  "Right. We'll just get you some more air and some crutches and – " That same smirk played o
ver his mouth. I hadn't known him an hour but he'd found the perfect way to enrage me. I felt like my old, pre-Jason self around him, feisty and alive.

  And annoyed. "I'm fine," I said. "Now. Thank you. That was." I stopped and looked past him, back the way we'd come. I shivered despite the growing heat of the day. "Horrible." My eyes shifted up to his face. "How do you do that every day?"

  Whatever it was between us, I had the power to shut him down, it seemed. Everything in his face shuttered, his eyes going cold and distant, the smirk gone like it had never been there. Which made no sense, because it was what he did. He was a fireman.

  "It's what I do," he said, with no passion. "It's what I trained for." He didn't look back at the now-black smoke rising, just looked at me, with empty, dead eyes. "You should let the EMT unit check you out."

  I blinked, imagining an ambulance waiting somewhere on the other side of the unburnt greenery, but he probably just meant one or more of the firefighters were medics.

  "I'm breathing OK," I said, feeling slightly less punchy. "I can probably get myself out of here on foot. I need to report to the finish line even though – " I glanced at the watch I was wearing for the race. "Yeah, it's 9:45. Not going to finish."

  He gave me a long look that seemed curiously approving, like I'd proved something to him. "Hell of a story, though. This your first 100?"

  I blinked. His mood changes were confusing. "Yes. I ran a couple qualifying 50s in mountainous areas, but nothing like this."

  "You from here?"

  Everyone else was shoveling, but Cody seemed to be taking a break. With me. And my heartbeat was starting to accelerate again, this time not because I was running.

  "Reno. All my life. You?"

  "Auburn. Born in LA. Parents moved this way when I was in high school. When they kept moving, I stayed behind."

  "You were still in school?" That sounded kind of lonely and kind of brave, not going with your parents when they moved and you were still in school.

  "I stayed with my grandparents. I had friends, was on the football team, liked my school."

  "Had a girlfriend," I said. Stupid, because even if he had, that was like a dozen years ago. Wouldn't tell me a thing.

  "Well, yeah," he said, and the smirk was back. "Jealous?"

  I rolled my eyes. "Very. Look, thank you. I was scared back there. Couldn't see and couldn't breathe very well. Plus my ankle."

  "Noticed it," he said. "Swollen."

  I shrugged. "But I have to get to the finish line. I'm not going to be the idiot they're all sending rangers out for and paying for. The runner too stupid to check in."

  He gave me a curious look. "Pretty sure injured isn't stupid. You're the sort of runner they're supposed to come look for. It's why they have the accountability and head counts and bib numbers. You really think you can make it? You're below the fire line." At that he picked up his shovel and put his hardhat back on.

  "I think so. I can't be much more than two miles from the aid station, right? If I can't make it the rest of the way to the finish – " Which I wouldn't, not on time and not at all, finish was another 10 or 11 miles further and I'd had it – "At least they can count me in and they'll shuttle me back to the finish when it's over." Where my dropped off bag with clothes, ID, wallet and Power Bars were. Ready for me to make the easy peasy two mile walk to the rental cabin. As planned.

  And all that after a long afternoon of sitting there knowing I'd just failed. That sucked!

  "Look, if you're not finishing, another mile and a half is just aggravating the ankle. Let me drive you down, at least to the aid station. They can take you to finish later."

  I squinted at him. "How?"

  He looked at me like I was an idiot, which was rapidly getting old, and pointed. "Vehicles. Over there. Fire access road. Parallels the trail through this section."

  And while I stood gaping at the sage green fire truck, Cody went and told his superintendent what he was doing, then came back to join me, opening the door for me, which made sense when I tried to climb into the passenger's side with my left ankle pretty much toast. Best I'd be able to do would be get my bottom on the seat, then scooch over awkwardly. Otherwise I had to plant my left foot and use my leg to hoist me up, and left ankle wasn't in the mood.

  The other choice, which I hadn't anticipated, was that Cody would just scoop me up and deposit me nimbly and neatly on the seat. I gave a little gasp and he gave me a wicked grin in return.

  "Don't want to let you out of my arms for too long."

  While that one crashed through my brain, he added, "Who knows what trouble you'll get into?"

  Which put all those unexpected romantic notions to rest.

  He swung into the driver's seat and headed us downhill. The instant the engine started and he put the truck in gear, all without speaking, I wanted to fill the silence between us, but I'd already thanked him more than once, and I wanted something light, chatter between strangers type thing.

  Nothing came to me. Everything I thought veered between overtly sexual flirting of the Let's get those clothes off you and get you cleaned up, big boy (I hope) which was cheesy and out of place since he didn't appear to like me very much or at least not on an ongoing basis, and What's wrong with you, anyway? Did I steal your birthday or what?

  So I didn't say anything and the silence stretched and so did my nerves. I distracted myself by thinking of all the miles I'd put in training and qualifying for this race only to DNF. That was plenty of distraction and I was staring out the side window moodily when Cody slammed on the brakes, stopping the truck with violent force, and swearing volubly as he did so.

  My seatbelt was on but I still rocked back and forth. Both hands went up, to the panic bar on the door and to the roof, trying to steady me. "What?" I demanded of him.

  But as soon as I looked away from Cody and in the direction his horrified stare was trained, I saw it.

  We hadn't outrun the fire after all. It had come down around and flanked us, and this was a wall of flames, not runners starting up around calf level like what I'd dealt with. Cody put his arm around my seat, craned his neck, and began backing away from it, fast but carefully. The minute we were free – and I noted he didn't have to look forward again to judge that – he stopped and dropped the truck into neutral.

  I didn't say anything. Just looked again from his set face and the muscle jumping in his jaw to the fire in front of us. The Jeep trail was blocked. I couldn't see any way through.

  Chapter 3

  Cody turned and looked at me, blue eyes stone serious. "I need you to stay in the truck. Do you understand?" He didn't wait for an answer, but grabbed the truck radio and called the other firefighters on the scene.

  In front of us, only maybe 100 feet away, just where the mountain fell off precipitously again, a wall of flame stood across the trail.

  What's burning there? It was all rock and dust, a few weeds, nothing that could burn like that. But maybe I was wrong. Maybe the trail here had undergrowth. I hadn't made it this far on foot, so I didn't know.

  "I can use a shovel," I said. He'd just racked the mike, was pulling on gloves and goggles.

  He turned instantly, severe. "You're a civilian."

  Irritated, I said, "So are you." Not even sure what he meant.

  "This is my job. I don't have time to convince you." His eyes never left the fire. He was getting ready to get out of the truck. "So pick one." Numbering on his fingers. "A, the last person who tried to fight a fire based on her intimate knowledge of shovels got her pet firefighter killed. Two, if you don't stay in the truck, I'll have you arrested for interfering with a fireman on duty, a class A felony."

  I dragged my eyes away from the fire. "What's a class A felony?" It sounded like something made up on Law & Order.

  He glared at me. "Just. Stay. Here. O. K?"

  I glared back. "O. K." It was my home burning too, or at least my back yard.

  The slightest of pauses, and then he leaned over and kissed me full on the
mouth, that wonderful curving sweet, hot mouth. It was hotter than the fire. I reached for him without thinking and the truck door opened and slammed shut and he was gone.

  I bit my lip and leaned forward, hands on the dash, watching him, but clouds of smoke were starting to billow. He became indistinct right away. My knuckles went white on the dash. This was all wrong, him out there, he'd be working with the others, the other firemen there to watch his back if it wasn't for me. And I was supposed to be running. If I hadn't gotten lost, if I hadn't turned my ankle, I'd be coming in to the last aid station, less than five miles from the end of the race by now. I'd never have met Cody, never put him in even more danger.

  A dozen times in as many seconds my hand reached for the truck door handle. There had to be something I could do.

  Without warning he was back at the truck, coming from the driver's side when I'd been watching out the passenger's because he'd headed that way. His hair was slick with sweat when he threw the hardhat into the cab, then the shovel, then himself.

  "Hang on," he said, and gunned the engine. The truck leaped forward. I shouted, hands bracing me. We were headed right into the blaze.

  --and out the other side seconds later.

  "Dirt," he said, and coughed so hard he couldn't talk. He kept driving. Tears streamed out of his eyes, marking tracks in the grime along his cheeks. Golden stubble there caught tears and dirt.

  My own eyes stung. He'd let smoke into the cab. I tried to breathe steadily. I wasn't using the canned air anymore.

  "What did you do?" I asked, at the same time dirt made sense. "Never mind."

  He didn't respond. He watched the sides of the trail. The fire hemmed us in, burning the greenery, but not on the road. Maybe there had been some kind of plant life behind us, growing across the road.

  What if we came to more?

  Cody unracked the mic and handed it to me. "Push. Button. Tell them."

  I panicked. Stage fright. Stupid, but true. Jason had mocked the shit out of me whenever I was on the phone and he was there. "Tell them what?"

  He gestured behind us. "Dirt. Fire break. Maybe. A quarter mile. From. Them."