by Zoe Chant
Where the lightning went, fire followed. Flames raced over dry wood and exposed insulation. In a heartbeat, the whole structure was ablaze from foundation to roof. The hellish glow painted the world blood-red.
There had been no time for screams, when the lightning hit. Vengeance was merciless, but swift. The murderers inside the house died without even knowing that doom had come to them, on wings of thunder.
But someone was screaming now. He always did, here. No matter how many times Zephyr heard that raw sound of agony, it still cut through him like a sword.
“Wanda!” Buck screamed. “Zephyr!”
“I’m here.” Zephyr grabbed his uncle, stopping him from plunging straight into the burning house. “Uncle Buck! It’s a dream. It’s always a dream.”
Buck fought him, as he always did. It took all of Zephyr’s strength to hold him back.
Sometimes he failed. Those nightmares were the worst.
Zephyr gritted his teeth, enduring the blows. He wrestled Buck into an arm-lock, knowing exactly how to counter every move his uncle made to escape. It had become almost a dance by now, every motion worn smooth by long repetition.
“Let me go!” Buck jerked in Zephyr’s grip, almost dislocating his own arm. “That’s my family in there!”
“There’s nothing you can do. This is a memory. A dream.” Zephyr twisted Buck around, forcing his uncle to look at him. “Buck, it’s me. It’s Zephyr. I came back. You saved me, remember?”
There was no recognition in Buck’s eyes. There never was. With a sinking heart, Zephyr realized nothing had changed. His uncle was still trapped by guilt and grief, unable to see anything except his own failure. He was still going to have this dream, again and again, as he always had.
“Zephyr.” Buck’s breath sawed through his clenched teeth in rasping sobs. “He’s in there. I can still save him. I have to save him.”
“I’m sorry.” Zephyr pressed his forehead against Buck’s, closing his eyes against the burn of tears. “This isn’t how I wanted to leave you. But I’ll come back. I’ll see you again. Even if it’s only here.”
“What,” said a new voice, “the actual hell?”
Zephyr nearly let go of his uncle in shock. It was impossible. This was Buck’s dream. Over fifteen years, he’d tried countless times to alter it, to introduce something new or change the outcome, but without success. Buck’s dream never changed.
But it had changed now.
Blaise stood there. She was barefoot, dressed only in shorts and a tank top. The glow of the inferno picked out her incredulous, disbelieving expression.
“Zephyr,” she said. “What the hell is going on?”
From Zephyr’s expression, anyone would have thought she was on fire. Both his jaw and his grip on the struggling Buck went slack. He stared at her in total, dumbstruck amazement.
“Blaise?” he said. “What are you doing here?”
That was a question she really, really wanted to know the answer to herself—along with others like ‘Where the fuck is here?,’ ‘What the fuck is happening?,’ and, most importantly, ‘You fucking idiot, why are you standing around in front of a fucking house fire?’
There was no opportunity to ask, however, as Buck took advantage of Zephyr’s distraction to smash him in the face. Zephyr went down like a felled tree.
“Zephyr!” Buck howled, which seemed pretty rich, all things considered. He took off at a flat sprint, straight for the burning building.
On sheer reflex, Blaise tackled the Superintendent. They went down together in a tangle of limbs, Buck spitting curses, none of which involved the word ‘motherloving.’
“Buck!” Blaise had shifter strength on her side, but Buck was an ex-Marine, and evidently madder than a sack of stoats. In desperation, she shook him, hard. “Superintendent Buck! Major blowup, uncontained front bearing straight at us! Retreat to the black, right now!”
Buck blinked, and seemed to focus on her for the first time. “Blaise?”
“What?” Zephyr croaked. He raised his head, staring at her as well. “He can see you?”
“That’s what you find weird about this entire situation?” Blaise hauled Buck up. “Come on, both of you. We have to get away from that fire.”
“No!” Buck tried to head for the fire again, but Blaise was ready for that this time. She dug in her heels, holding him back. “I have to save him! I have to save Zephyr!”
“Then you should probably start by not punching him in the goddamn face!” Blaise snapped. “What’s wrong with you? Can’t you see he’s right over there?”
From the blank expression Buck gave her, she might as well have been talking in Sanskrit. He shook his head, and his jaw set. He made another break for the house. Even with shifter strength, it was all Blaise could do to hold him.
Zephyr staggered to his feet, blood trickling from the corner of his mouth. Buck certainly hadn’t been pulling any punches. He was still goggling at Blaise as though she’d beamed in from Mars. There was something else not quite right about his appearance, though she was far too rattled to work out what it was.
“He can’t see me.” Zephyr wiped the blood from his chin. “Or at least, he can’t recognize me. He knows I can’t be here. Because in his mind, I’m in there.”
Blaise followed the line of his finger to the blazing house. “That doesn’t make any sense. None of this makes any sense.”
“No.” Zephyr sighed. “Because this is a dream.”
If that was the case, Blaise was never touching hot chocolate before bed ever again. “I’m dreaming this?”
“Not you.” Zephyr nodded at Buck. “He is. This is his nightmare. He’s dreaming about the night Uncegila killed my parents. The night I became the Thunderbird.”
“What? How the hell am I in Buck’s dream?”
“I have no idea! I didn’t think I would even be able to dream walk myself without the Thunderbird. I certainly didn’t intend to bring you with me!” Zephyr cast a wild-eyed glance at the turbulent storm above, as though fearing another lightning bolt might strike at any moment. “You can’t be here. You have to leave, Blaise. You have to leave right now!”
“Believe me, I would love to do that!” Blaise snarled, her hands full of struggling Superintendent. “Since you seem to be the expert, maybe you can offer some tips on how I can get the fuck out of here?”
Zephyr raked a hand through his hair—and that was what was wrong, because it was no longer clipped brutally short. It fell past his shoulders now, black and smooth. “Once I’m in this dream, I can’t walk out until it’s done. My uncle’s mind is too strong. We need him to either wake up or fall into a deeper slumber.”
“Well, in that case—wait, you mean you’ve done this before?”
“I told you at the hospital.” Zephyr gestured at the surroundings with an air of weary familiarity. “When I wasn’t the Thunderbird, this is where I was. Lost in dreams.”
That raised a lot more questions than it answered, but Blaise didn’t have time for any of them right now. “Okay. So we wake him up. Buck! Snap out of it, because I sure as hell do not want to be stuck in your head!”
Buck didn’t respond to her shout. He was still straining to get to the burning house. Tears streaked his face.
“That won’t work,” Zephyr said. “You can’t wake him up from the inside. Believe me, I’ve tried. All I can do is to attempt to shape the dream so that it comes to a natural end. Problem is, my uncle is an extremely strong-willed person. His subconscious rejects almost every suggestion that I make. He won’t let me put out the fire, and as long as it’s burning, he won’t listen to anything that I say.”
Blaise eyed the burning building. “So, what, I’m supposed to just let him go so he can roast himself like a marshmallow?”
“I wouldn’t recommend it.” Zephyr’s mouth curved in an expression that was technically a smile. “You wouldn’t believe how long he can dream that he’s burning alive. I think part of him wants to be punished. To suffer
for failing his family. For failing me.”
“He didn’t, though.”
“No.” Zephyr looked at Buck, his face shadowed. “I’ve tried to tell him that. I’ve been trying to tell him that for a long time. But he can’t hear me. In his head, I’m always trapped in that house.”
“But you aren’t. And you never were.” Blaise jerked her head at the churning sky. The clouds formed the shape of vast, ominous wings, spanning the entire horizon. “You were up there. Buck worked that out himself. Why’s he so fixated on the house?”
“That’s the way dreams work. Things take on symbolic meaning. His waking mind knows what truly happened this night, but his subconscious still places me in that fire. Even though I came back in real life, part of him still believes that I’m in danger.” Zephyr grimaced. “To be fair, he’s not wrong.”
“Blaise.” Buck focused on her again, as though seeing her for the first time. “What are you doing here?”
“I have no idea,” Blaise said, with feeling. “Chief, you have to wake up. This isn’t real.”
“Let me go.” Buck tried to jerk free, and Blaise barely managed to keep hold of his wrist. “Let go, Blaise! I have to get to Zephyr! I have to save him!”
“Superintendent!” Blaise barked, since he’d responded to that before. On sudden inspiration, she fixed him with the stern glare she normally reserved for useless rookies. “Ten and eighteen, damn it!”
Zephyr stared at her as though she’d started rapping. “Ten and eighteen what?”
“Standard wildfire firefighting orders and situations. They’re something we all have to memorize as part of our training. Shut up, I’ve got an idea.” She shook Buck again. “Call yourself a hotshot? What’s order six? Recite it!”
“Be alert.” Blaise was fairly sure the words came from Buck’s lips of their own accord, fired off by sheer rote. “Keep calm. Think clearly. Act decisively.”
“Right. We have to keep calm, no matter how bad things get.” Blaise softened her voice, though not her grip. “You always tell us to think about the eighteen watch out situations. This is a number five if ever I saw one. Remember number five?”
“Uninformed on strategy, tactics, and hazards,” Buck reeled off. Some of the glazed panic cleared from his face. “Shit.”
“Exactly. Unless you have a side hustle that you’ve been keeping real quiet, you aren’t trained to handle structural fires. Think, Superintendent. This fucked up situation ticks off nearly every single one of the eighteen warning signs. You’re attempting a frontal assault on a fire that hasn’t been scouted or sized up. At night-time, in adverse weather, and without any support or comms. About the only way you could make this worse would be to lie down and take a damn nap.”
“I know. I know that, Blaise.” He sagged, all the fight going out of him. “But what can I do? I have to save Zephyr.”
“We will. Together. I’m here now. I’m going to help you.” Blaise caught Zephyr’s eye. “You said you can change things here?”
Zephyr spread his hands. “Theoretically. But my uncle is exceptionally stubborn. I’ve tried to put out the fire before, but he always brings it back again.”
“No shit. Buck may not be an urban firefighter, but he sure as hell knows a monster blaze like that doesn’t just curl up its toes and lie down nicely if you wish hard enough. Look, can you at least magic me up some turn out gear? This will be a lot more convincing if I’m not in my pajamas.”
Zephyr looked like he was having to hold in a shit load of questions now, but he nodded. He laid a hand on her shoulder. “Visualize what you need. As clearly as you can. I’ll see what I can do.”
Her gear was as familiar to her as her own skin. She shut her eyes, concentrating, and immediately felt the comforting embrace of her Nomex jacket wrap around her. Work gloves materialized on her hands.
“Wow. Now I know what it feels like to be Iron Man.” She pulled a Pulaski out of thin air. “Wish I could do that in real life. Hell of a lot easier than lugging a ton of gear up a mountain.”
“This is all you wanted?” Zephyr eyed her Pulaski dubiously. “I don’t doubt your expertise, but how are you going to put out the fire with a shovel?”
“I’m not.” She returned her attention to Buck. “Superintendent. You know I started my career on an urban crew. I’m the only person here even remotely qualified to command this incident. Do you trust me?”
“Yes,” Buck said, with a gratifying lack of hesitation. For the first time, desperate hope lit in his eyes. “Of course I do. What’s the plan, Blaise?”
“That’s a fully involved house fire. It would take three Type 1 engines and a dozen experienced crew to knock it down to the point where I could risk entering for search and rescue, even with full breathing apparatus.” She knew Buck better than to try to sugarcoat the bitter truth. “And there wouldn’t be any point. Anyone in there is already long gone.”
“They died,” Buck said in barely a whisper. He stared at the raging fire. “I didn’t save them.”
“No. You didn’t.” Blaise dug her fingers into his arm, making him meet her eyes again. “Sometimes you can’t save everyone. It sucks, and it’s awful, but you either learn to live with that, or give up this job. And you can’t give up, Buck, because we need you. Zephyr needs you.”
“He’s alive,” Buck breathed. “I remember now. He’s still alive. I can still save him.”
“That’s right. But in order to do that, we have to contain this fire. If it’s left unchecked, it’ll spread to the whole mountain. Everything will burn.”
“I can’t let that happen.” To her immense relief, Buck’s face hardened into familiar lines of ferocious determination. “Thunder Mountain is Zephyr’s home. I have to protect it, so that he can come back.”
“Exactly.” Blaise handed him the Pulaski. “Come on, Superintendent. Let’s get that fire under control.”
Chapter 10
Blaise couldn’t have said whether it took hours, or no time at all. Maybe both. Time skipped and stretched, impossible to grasp. That, more than anything else, convinced her that this truly was a dream.
Not just a dream, though. There was no ‘just’ about it. None of this was actually happening, but there was no doubting that it was real. The weight of her tool, the burn of her muscles, the smell of smoke—they were all real.
Too real.
When she drove her Pulaski blade into the ground, her bones resonated with more than just the impact of that single blow. The smoke wasn’t just from this fire, but all fires, every one she’d ever worked. The bare earth of her fire line was the ochre red of Arizona, the bleached tan of northern California, the dark loam of Montana; all of them, all at once, and yet separate.
It was a dream. And like a dream, it was more real, more true, than the waking world.
Was it always like this for him? She spared a glance at Zephyr, who she’d tasked with raking dry grass and cut roots away from the hungry advance of the fire. Every moment weighted with meaning, lasting both a lifetime, and no time at all? Is this how he lived, in other people’s nightmares, for fifteen years?
She’d felt sorry enough for Joe. Compared to this, occasionally getting visions of the future seemed like a bed of roses.
Yet Zephyr had still wanted to try to bring back his Thunderbird. He’d been willing to give himself up to it again, without hesitation, to protect others… despite knowing full well what that would cost. That it would mean losing himself again. Returning to this.
And… he had returned. However he’d traveled into Buck’s dream, she didn’t think he’d intended to do it. He definitely hadn’t meant to bring her along for the ride.
Yet here they were.
That uneasy thought gnawed at her, but she didn’t have the breath to ask Zephyr about it. Cutting line with nothing but hand tools was hard work at the best of times, let alone in the middle of a literal nightmare. She concentrated on the job, hacking through turf and beating out spot fires, while the inferno sna
rled like a beast, clawing for freedom.
But they beat it. Side by side, they drew a collar around the monster’s neck, a line of bare dirt the furious flames couldn’t cross. The fire seethed and darted, looking for any gap, any weakness, but didn’t find one. Slowly, resentfully, it burned out.
Buck leaned on his Pulaski, chest heaving for breath. Soot and sweat blackened his face, but his eyes were at peace at last.
“Ha,” he rasped. “Take that, you motherlover. Whipped you at last.”
“Yes.” Zephyr’s gaze rested on her rather than the sullen embers, and his voice was soft with wonder. “You did it. After all this time, it’s finished. Look. The sun is rising.”
The storm clouds had melted away. Smoke still hazed the air, but it was thinning, dissolving into dawn. Pink and orange streaked the sky; windborne ash and dust, the fire’s wrath transfigured into luminous, haunting beauty.
Bathed in that gentle light, Buck looked at Zephyr. “Hey, kid,” he said, without the slightest trace of surprise. “Ready to go home?”
Blaise’s shifter hearing caught Zephyr’s slight hitch of breath. When he spoke, though, his voice was steady. “Not yet, Uncle. There’s something I need to do. But you’ll be all right now. Go on ahead without me.”
“Okay, but don’t be too long. I’m making pancakes.” Buck shouldered his Pulaski. “You take care of my boy, Blaise. Make sure he gets home safe.”
“I will, chief.” Blaise gave the Superintendent a gentle punch on the arm. “We’ll see you soon.”
Buck nodded and turned away. Moving with loose, easy strides, he headed for the tree line. With every step he took, color leeched away. The smoldering house, the woods, even the ground—they all faded, like an overexposed picture.
“Shit!” Blaise grabbed for Zephyr as everything dissolved into gray, curling mist. She couldn’t even feel the ground any more. “Now where are we?”