I’m gripping the wheel with all my might as we bounce along the ruts. Concentrating on keeping the vehicle on the trail and not veering off or colliding with a stump. The thing is, with my eyes watering, I’m not seeing all that good.
“Look behind!” I shout to Delphy. “Is it catching up?”
“I don’t know! Maybe! The whole sky is on fire!”
I press down on the accelerator until the pedal hits the floor. We’re flying, hitting twenty miles an hour according to the speed gauge. There’s only one way to make it go faster, and that’s to change gears. Which is something I haven’t attempted at full speed, because until now second gear was fast enough.
“Hang on!”
I push in the clutch, push the gear lever down and to the right, and let the clutch out. Third gear!
Much faster. Too fast, the way we’re being rattled around, so I let up slightly on the gas pedal. Thirty-five miles an hour. On a highway, that would be slow as a snail. On an uneven, unpaved logging road, it feels like a hundred miles an hour. And it’s working. The smoke is thinning, and that means we’re outrunning the fire. Which doesn’t make my heart pound any less. We need to get far away. Miles and miles. Back at the pond, the fire moved like a sprinter, racing from a cottage roof to a full-blown wildfire in minutes. Everything so dry, just waiting to explode into flame. And those dirt bikers racing around like gleeful devils, chanting, “Away! Away!” and burning the world.
Did I hear them wrong? Was that really what they were shouting? And why does it sound so familiar?
One thing I know for sure, the bikers spotted us from across the pond. Me and Delphy are witnesses to a crime. Does that mean they’ll try to run us down? Shut us up?
Maybe the fire scares them more than we do. If it was me, I’d want to have the wind in my face, pushing the flames in the opposite direction. Fastest way to get clear and safe. And besides, we weren’t close enough to see their faces, let alone identify them.
That’s what I keep telling myself as we slam along the ruts, teeth rattling. If we get far away from the fire, we’ll also be far away from the dirt bikers.
With the Jeep going this fast, Delphy has to yell to make herself heard. “I need to use the ladies’ room!”
I slow down and put the gearshift in neutral and let us roll to a stop. No way am I going to shut off the engine, not when something might be catching up. Fire or bad guys or both.
Of course, there’s no ladies’ room, so Delphy takes a small roll of TP from her backpack, limps to a row of bushes, and disappears behind them. There’s no smoke showing under the canopy of trees, just plain gray sky. And now that we’re stopped, I notice the wind is no longer blowing in our direction. It’s barely blowing at all, and seems to have shifted. All good.
I strain to listen for the chain-saw sound of dirt bikes, but can’t hear anything.
Delphy comes limping back and heaves herself into the passenger seat. “Sorry.”
“It’s okay. The radio is in your backpack, right? Maybe we can get an update on the fire.”
I crank the little radio as fast as possible. Then turn it on and slowly pan the antenna around until it catches the signal.
“… Fire Service officials announced that the fight to contain the fire will concentrate resources and personnel on the southeastern edges of the conflagration. That’s a big word for ‘fire,’ but it’s fun to say. Con-flah-gray-shun! They explained that the northern areas are thinly populated, whereas in the south, six to a dozen towns and villages are under threat. So, Bigfoot, if you’re out there, you better get runnin’, because nobody is coming to help! Just kidding, rock ‘n’ rollers. I’m raising my mug of morning coffee in a toast to our brave firefighters, who are risking their lives to contain this awful blaze. Good luck! Be safe! This is Phat Freddy Bell, high atop the lowest official mountain in the great state of Maine …”
When the music comes back on, I switch it off.
“They’re concentrating on the south,” Delphy says, in a croaky kind of whisper. “We’re in the north.”
I nod.
“So we’re on our own. Totally.”
“Looks like it.” I try to sound upbeat. “But we have been all along, and we’re doing okay. We’re still alive, right?”
Delphy sighs. “Any idea where we’re going?”
“Mostly west.” I point at the compass on the dashboard.
“What about the map?”
“I’m pretty sure we’re off the map by now.”
“What do we do?”
I shrug. “Keep driving until we bump into a real road. Or a fire crew. Or somebody.”
“But not them!” Delphy shudders. “Not those creeps!”
“Not them,” I agree.
“I can’t believe I waved at those jerks.”
“Doesn’t matter now. We’re making good progress.”
I get the Jeep back up to third gear and keep going for what must be a solid hour. Chalking up the miles. Figuring maybe eighty more miles in the tank before we run out of gas.
Not sure how far away from the fire we’ve gotten, because the old logging road meanders around, looking for a level pathway through the deep woods. Deep and getting deeper. The spruces and pines are much taller here, towering into the gray sky, blocking sunlight. Kind of spooky, really, like if you turned your back, the giant trees might come alive. Of course, they are alive, but you know what I mean.
I’m thinking about how I’ll describe all this to Mom, how I’ll make it a really good story, when we come around a corner and everything changes.
Standing tall in the pathway is a great big moose. A big bull moose with antlers like radar scoops, and he’s not about to move.
I jam on the brakes. We start to skid, turning sideways as I fight for control. The wheels hit the ruts the wrong way, and suddenly we’re flying through the air.
By rights we should be dead. In a forest full of sharp branches and big rocks, we’re somehow flung into a thick patch of soft ferns. I land on my back, hard enough to knock the breath out of me. I turn over onto my hands and knees, gasping for air. Ten feet away, deep in the ferns, I see Delphy with her big eyes wide open, staring in amazed confusion.
“What happened?” she asks.
“Moose” is all I can manage to say.
“I mean to your Jeep! I thought it was going to land on top of us.”
I crawl out of the ferns, onto the logging road, and can’t believe my eyes. The Jeep is up on its side, undercarriage exposed, leaning against a tree, one tire still spinning. Delphy’s right—if the tree hadn’t been there to block it, the vehicle might have killed us both.
The moose is gone, vanished back into the woods.
Delphy limps over, puts a hand on my shoulder. “I’m so sorry. I know that Jeep was like your friend or something.”
I don’t know what to say. If we don’t have the Jeep, how are we going to escape the fire? How are we going to find our way back to civilization? It’s not like firefighters are on their way to save us.
Delphy cautiously approaches the Jeep. “You think it’s totaled?” she asks.
“I don’t know.” I feel helpless.
Glass from the shattered headlights and the smashed windshield is scattered across the ground. Other than that, the Jeep looks more or less in one piece, except it’s leaning up against a tree.
Canned goods and water jugs have been thrown in the underbrush. I gather them up while I try to figure out what happens next.
Meanwhile, Delphy finds herself a new walking stick, and then snags her backpack from the leaning Jeep. She perches on an old stump and starts winding the charger on the radio, then aims the antenna around, honing in on the signal, which is stronger than it was the last time.
“… your WRPZ host Phat Freddy Bell, high atop the lowest official mountain in the great state of Maine. Wish I had better news, but the fact is it’s getting worse. In the early morning hours, wildfire erupted in the vicinity of remotely situated Piney P
ond, and quickly engulfed hundreds of acres, cutting off power to this corner of the county. We’re on backup generator now, with enough fuel for a few days. Heck, I’ll siphon the gas out of my car, if it comes to that. I’m planning on sticking it out, and making these reports in the hope it will help. If there’s anybody listening! Phone lines are down, too, so I can’t be sure of that. But if you are listening, here’s something you need to know.
“Satellite images indicate that the Piney Pond fire was probably arson. Hard to believe there’s someone out there angry enough, or evil enough, or stupid enough, to deliberately start a fire in a tinder-dry forest. But what do I know? I’ll tell you this much: It’s getting personal. I can see fire and smoke from the studio window. Miles away but moving in this direction. And you know the weird thing? I never thought of a fire as being alive, but it sure looks like it’s living and breathing, except it’s breathing flames instead of air. Whew! Forecast says there’s a chance of thunderstorms later in the day. Sure hope they’re right, because, boy oh boy, do we need rain!”
The sound fades out, turning to static, and Delphy stares at the little radio. “I can’t believe it. We were there, Sam! We were right there watching when those two creeps started the fire. Hundreds of acres. Out of control. And nobody knows who did it but us.”
“We don’t know who did it. Not really. Except they were guys on dirt bikes.”
“Young guys with long faces and blond beards. Tattoos on their arms.”
“Are you serious? All I saw was the bikes. You must have eyes like an eagle.”
“You noticed the bikes, I noticed the boys.” She smiles. “It’s a girl thing.”
I make a pile of the canned goods, sorting them for nourishment. There’s only so many we can carry if we’re on foot, and we’ll have to make them count.
“What’s the plan?” Delphy wants to know, limping over to inspect the cans.
“We have to keep moving. If those dirt bikers come this way, we’re toast. Same for the fire.”
“Do what you have to, but I’m not walking.” She’s defiant. “See this swollen ankle? The more I walk, the worse it gets. There’s only one thing to do, one thing that makes sense.”
“What’s that?”
“Fix the stupid Jeep.”
“How?”
Her grin gets bigger. “We do what the Greeks do.”
“My grandfather was born in Greece and came here as a kid,” Delphy explains. “He loves this country and everything, but he’s also super proud of being Greek. Thousands of years ago, Greeks invented a lot of important stuff that we still use today. Anyway, my pappou is a stonemason, and he talks a lot about this ancient Greek named Archimedes, who claimed he could move the world if he had a big enough lever. Because that’s what Pappou does—he moves big stones and rocks with levers and crowbars. He’s a little dude, my grandfather, shorter and smaller than me, but he can shift a two-thousand-pound stone easy peasy. Trust me, tipping this Jeep back on the level would be a piece of cake for him.”
“Too bad he’s not here.” I’m not sure where she’s going with this.
“Oh, he is.” Delphy taps her skull. “Right here. I’ve been helping Pappou since I was little. If I’m strong, that’s why.”
Despite what she said about her sore ankle, it doesn’t slow her down much. Next thing you know, she’s dragging me into the woods to find fallen branches we can use as levers. It blows my mind that she’s so confident that we can do it, rescue the poor Jeep. “The best thing, we’ve got the tree as the fulcrum. Some call it the pivot point. I can’t do the math—Archimedes is the one who came up with the formula—but instinct tells me we need a lever at least ten feet long and strong enough so it won’t break. But not so heavy we can’t lift it!”
Sweaty and hot, we work our way through the underbrush. Most of the fallen branches we find are rotten and useless. Delphy says hardwoods would be the best, like oak. But this particular stretch of forest is mostly pine and spruce, so we’re stuck with that.
As we search, I keep my eye on the logging road. Don’t dare stray too far, or we’re likely to get lost. And that makes me think about my dad, and how much he loved hiking, and being outdoors. Probably all those twelve-hour days in a truck cab made him crave fresh air. Anyhow, I’m sort of lost in my own thoughts as we kick our way through the underbrush. I’m not really paying attention when Delphy stops and looks up, squinting into the dense coverage overhead.
“Hear that?” She inhales sharply. “Is that what I think it is?”
It’s a plane. Unmistakable. A prop plane. And getting closer.
“We need to find a clearing! They’ll never see us through these trees!”
And then we’re running, or trying to run, because it’s hard in the underbrush with so many things underfoot. The miserable heat makes it even harder. Delphy’s swinging along with her walking stick tucked under her arm like a crutch. “Come on, come on! Find us! Please, please, please!”
I’ve got no choice but to follow, and anyhow she’s right: To be seen from the air, we have to find a clearing in the forest. I want to get rescued as bad as she does. So we’re running deeper into the woods, following the tantalizing drone of the plane. Hoping to find an opening in the forest canopy. Hoping to be seen. Hoping to be rescued.
Hoping, hoping, hoping.
“Got to see us! Got to see us! Got to see us!” Delphy chants to herself as she limp-runs.
It’s all I can do to keep up. I don’t know about her, but I’m in full panic mode. Heart revving like a race-car engine, head pounding with excitement, sweat pouring into my eyes. A plane! A chance to be rescued! Hot showers and hot meals! A phone call to Mom! Better yet, I’ll just show up, make sure she’s okay. What a surprise that will be—she probably thinks I’m dead. By now they’ll have told her what happened at camp. The wildfire evacuation and me missing the bus. Maybe she checked herself out of rehab to join the search! Assuming there is a search. Can’t blame them for thinking I probably got killed in the fire.
Whatever, I need to let Mom know I’m alive. Because I can’t imagine what she’ll do if she thinks both me and Dad are gone forever. Go back on the pills, or worse. And worse I can’t bear thinking about, even though I do think about it all the time, of course I do.
More than anything I want a happy ending.
I mean, life was so tough and miserable that first year after Dad died, and Mom tried so hard to keep us going, just me and her. Us against the world. One for all and all for one. We deserve a happy ending, just this once.
Please, please, please.
We never do find a clearing. Not that we ever see the plane, the canopy is so thick. But the sound of the prop engines gets fainter and fainter, and then they disappear. Silence, except for Delphy leaning against a tree, sobbing in frustration.
“This is so unfair.”
“Yeah, it is. It really is.”
Delphy rubs her eyes and looks around. “Where’s the Jeep?” she wants to know. “What direction?”
“We weren’t exactly running in a straight line,” I tell her cautiously, not wanting to upset her more than she’s already upset.
“What are you saying?”
I take a deep breath. “We’re sort of, um, ah …”
“ ‘Um ah’ what?” she demands.
“Lost,” I say, with a great sinking feeling. “We’re lost in the woods.”
The most important thing when you’re lost is not to panic. Running around like a chicken with your head cut off will only make matters worse. Once you realize you’re lost, you have to stop and make a plan.
Making a plan and sticking to it kept me alive that first day when I missed the bus, and it can help now.
First thing, try and determine which way is north. If the sun is low in the sky and you know it’s afternoon, then put the sun on your left-hand side and you’ll be facing north. If the sky is overcast or dark, or you just can’t tell where the sun is, check the moss on the trees. Chances are mo
st of the moss will be concentrated on the north side of the tree trunk.
“How do you know all this?” Delphy sounds amazed. “Are you a Boy Scout?”
“My dad. He loved to hike and camp and stuff.”
“That’s great, but how does knowing which way is north help if we don’t know where we are?”
“It’s a place to start. First we establish north, then we walk east or west, blazing a trail.”
Delphy looks at me with something like astonishment. “Blazing a trail. Whatever that is.”
“It’s a way to keep us going. Making sure we don’t circle back on ourselves. In the deep woods, you think you’re walking a straight line, but chances are you’re going around in a circle. Dad explained it to me. Your dominant foot strides slightly longer, okay? Makes you veer to the right or left. One way to be sure you’re going straight is to leave marks as you go, like a cut in the tree bark. If you circle back, you’ll know. That’s what trailblazing is—the blaze is the mark on the tree.”
Delphy nods thoughtfully. “I guess that makes sense. Um, speaking of circles, did you notice the plane wasn’t circling?”
My heart sinks. “It wasn’t, was it? It sort of just kept going.”
“If it was a search plane, it would have been circling, right?”
“I guess.”
“So it just happened to pass overhead. Heading for the fire, maybe. Not looking for us.” Delphy sounds discouraged. “We have to find your Jeep, or we’re totally boogered.”
“Totally boogered,” I echo.
“Do you think they’ll find our burned-up bodies, or will we melt into the ash?”
“Hey! We’re not going to burn up, that’s a promise.”
She makes a face. “You don’t know that.”
“I can’t explain it, but I’m a thousand percent sure we’re going to be okay.”
She snorts. “Based on what?”
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