Wildfire

by Rodman Philbrick

  So far we’ve been lucky, keeping ahead of the fire. But sooner or later our luck will run out. We’ll make a wrong turn, or make a bad decision, or the dirt bikers will catch up. One way or another we’ll find ourselves surrounded by flames, and that will be it.

  Sorry, Mom. I tried, I really did.

  I’m haunted by the fact that we don’t know where we are, other than somewhere to the north and west of where we started. We don’t even know exactly where the fire is, or where it’s going next. You’d have to be in a helicopter to see the shape of the fire. Visibility at ground level isn’t much better than a hundred yards in the deep forest, and in some of the most overgrown areas, much less.

  I push in the clutch and shift to neutral. We slow to a stop. Delphy looks anxious. “What’s up?” she wants to know.

  “Let’s try the radio again. Maybe Phat Freddy has some good news.”

  Delphy nods, removes the little radio from her backpack, pulls out the antenna, and starts cranking. She presses the on button.

  Static.

  “Where on the dial?” she asks.

  “Ninety-eight point six.”

  She tries fine-tuning, aiming the antenna around, but all we get is static.

  “Maybe we’re out of range,” I say, trying not to sound disappointed. “Or maybe he got rescued, or the generator ran out of fuel, or broke down.”

  “Maybe,” she says doubtfully.

  “I always thought it was funny, the way he talks about broadcasting from the ‘lowest official mountain,’ but even from the lowest mountain, he can probably see the fire coming from a long way off. He’ll have time to get out of there.”

  “I hope so. The last time we tuned in, he sounded scared.”

  Thinking about height and visibility gives me an idea. I put the Jeep in first gear and let out the clutch. We trundle along at about ten miles an hour. I ask Delphy to keep an eye out for a tall straight tree with climbable branches.

  “Are you crazy?” is her first response, and then she goes, “Oh, I get it. Maybe you can see where the fire is.”

  “Maybe. And I might even be able to spot a road if I get high enough.”

  “You have to promise you won’t fall.”

  “I won’t fall. I’m a good tree climber,” I say. Which is only partly a fib. It’s true I once climbed almost to the top of a tree outside our house. But it was a one-way trip—I was too scared to come down. Dad had to rescue me with a rickety extension ladder. Said I was worse than a cat, and if I tried it again, don’t forget to bring a parachute.

  Later, overhearing what he said to Mom, I realized he was as freaked as me. Dad was fearless about most things, and even though he never let me know it, he was scared to death I might fall before he got to me.

  Finding the right sort of tree turns out to be harder than I thought. Delphy spots some really tall pines—white pines are the official state tree—but most of them don’t have branches low enough to grab. It’s not like we have climbing gear, or even ropes. So it has to be a tree where I can climb branch to branch, and high enough to get a clear view over the top of the forest.

  After fifteen minutes or so of searching, Delphy points into the woods. “Slow down. How about that one?”

  “Branches are too high.”

  “Yeah, but see that tree growing next to it? Leaning on it, actually?”

  I stop and turn off the engine. “Might work. Let’s check it out.”

  The closer we get, the better it looks. The big tree rises straight up through the forest, and has lots of sturdy-looking branches starting at about thirty feet off the ground. And leaning up against it, like a boxer that lost a fight, is an old, twisted tree with branches that are barely over my head.

  “You sure you want to do this?” Delphy peers up into the mass of branches. “It looks pretty sketchy.”

  “No problem. If I get stuck, just call the fire department.”

  “Ha ha. Seriously, though, it looks dangerous.”

  “I’ll be fine.” I grab hold of the lowest branch.

  Delphy gives me a boost and I swing over on top of the branch and then scoot along on my stomach, arms wrapped around until I get to the main trunk. Then I stand up and start climbing branch to branch. Always holding on with both hands.

  The old tree is so close to the big pine that switching over to the taller tree is easier than I thought. They say if you’re scared of heights, you should never look down. Not a problem in this case, because the branches are so full that all I can see below me is boughs thick with pine needles. They look almost soft, like if I fell, the boughs would catch me. And maybe they would. Not that I want to find out. No, I’m being as careful as possible, my hands sticky with pinesap from holding on so tight.

  Every so often, Delphy shouts from below to ask if I’m okay, and I shout back. Her voice sounds farther and farther away, and still I can’t see through the surrounding trees. Pausing to look up, I decide a few more branches in height will put me in the clear, or as clear as it’s going to get unless I go all the way to the top, which is impossible. Too skinny up there, too waving-in-the-wind. Just two more branches, that’s all I need to see my way clear.

  The last branch is the one that almost kills me.

  It happened so fast I can’t hardly put it together in my head. I’d gone as high as I was going to go. Then I tried to stand up, and my sweaty hands lost their grip. Next thing I’m on my belly, gripping the branch for dear life and struggling to catch my breath because the wind has been knocked out of me.

  Close call. Way too close.

  I wrap my arms and legs around the branch and close my eyes and tell myself to be calm. A bad thing almost happened, but it didn’t. Slowly the air comes back into my lungs, and my heart slows down to something like normal. Sweat drips from the end of my nose, splashing on the pine needles one branch below.

  On the ground, at the base of the tree, Delphy shouts, “Sam! Are you okay? The whole tree shook! Sam! Sam!”

  Takes a while to gather enough strength to reply. “I’m okay! Just slipped is all!”

  Delphy isn’t visible—too many branches in the way—but I can picture her expression as she shouts up, “You better not fall, Sam! If you fall, I’ll kill you, understand? Promise me you won’t fall!”

  “I promise!”

  “Come down! Please?”

  Probably I’d be as worried if she was up the tree and I was on the ground. But there’s no way I’m coming back down until I’ve seen whatever there is to see. So I gather my strength, and tell myself it will be okay as long as I’m super careful, and then very slowly I stand up, gripping the pine boughs to keep my balance.

  Imagine your head is a periscope rising just above the treetops. One moment you’re blind, and then you can see for miles.

  And, oh, what a sight!

  I can’t wait to tell Delphy.

  I won’t bore you with the climb down, other than to say it was about twice as hard as going up. Yes, I did slip a time or three, but never quite lost my grip, so that’s all that counts.

  At the bottom, Delphy drops her stick and wraps both arms around me for a quick hug. “You made it. What if you got stuck? It’s not like I can call for a rescue.”

  “I didn’t get stuck. But I did see the fire.”

  “Close?”

  “Not close at all. At least ten miles away, just barely visible along the horizon. Some of the smoke is blowing this direction, but the wind is settling down, so it’s not spreading fast. Best thing, there’s a lake or pond a few miles from here. I saw buildings, Delphy, a bunch of buildings! A big shingled main building and lots of little white cabins. I’m pretty sure it’s a summer camp!”

  “Are you serious?” Her eyes are as big as Christmas morning.

  “Which means there has to be a real road nearby, right? To supply the camp? It’s not like parents are going to hike through the woods to see their kids.”

  “This is so cool.” The words catch in her throat. “You said i
t’s not far away?”

  “Maybe four or five miles as the crow flies. Too far to risk getting lost again in the woods. We’ll have to follow the logging trail and hope it meets up with the real road. We might not make it before the sun goes down, but I’m a thousand percent sure this will be our last night without a roof over our heads.”

  “A thousand percent?”

  “More like a million percent. We’re almost there, Delphy, I promise.”

  “You think the camp will have hot showers? And real food and phones?” she asks, and then adds, “Are there people there? Did you see cars?”

  Eager to get going, I head for the Jeep. As usual, Delphy matches me stride for stride, loping along with a big smile on her face and her dark eyes shining. I’ve never seen her so happy. It makes her look sort of beautiful, in a dirt-smudged, spent-the-night-leaning-against-a-tree, coated-with-smoke kind of way.

  “No, I didn’t see cars or people. They probably evacuated. But if it happened like at Camp Wabanaski, a lot of the food and water and maybe even fuel got left behind. The important thing, there has to be a road to get to the camp. A real road that leads to a bigger road that gets us to the highway. Phone chargers and hamburgers! Civilization!”

  “Home, sweet home.” Delphy sits up straight, shoulders back, ready for anything. “I never knew what that meant, not really, but now I do.”

  We drive down the logging trail. Our luck has turned and I’m feeling good about it.

  What an idiot.

  As we lurch slowly along, avoiding potholes and tire-busting rocks in the fading light, Delphy has this fierce look on her face, like she wants to hold back the sunset. Like if she concentrates really hard, the sun will stay up long enough for us to find the summer camp.

  I feel rotten about it, but there’s no way we’re going to get there before the sun goes down. And we can’t drive a rutted trail like this in the dark, especially with smashed headlights. No way.

  When I suggest that we may have to pull over and wait until morning, she takes offense.

  “Are you serious? Sleep in this smelly little Jeep? In case you haven’t noticed, I’m a big girl. Tall and big, remember? I barely fit in this seat as it is, and there’s no room to stretch out my legs.”

  “Don’t be mad.” I slow the Jeep to a crawl.

  “Who says I’m mad? Really, that’s what you think?” She takes a deep breath. “Okay, maybe a little bit mad. It’s just my ankle hurts wicked bad, and I really, really, really need a hot shower.”

  “Soon,” I promise. “Soon.”

  “One thing’s for sure, I’m not sleeping sitting up. Not again. Not when there’s a tree house available.”

  She must be joking, right? But then she points, and for the first time I notice an enclosed platform built between two trees not far from the trail. Not a tree house. A deer stand.

  The stand is nothing fancy, just a plywood platform, maybe ten feet off the ground, with four canvas walls daubed for camouflage, which makes it hard to see. Hunters use it to spot deer. Part of an old aluminum extension ladder is tied to the platform with a piece of rope. Delphy goes first, and I hand up her backpack and then scramble into the thing. The floor is creaky and covered with old pine needles, but she’s right: It’s better than sleeping up against a tree, or in the Jeep.

  “We should pull the ladder up.”

  “Why bother?” she says.

  “Bears.”

  She makes a face. “You said not to worry about bears.”

  “I lied.”

  We pull up the ladder and tie it sideways to the edge of the platform.

  “Bears or no bears, this is sort of fun.” She stretches out her long legs. “Like playing fort in the backyard.”

  “You played fort?”

  “Sure. Me and the twins. They’d pretend they’d captured the Big Friendly Giant. The best part was when I escaped and knocked down the fort. Stomped it like Godzilla, which is way more fun than being the BFG. Then we’d put it back together and do the same thing all over again. Kids!”

  “Yeah, kids.”

  I’m relieved her mood has improved. Plus, we have cans of tuna and a full jug of water. May not sound like much, but when you’re famished and thirsty, it goes down like Thanksgiving dinner with all the trimmings. Or that’s what we tell ourselves.

  “Tur-keee. Mash potatoes and gray-vee … mmm, mmm, mmm.” I’m doing my best Homer Simpson impersonation.

  Delphy laughs. It’s full dark, with no stars visible through the dense canopy of trees, so I can’t see her face. But I know her mood has changed by the tone of her voice. “You know what’s weird? They probably think we’re dead. My parents and your mother. My little sisters. All our friends. They’re planning our funerals. Feeling sorry for all the mean things they said to us.” She pauses. “I don’t mean you. I’m talking about my so-called friends.”

  “Everybody says rotten things sometimes. It doesn’t mean they’re not friends. But you’re right, my mom probably thinks the worst.”

  She chuckles. “That’s so you, Sam. You’re the one in bad trouble, but you’re more worried about your mother.”

  I almost tell her, but then decide to hold it back. I don’t want her feeling sorry for me, the pathetic kid with the dead father and the drug-addict mom. Because it’s not like that. I can’t explain why, exactly, but it’s not.

  No idea how long it took to fall asleep, but when the first explosion hits, lighting up the forest, I’m curled up in some scratchy old pine needles, and Delphy is screaming my name.

  The heat storm is so close there’s no delay between the flashes and the booming thunder. It’s like we’re inside the lightning. The flashes turn the canvas walls transparent, cracking brighter and brighter, and I expect that any second a sizzling bolt will hit us directly and the deer stand will explode.

  I want to tell Delphy not to be afraid, but I’m too scared to talk. She grabs my hand and squeezes so hard I think she’s going to break it. The trees are shivering all around us, as if they’re as terrified as we are.

  There’s no wind or rain, just hot, humid air alive with electricity. Mighty bolts crack open the early morning sky, thumping the earth like hammer blows.

  A bolt strikes close by, with a cracking boom that could be the world splitting open. So loud my ears hurt. A tree groans and splinters and falls, crashing into more trees on the way down. We see the hot glowing sparks of it burning from the inside.

  We’ve been running away from the fire, putting miles between it and us, but now it has found us.

  The deer stand begins to shake and rumble as more falling trees brush by.

  Delphy shouts, “We better get out of here!”

  I’m about to slide the aluminum ladder to the ground when the hair lifts on my head. My scalp tingles in a strange way, and I drop the ladder just as everything goes sun-blaze white. A bolt snakes down the tree right next to us and explodes into the ground with the sound of a million M-80s going off at exactly the same moment. The tree roots begin to glow and smolder like fiery finger bones.

  If I’d been holding the ladder, the lightning might have gone through me on the way to the ground.

  Delphy is standing up, shaking her fist at the sky and screaming, “STOP! STOP!”

  I try to pull her down, but she’s stronger than me, and more angry at the thing that scares her.

  “On the floor!” I beg her. “That’s the safest place! Keep a low profile.”

  I’m not sure if it really is the safest place, but raising a fist to a lightning bolt has got to be more dangerous than lying flat on your face with your hands protecting your ears.

  Let it stop, please make it go away.

  And after what feels like an eternity, it does go away, rumbling off into the distance. Heading for the fire line, as if it wants to join in the fun of burning down the forest.

  Delphy, face to the floor, says, “Is it safe? Are we alive?”

  “Yeah, we made it. But there’s one little proble
m. The ladder fell to the ground. I, um, dropped it.”

  She slowly shakes her head, as if to say, What next?

  I lean out the opening, into a whiff of smoke from the smoldering roots. Ground is maybe ten feet below. If I were to jump, there’s a chance I’d sprain or break both ankles. Instead, I get down on my belly and carefully lower myself from the platform until I’m hanging on by my clenched hands. So, according to my semi-panicked calculations, the ground is five feet or less beneath my dangling feet.

  I let go, landing feetfirst in the layer of pine needles, and then tumble over backward. It hurts, but nothing is broken. I limp over to the ladder and lean it up against the opening. Delphy peers down at me. “You’re crazy, you know that?”

  “No choice!” I say, feeling good about my decision.

  I hold the ladder as she descends. I can tell her ankle hurts as she puts weight on it, but she doesn’t complain. She fusses around until she finds her walking stick and looks back up at the tree stand.

  “Sam? We need to get out of here. Like right now!”

  I look up. The canvas walls of the deer stand have caught fire. Our refuge is going up in flames! The fire is already spreading. Not fast, not yet. But it will grow and feed on itself, tree by root by tree, and within an hour or two it will become a new, full-scale wildfire.

  We’re hurrying to the Jeep when Delphy says, “What’s that smell?”

  “Probably me.”

  “Not a boy smell,” she says, puzzled. “More like a zoo.” Her dark, shining eyes get big and round. “Uh-oh.”

  “Uh-oh, what?” I say, but then I see it, rising up in the back seat.

  A black bear, looking at me like he’s starving and I’m breakfast.

  On my hikes with Dad, he explained what to do if I ever came across a bear. “The black bear is a complicated creature,” he would say. “In this part of the world, a full-grown bear has no real predators, other than us. So if you meet one on the trail, don’t run. It might chase you, and you can’t outrun a bear. Hold your ground and the bear will likely leave.”