“This is the United States,” he said. “They have the best of everything. Do you really think they’d let that house on the hill burn? The vineyard? Of course not. People are protected in this country, especially the rich. They’ll stop that fire long before it gets here. Any minute now we’ll see airplanes and helicopters dropping water on the flames. There is nothing to worry about.”
Don Jefe pointed out that soon there might be a lot of people in the area to fight the fire and perhaps it would be smart to begin the harvest now, just in case. Rigoberta agreed; the plants were ready. The sacapunta kitties had turned on each other and were fighting viciously amongst themselves. Their opinion wasn’t needed and the birds were quiet in the trees.
Felix looked up. The sun was turning a neon orange behind the increasing smoke; at this point it was more a glowing dot of color in the sky than a source of light. He grabbed his machete and some twine. He would cut the plants, make bundles and hang them for drying, just like he did with the corn back home. Ramon would appreciate his work, wouldn’t he? Was it too soon? No, best to get to work now. There was a lot to do and help must be on the way. Hernando would come to the rescue if this situation got dangerous. They would protect him, or at least protect the crop; Felix was sure of it. There was nothing to worry about.
PAGING FRANK BANE
“WHAT DO YOU MEAN ‘A LITTLE FIRE’?”
“The flames are huge.”
“Can you actually see it?”
“It seemed like it was moving down towards the ocean but now I think maybe the winds have shifted ‘cause it’s already in Puerco Canyon.”
“Holy shit.”
“Turn on the TV. It’s all over the news. I saw our house in one of the aerial shots.”
“Fuck Janice fuck!”
“The kids are at my mother’s. I had Mona take them and a carload of stuff.”
“WHY DIDN’T YOU CALL?”
“It happened very fast Frank and you were on the course. I didn’t know it would move like this and then there was a lot to do.”
“I’m coming…”
“Too late, the highway is closed. They’re only letting people out.”
“Grab my watch collection. Get the video camera and do a walk through of the house. Inventory everything. We’ll need it for the insurance. You understand me? You gotta turn on all the sprinklers outside. Protect those vines. And turn off the fucking gas—right away. That’s really important. GAS OFF. Get the guys to help.”
“They’re gone. Sheriff came by. It’s mandatory evacuation for all the canyons. I should have left already.”
“AND YOU DIDN’T CALL ME?”
“See you at my mother’s.”
“WAIT, YOU HAVE TO DO THE INVENTORY AND I NEED MY . . .”
Janice put the phone down and looked around the living room. She did love that green chair but it could be replaced. There were actually two fires burning now, one from the north and one from the south. Somehow they seemed to be moving towards each other and according to the news, if they merged it would be the biggest fire in California history. The phone rang but she ignored it. Time to go.
It surprised Janice how few things she was taking. She had the obvious valuables, jewelry and watches, insurance papers, her good shoes and dresses, a couple coats that couldn’t be replaced. Photos. They say the photos are the most important things—evidence of memories that can never be replaced. She’d sent all that stuff with Mona and the kids. Janice’s car was only half full now, plenty of room to take more stuff but she just couldn’t think of a single thing she really wanted.
The guys had turned on all the sprinklers before they left. Janice closed the back door and locked it then walked around to the side of the house by the water and gas mains. She bent over and turned the water main so it was completely closed. The sprinklers shut off. She left the gas value on, straightened up and wiped her hands on her jeans. She took one last look around then walked to her car and drove down the hill to her parents’ house.
PABLO ON FIRE
MY MOTHER SHOULD HAVE BEEN A FIREFIGHTER. I THINK A lot of her neurotic energy could have been channeled in a healthy way if she’d been allowed to ride on the back of a hook and ladder truck and operate the water cannon or deck gun once in awhile. She thought about fire season all year long, dreamed about it, and talked about the rains in terms of how it would affect the fuel situation—by which she meant the growth of the chaparral. She never admitted it openly but I think she prayed a little bit that once the Santa Anas started, the fire gods would pick our mountains so that she could have a front row seat. Once the winds kicked up she was obsessed. I don’t know how much she slept during that wildfire window of six or eight weeks. There were many a night when I was awoken, terrified at first, to see my mother standing in the corner of my room with her nose out the window, trying to confirm that she did indeed smell smoke. It was usually pretty obvious. Then she’d burst into action. She grabbed my sister and me and threw us in the car. When we were very little, we’d bring blankets and just go in our pajamas. Later, we tried to get dressed but she was always in a tremendous hurry. She forced our ancient dog Rosie to come—no one was left behind. If you asked her why, why did she go looking for fires at three in the morning on school nights? She would tell you that in an area like ours, it was important to know exactly what the situation was at all times. She needed to know what was happening. Once we located the source of the blaze, she’d find a good vantage point, park the car and we’d sit there and watch as the wind built and moved the fire along our mountains and down towards the sea.
Okay, let’s stop for a minute. I need your full attention. You’re not completely with me here because you’re wondering about the psychological repercussions of my recent ordeal. Aren’t you? I was knocked unconscious by a rock then captured and held hostage for about an hour by a crazy little Mexican dude and his army of make-believe stick creatures and you want to know why I’m not dealing with it directly. You’d like to hear about any physical symptoms. Do I feel nauseous? Am I having trouble concentrating? Thoughts of suicide? And how about that head injury? Is there blurred vision? Confused thought patterns? Am I sad about losing my gun? And knife? Well the answer is, I’m fine. I’ve got a little bit of a headache but nothing too major and here’s the thing: right now my entire mountain range is on fire. My income, the money that puts food in my mouth and gas in my rig, is reliant on the crops in those hills. Let’s review the facts: In the time it’s taken me to drive out of that canyon and onto the coast highway, the fire has tripled in size and another one has started a few miles to the north. The fucking pyros come out of the woodwork in weather conditions like these. The wind is building, the fires burning. This could be the biggest disaster of my life. I am, at this very moment, being wiped out financially. It’s stressful, you know? So please, allow me to distract myself here. I’m taking you back to happier times and giving you a little history while we drive as fast as we fucking can to get to Ellis’ house—which is, and always has been, our fire command post.
Back to my story: There were many close calls when I was growing up. I remember when I was a kid there was a last minute evacuation where we literally had to grab what we could and run out onto the beach. That’s because my mother refused to leave and once my father was gone, there wasn’t really anyone there to make her evacuate. In that particular fire, all the animals were driven onto the beach. It was freaky to see deer running on the sand, all terrified and stuff. People who weren’t able to trailer out their horses brought them down on the sand along with their cats and dogs, goats and whatever else they kept as pets. I remember that night as crowded. A mass of living creatures standing on the sand, watching the flames sweep across the hills like great waves then leap and dance down towards the sea. When the fire jumped the highway a lot of people went and stood in the shore break, their shoes and jeans soaked through, the waves breaking against their hips. They held their positions as if this was the only seat in the house that
would ensure survival. The fire didn’t burn down to the beach in our area but it did take out a bunch of houses up the road. I remember that when we came back inside the next day, my sister freaked out because she opened her bottom drawer to get a sweatshirt and there was a huge rat in amongst her clothes. Our house was completely infested with rodents that had been driven out of the hills, as was every other house in our neighborhood.
It’s usually arson. Those winds start blowing and they trigger a need in a certain kind of person for some powerful excitement. It’s the energy. Addictive stuff. I think my mother was one inch shy of a psychotic compulsion and my guess is a lot of firefighters are in the same boat. Ellis has a little of it. Jojo Wald, with his fondness for gasoline and blowing things up at parties, has a lot of it. In fact, I wouldn’t be surprised if Jojo got caught starting one of these someday. But me? I’m not into it. When I look at a mountain range on fire, I think about everything that is being lost. Animals and habitats, people’s homes and their belongings. Firefighters die. Normal people too. There was a guy a couple of years ago who stayed and tried to protect his property. Fire finally overtook his place so he jumped in the pool with a mask and snorkel figuring he’d ride it out underwater. Smoke suffocated him, poor stupid fuck. That kind of thing happens a lot more often than you think. And what about that little crazy dude up there right now? My Mexican. Who’s looking out for that guy? If I could, I’d go back up there and get him but it’s way too late for that. I just hope he had a plan or that somebody came to the rescue. He was just a young poor guy out there all alone. No, I don’t enjoy the fires. These days I look at the burning hills like this and all I see is tragedy.
NEVER LEAVE
IT WAS SNOWING. GRAY ASH, LIGHT AS POWDER, PILED UP for a brief moment on the kitties’ heads and Don Jefe’s back only to be blown back into the sooty air by the great gusts of wind. Rigoberta was having trouble breathing; she thought she might have a history of asthma but wasn’t quite sure. The sky was very dark with smoke so that it looked like night even though Felix knew it was late afternoon. His eyes were watering and his chest burned. He wetted one of his t-shirts and tied it around his nose and mouth. If only the wind would stop. The kitties started coughing. The birds were quiet in the trees and Felix worried. He got his stool then cut down all the birds and laid them on the ground where the air was easier to breath. He cut the vines that held Rigoberta upright against the tree and put her next to the birds then brought Don Jefe and the kitties close and nested himself in the middle of his friends. He told them all to be still. The less they breathed the better.
Ramon’s men never came. Neither did Hernando. Felix had cut about a third of the marijuana when the fire crested the ridge above the big house and vineyard. There was another fire burning in the other direction too. The wind seemed to be pulling them together and Felix was trapped in the middle. He was pretty sure now that no one would come. But there was still a small part of him that worried. It was possible that the wind would shift or the fire would be extinguished. He couldn’t take the chance of leaving this garden.
Animals were panicking. Huge pack rats and raccoons, ground squirrels, deer, bobcats and badgers were being flushed from their homes by the wind-driven fire. They’d run through the camp in terror, hoping to find a way out, and then come rushing back through again in the other direction when they realized they were surrounded. Felix lay very still as he watched a skunk run over and burrow into a hiding place under the sticks of Rigoberta’s right shoulder. Skunks were so cute with their fluffy tails. They always seemed so calm and self-assured because their spray was such an effective repellent for most predators. But fire was a different kind of predator. It leveled the playing field and there was no way to defend yourself once it got you in its sights. Felix could hear the skunk scratching somewhere under Rigoberta, trying to hide itself completely.
What if they all died? Everyone back home was waiting, constantly thinking that any day now Felix would send word or even better just appear. Violeta with her dreams of the future, Ernesto and Cesar. And his mother’s tears. Their pain was even worse than his. He had to make it. He could not die here. What would they do without him? How would they survive? What would become of his sisters? Don Jefe demanded that Felix stop worrying. It didn’t help and would lead nowhere that he wanted to go. Everything was going to be fine. They would get through this together. All Felix had to do was stop thinking.
The incessant wind roared. The tree branches snapped in defeat. Felix thought that maybe he could hear the distinct crackling of the fire but he wasn’t sure with all the noise. There wasn’t much oxygen now. He worked hard to pull in each breath, filling his lungs completely, but still felt like he was suffocating. There was panic but even more there was exhaustion. He just wanted to sleep. Rigoberta told him he should, encouraged him to take a little nap. She and Don Jefe would keep watch. They promised to wake him if anything happened. Sleep now, they told him. You’ll need your strength later. And so Felix closed his eyes and drifted away.
LET IT BURN
ELLIS WAS ALREADY SITTING ON THE ROOF WITH THE TELESCOPE and the binoculars when Pablo pulled down the driveway. She had the beach chairs set up, side by side, and a cooler with fruit juice for her and beer for Pablo. There was a bowl of fresh popcorn that she’d placed in the deep bottom of a weighted cardboard box so it wouldn’t blow away. She’d run an extension cord up to the roof to power the portable TV—which got terrible reception—and a radio. This was their ritual. They liked to watch the fire while receiving live updates from the news coverage. So often the news got it wrong and they would laugh hysterically at the mistakes. Of course in the past, they’d always been completely stoned when they watched the fires burn. Somehow sitting here sober and pregnant, Ellis wasn’t feeling the same delighted anticipation.
Pablo was very late but Ellis’s feelings of annoyance turned to relief when she saw him climb out of his camper. She hadn’t realized how worried she’d been until she felt herself tearing up. This pregnancy was really messing with her head. Pablo waved then rushed around to the side of the house where she’d set up the ladder.
“Where the fuck . . .” Ellis stopped short when she looked up and saw his face.
“Flew right over the handlebars.” Pablo smiled. His lip was split and his nose very swollen. Both eyes would probably be black by morning. “No big deal though.”
“I thought you were working.” She was talking in a loud voice, trying to be heard above the wind.
“Nope.”
A Super Scooper airplane flew overhead. They both turned and watched it as it skimmed the ocean surface, refilling its tank then regained altitude, banked a turn, and headed back up to the mountains where it would drop the water on the fire.
Ellis knew Pablo was lying to her. This was harvest season. “Where were you riding?”
Pablo grabbed the binoculars. “Puerco Canyon.”
“That’s been on fire for over an hour.”
Pablo didn’t answer. He focused the eyepiece of the binoculars and studied the mountains. Ellis used the telescope. There was a neighborhood of houses that had been built a couple of years ago on a steep hillside. All new structures adhered to strict fire regulations but it didn’t seem to be doing that sub-division much good. 70% of the homes were already on fire. Every now and then there’d be an explosion as another propane tank went up. There was no sign of firefighters. Sometimes, when the situation got hopeless, the trucks just had to get out and let it burn.
“I think Kirby’s mother lived up there.” Pablo kept the binoculars to his eyes.
“No. She moved away years ago.” Ellis looked at him. This was usually an exciting occasion. “You okay?”
“Lotta horses. I hope they got everyone out.”
Of course Ellis hoped the same thing. She didn’t want anyone to die, certainly not animals. But they never talked about the real consequences of fire while one was actually happening. They’d always just sat back and enjoyed the awes
ome power of this most natural disaster.
“Listen Pablo,” she said. “If you’re worried about your crops . . .”
“No. I’m fine.”
“There’s plenty of money. I got you covered.”
Pablo kept the binoculars to his eyes. She thought she heard him say “Thanks” but it was hard to tell with the wind.
The two fires had nearly joined. There was just a narrow corridor, about a mile wide, that remained untouched and at the top of it sat Frank Bane’s house. It was just a matter of time before they merged and formed a continuous wall of flames, miles long, which could potentially march its way right down to the ocean. Part of Ellis worried that this one could take her out too—it was the biggest fire in her lifetime—but it would have to burn through a whole lot of houses before it got to her little cottage. She didn’t want to think about that. She just wanted to enjoy another fire.
Pablo sat in his chair with the binoculars covering his eyes. He showed no interest in the beer or popcorn. There was a flash alert on the TV. Breaking news. So far three-hundred =fifty homes had been destroyed and countless others were in danger. There had been five fatalities: an elderly man suffered a heart attack from stress and a family of four was burned alive in their car while trying to evacuate. The fires continued to rage with 0% containment. The winds were increasing with no sign of letting up.
“I’m not feeling that great.” Pablo put down the binoculars and stood. “I’m gonna go lie down in my camper.”
“Do you need something?” Ellis didn’t want him to leave her up there alone. “Want to use my bed?”
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