Smoke Season

CHAPTER 12

The ring of fire spanning the length of the dozer line burned sharp and bright. To Mel, it looked like a coil set aflame in one of those gas firepits Sam had bought last summer for the back patio of the River Eddy. The flames rose in an almost orderly, defined strip, like the ground crew had laced the containment line with gasoline instead of digging, clearing, and cutting to bare dirt. She rubbed at the grit and sweat caked to her face and neck, one hand gripping a welded metal handhold in the truck bed for support. All that effort, for nothing. All the ground they’d hoped to hold, gone in a matter of seconds. Somewhere up there, in the blaze, her chief vehicle burned, along with dozens of jump kits, go bags, tents, and sleeping bags.

And below? The start of the urban interface—including Carbon’s outlying communities and the recreational section of the river—waited in the late-morning haze of smoke like the proverbial sitting duck. The fire skirted the city limits for now, thank God, but for how long? Where were Sam and the girls? Had Sam abandoned his post at the Eddy yet?

It wasn’t even mid-afternoon on their first day of firefighting, and already her crew was in full-on retreat. She tuned out White shouting into his handset as he radioed in this latest development to Eagle Valley and the county supervisor. The Flatiron Fire was officially out of control, and she already knew what came next: regrouping back in town for reassessment as experts better equipped to run point on a wildland fire converged on Carbon—Oregon wildland stations run by the USFS, Arden Aircrane, even the National Guard. The private wildland-firefighting operations would be called in, too, sending crews from as far away as Colorado, Nevada, and California. Helos would hit the air.

But for now, evacs needed to be ordered of the residents to the west of town, starting with the ranches and homesteads directly below Flatiron, and nobody knew the area better than Carbon Rural.

Mel looked over her shoulder as if she could actually see its progress below the mountain, on the wind. All she saw was smoke, of course, now thick black, billowing in the direction of the river.

And True. The thought caused her anxiety to spike further. At least Highline Road, nestled to the east of Flatiron, was, for the moment, out of the blaze’s path. Mel’s nerves threatened to positively flay her insides. If she had her own rig right now and could shed this shirt with her badge and Carbon Rural insignia tethering her here to duty and service, she would go find them this very moment.

At the base of the mountain, Hernandez ordered two USFS trucks to peel off from the group to drive up and down the small network of residential driveways off the Forest Service road, canvassing for the first, and most urgent, round of evacs. The last Mel glimpsed of them, an Outlaw National Forest employee braced himself at the back of a truck, bullhorn in hand. His order of immediate evacuation cut through the roar of the wind and the thick smoke and the sound of the fire, which, even here, a mile distant, hummed in Mel’s ears like the crackle of a white-noise machine.

Back at the Carbon Rural Station, where the smoke was indeed thicker, Chief Hernandez, the Greater Outlaw Valley Fire Protection District, and the newly arrived USFS agent began their respective bids for authority, circling each other in a pissing match that Mel had no time for. She ducked away, finally able to dial Sam with the aid of a 5G network. When he answered on the second ring, the sheer sound of his voice had her nerves finally uncoiling in abject relief. At least momentarily.

He, Astor, and Annie were at Highline. An hour ago Mel would have cheered at this news, but now? Uncertainty slid effortlessly into the place fear had just vacated in her gut.

“The fire,” she told him in a rush, “it jumped a line, Sam.”

“Shit,” he said. “But on Flatiron, right? Not near Highline? Because the smoke is much better up here, I promise it is.”

Gripping the phone tightly to her ear, she pictured the girls safely ensconced inside the haven Sam had been so determined to create, sketching kitchen remodels and porch additions on the backs of resupply forms while deployed in Afghanistan, brushing the desert dirt off the paper every time the wind rose up. It had been cathartic, he had said. Or at least, that had been the word the Army chaplain had used, for Sam to restructure his life from afar, to redesign his childhood from the safety of seven thousand miles east.

“Not by Highline,” she confirmed, but they both knew this could change in an instant. “Despite the smoke, if the order comes down, you’ll evac with Claude, right? Even if it means returning to a shelter in town?”

He’ll leave it all behind for Astor and Annie, she told herself firmly while waiting on confirmation. She forced herself to ignore the soft but persistent voice in her head that answered, Like he gave it up to pay the medical bills? Like he gave it up for your marriage?

“Of course,” he answered, making her ashamed to have doubted him. Being buried under debt was one thing; the well-being of their girls was another. She knew this at the core of her being.

When she rejoined the group, representatives of the various agencies were still shouting over one another in the small conference room off the station kitchen. Had it really just been last night that Mel had sat right here, tossing fast-food wrappers at Deklan in retaliation for his smart mouth?

Hernandez stuck two fingers in his mouth and let fly a whistle that reverberated across the small room, shutting up everyone, even White, instantly. “First order of business,” he barked, hanging onto first-on-scene authority by a thread, “is determining additional evacs.”

Janet, still in her damp, ashy yellows like everyone else, unrolled the map of Carbon, spreading it out on the conference table, highlighters already in hand to mark Level 1 ( get your supplies and possessions in order ), Level 2 ( be set to go at a moment’s notice ) and Level 3 ( go now). With confident strokes of her pen, she marked the Flatiron Fire’s current location and projected trajectory. Mel’s eye instantly traveled to Highline Road, out of range from where the blaze currently consumed the mountain ... at least for now. She pinched her eyes shut tightly for a moment, her eye sockets like sandpaper. Please stay that way.

“Start with Level 3, and work backward,” she reminded Janet, who shot her a look as if to say, This isn’t your first forest fire ... act like it, before circling the circumference of Flatiron Peak plus the section below it already under evacuation order by the BLM in pink highlighter ink. With a softer glance at Mel—she’d probably just remembered that Annie was compromised by smoke—she wrote LEVEL 3 .

The sheriff rep noted the locations on a yellow legal pad he retrieved from a nearby desk, then excused himself to start making calls. He’d alert his department in neighboring Outlaw first, then activate his crew of search-and-rescue volunteers, who would don their bright-orange uniforms to troll the roads in trucks, going door-to-door to ensure the evac notice reached every ear. Janet moved on to Level 2— be set to go —Mel’s eyes still trained on her. This time, Janet used blue highlighter ink to circle the few roads on the far east side of Flatiron, its adjacent ridgelines, almost, but not quite, to the base of Highline Road.

She released an exhale she hadn’t even realized she’d been holding, but still, the questions came to her mind unbidden. Had Sam packed Annie’s inhaler when he left the Eddy? Had he convinced her to comply and wear the pink pediatric N95 mask critical to her breathing ability? Where was it? Mel couldn’t remember. Probably forgotten under the back seat of Sam’s car.

She pushed back from the table to confer with the sheriff rep, a guy she’d only met a handful of times, at mind-numbing training sessions and the occasional interagency picnic.

“My crew can start knocking on doors right now,” she offered, “taking the roads west of Highline and that vicinity before your SAR crew can be mobilized.” It wasn’t normally her detail, but it would place her within a stone’s throw of her daughters, should they need her. She’d take Lewis with her, maybe Deklan and his buddy Ryan. They seemed attached at the hip.

The man wavered, and Mel knew the word protocol screamed in his head like the siren every agency made it into, but then Hernandez nodded and he agreed.

“We’ll take the two other sections, then. I want you on the road within minutes, though.”

“Don’t worry, she will be,” Janet promised with a hint of a smile touching her lips, not bothering to look up from her map. The last thing Mel heard was her familiar voice calling the media to get the evac orders on the radio and TV news before she grabbed Deklan and Ryan, nodded at Lewis, and snagged a set of keys from the motor-pool board. “Let’s go.”