trucks, the hand crew of a local private contractor, and a Forest Service vehicle. Men conferred in a huddle. The private crew was getting out drip torches, presumably to burn out the scrub up to the fire. Patsy’s crew waited in the buggy, but no orders were forthcoming.
What we have here, their crew boss Mary said, is a genuine cluster-fuck. Then she walked over to join them.
They probably can’t decide who’s IC, said another woman.
Incident commander being the one who called the shots.
The land around them was low-growing coastal scrub, with small, bushy oaks, a few sycamores and toyons. On the same side of the road as the fire, slim wooden survey stakes with orange plastic ribbons marked out the lots of a future development.
That little fucker’s fast, Antonia muttered. They should burn it out now.
Up on the hill, the fire’s orange, smoke-frilled V had widenedalmost into a straight line. The smell of smoke filled the cab. But even if nobody did anything, the road itself would stop most of the fire.
Mary stuck her head into the buggy with the order. Out, everyone, she called. We’re going to hold this road. Out! Hold the road! Hold the road!
Women shouldered their gear toward the door of the small bus and began leaping down onto the asphalt. Look now, Antonia told Patsy as they were jostled forward, pushed from the women behind. Patsy hunched down to see out of a window. The fire was fully horizontal now, and the flames suddenly much taller, a wall, and sliding down the slope like water.
Then Mary started screaming. RTO! RTO! Reverse the order. Back in the buggy. Now.
Now.
Everyone!
Inside the buggy, they scrambled backward to make room again. Antonia shoved Patsy into the woman behind her as those from outside crammed themselves and their gear in. Fucker’s jumping the road! someone yelled.
Embers swarmed and hit the windows like fat, radiant insects. Really, the flames were unbelievably close, a towering mass of shiny red fire that billowed and rippled like wind-whipped silk and bellied out at them as the buggy finally started moving. Then came a blast of dry, hot heat and a loud snapping and crackling, as from a huge campfire. A strange green light filled the vehicle. Softball-sized balls of white flame flew off a blazing tree like an explosion of phosphorus.
The next moment, they were in the clear, under blue sky. The buggy stopped, and the women leaped out. But it was too soon, too close, a mistake, and the instant Patsy landed, before she got her bearings, there was a
whoosh!
and the fire’s back wind sucked her off balance, the air so hot and dry and smoky her eyes and nose instantaneously streamed liquid and her lungs filled up.
She staggered and collided with two men hauling a hose. All around, people were cursing and throwing up. Patsy stuck her nose under her shirt.
This
is when we die, she thought with unnatural calm, here are the superheated fumes that melt lungs. She was curiously unafraid and very interested. Death by fire, she’d heard, was not like drowning or asthma. With fused lungs, there was no convulsive struggle and notmuch pain. You could think to the end. She found Antonia, grabbed her, and held on.
The wind was already easing off. Formation! Mary yelled as the smoke cleared, and the new world revealed itself—a blackened ground, consumed to the dirt, the trees now charred, leafless snags, some still burning at their crowns.
Where the fire had jumped the road, dozens of spots burned—many as small as a single sagebrush, a few the size of big, vigorous bonfires. The hose crew went first with water, and the convicts followed, hacking apart the fuel, smothering flare-ups, chasing scampering flames. They were a little delirious.
Oh no you don’t.
Take that, you little pizzle sucker.
Soon they were covered in white ash. In fifteen minutes the spot fires were out and the con crew was ordered to go flank the fire. Same old same old, grunt work well away from any non-con
What we have here, their crew boss Mary said, is a genuine cluster-fuck. Then she walked over to join them.
They probably can’t decide who’s IC, said another woman.
Incident commander being the one who called the shots.
The land around them was low-growing coastal scrub, with small, bushy oaks, a few sycamores and toyons. On the same side of the road as the fire, slim wooden survey stakes with orange plastic ribbons marked out the lots of a future development.
That little fucker’s fast, Antonia muttered. They should burn it out now.
Up on the hill, the fire’s orange, smoke-frilled V had widenedalmost into a straight line. The smell of smoke filled the cab. But even if nobody did anything, the road itself would stop most of the fire.
Mary stuck her head into the buggy with the order. Out, everyone, she called. We’re going to hold this road. Out! Hold the road! Hold the road!
Women shouldered their gear toward the door of the small bus and began leaping down onto the asphalt. Look now, Antonia told Patsy as they were jostled forward, pushed from the women behind. Patsy hunched down to see out of a window. The fire was fully horizontal now, and the flames suddenly much taller, a wall, and sliding down the slope like water.
Then Mary started screaming. RTO! RTO! Reverse the order. Back in the buggy. Now.
Now.
Everyone!
Inside the buggy, they scrambled backward to make room again. Antonia shoved Patsy into the woman behind her as those from outside crammed themselves and their gear in. Fucker’s jumping the road! someone yelled.
Embers swarmed and hit the windows like fat, radiant insects. Really, the flames were unbelievably close, a towering mass of shiny red fire that billowed and rippled like wind-whipped silk and bellied out at them as the buggy finally started moving. Then came a blast of dry, hot heat and a loud snapping and crackling, as from a huge campfire. A strange green light filled the vehicle. Softball-sized balls of white flame flew off a blazing tree like an explosion of phosphorus.
The next moment, they were in the clear, under blue sky. The buggy stopped, and the women leaped out. But it was too soon, too close, a mistake, and the instant Patsy landed, before she got her bearings, there was a
whoosh!
and the fire’s back wind sucked her off balance, the air so hot and dry and smoky her eyes and nose instantaneously streamed liquid and her lungs filled up.
She staggered and collided with two men hauling a hose. All around, people were cursing and throwing up. Patsy stuck her nose under her shirt.
This
is when we die, she thought with unnatural calm, here are the superheated fumes that melt lungs. She was curiously unafraid and very interested. Death by fire, she’d heard, was not like drowning or asthma. With fused lungs, there was no convulsive struggle and notmuch pain. You could think to the end. She found Antonia, grabbed her, and held on.
The wind was already easing off. Formation! Mary yelled as the smoke cleared, and the new world revealed itself—a blackened ground, consumed to the dirt, the trees now charred, leafless snags, some still burning at their crowns.
Where the fire had jumped the road, dozens of spots burned—many as small as a single sagebrush, a few the size of big, vigorous bonfires. The hose crew went first with water, and the convicts followed, hacking apart the fuel, smothering flare-ups, chasing scampering flames. They were a little delirious.
Oh no you don’t.
Take that, you little pizzle sucker.
Soon they were covered in white ash. In fifteen minutes the spot fires were out and the con crew was ordered to go flank the fire. Same old same old, grunt work well away from any non-con
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