and got her bearing. This one wasn’t far off at all. Five miles from her tower.
Too close, too close, get the hell out of here.
She shook her head again, chastising herself. It was the first flare-up, and they’d get it under control fast. Nothing was coming this way.
Easy to say, hard to believe. She was supposed to be removed from it up here. She was supposed to be far from the flames, supposed to—
“Supposed to do your damn job,” she said aloud, and then she went to the radio and keyed the mike.
“This is Lynx Lookout. Do you copy?”
“We copy, Lynx.”
“I’ve got smoke.”
She felt as if it were a stunning proclamation, a real showstopper, but the response was flat and uninterested.
“Copy that. Location?”
She recited the location and bearing, told them the volume was small, the character was thin but building, the color gray.
“Copy that. Thanks, Lynx. We’re on it.”
“Good luck. I’ll keep watching.”
Keep watching. What an impotent thing to say, and do. Once she’d have been putting on the Nomex gear and the White’s fire boots; once she’d have been strong and tanned and ready to take it on—the whole world afire couldn’t scare her. Now…
I’ll keep watching.
“Hurry up, guys,” she whispered, watching the gray plumes grow, seeing the first tongues of orange in the mix now, and she wondered how it had started. There on a ridge so close to the road; how had it started?
Nick would say a campfire. There’d been no lightning, she’d watched for it every night and had not seen any, and so the source was likely humans. It was an odd place for a campfire, and a dangerous one. She looked at the map and traced the contour lines and saw what it might do. It could burn up off that ridge and find open grasses and scorch through them and then hit the high forest, pushed by the wind. If it did, it would run into the rock, and in its quest for fuel, it would climb sidehill and find the gulch that waited, lined with dry timber. And then they’d be fighting it low. Down in a basin rimmed by steep slopes.
Some of the best friends she’d ever had died trying to outrun a burning wind in a basin like that.
She didn’t like the way those contour lines looked. There was plenty of fuel in the gulch below the place where the fire had begun to burn, and, dry as it was with this early drought, the flames would be moving fast.
The first crew got there within thirty minutes, and they encountered more than they’d bargained for. The wind was pushing the fire upslope, toward a stretch of dry jack pine, and the reports over the radio were grim and surprised.
“We can get a pump truck to the bottom, but no higher. It’s climbing pretty well.”
“So trench it and bladder-bag it,” Hannah said. She wasn’t on the air, they couldn’t hear her, but she hoped they’d somehow sense her advice and take it. If they got up high enough, they should be able to contain it. With the truck soaking the bottom of the hill and a proper trench cutting it off from climbing toward any more fuel, they’d be fine. It would be hot, hard work, though, and the sun would be setting soon, and then it would be just the crew and the firelight and the wind. The wind was the great enemy, the most menacing and most mysterious. This she knew as well as she knew her own name.
They didn’t hear her advice but they followed it anyway, and she listened as they sent a trenching team a half a mile farther up the mountain, where they could cut the blaze off from the next stretch of forest and hopefully leave it to burn out in the rocks.
“It will go sidehill, guys. It will have no choice, and the wind will help it, and then you’ll have to fight it at the bottom.”
That was what they probably wanted. The fire would be bordered by creeks and road and rock there, and they would believe they had it sequestered. Unless the wind had different plans.
Her first fire with Nick hadn’t been all that different from this
Too close, too close, get the hell out of here.
She shook her head again, chastising herself. It was the first flare-up, and they’d get it under control fast. Nothing was coming this way.
Easy to say, hard to believe. She was supposed to be removed from it up here. She was supposed to be far from the flames, supposed to—
“Supposed to do your damn job,” she said aloud, and then she went to the radio and keyed the mike.
“This is Lynx Lookout. Do you copy?”
“We copy, Lynx.”
“I’ve got smoke.”
She felt as if it were a stunning proclamation, a real showstopper, but the response was flat and uninterested.
“Copy that. Location?”
She recited the location and bearing, told them the volume was small, the character was thin but building, the color gray.
“Copy that. Thanks, Lynx. We’re on it.”
“Good luck. I’ll keep watching.”
Keep watching. What an impotent thing to say, and do. Once she’d have been putting on the Nomex gear and the White’s fire boots; once she’d have been strong and tanned and ready to take it on—the whole world afire couldn’t scare her. Now…
I’ll keep watching.
“Hurry up, guys,” she whispered, watching the gray plumes grow, seeing the first tongues of orange in the mix now, and she wondered how it had started. There on a ridge so close to the road; how had it started?
Nick would say a campfire. There’d been no lightning, she’d watched for it every night and had not seen any, and so the source was likely humans. It was an odd place for a campfire, and a dangerous one. She looked at the map and traced the contour lines and saw what it might do. It could burn up off that ridge and find open grasses and scorch through them and then hit the high forest, pushed by the wind. If it did, it would run into the rock, and in its quest for fuel, it would climb sidehill and find the gulch that waited, lined with dry timber. And then they’d be fighting it low. Down in a basin rimmed by steep slopes.
Some of the best friends she’d ever had died trying to outrun a burning wind in a basin like that.
She didn’t like the way those contour lines looked. There was plenty of fuel in the gulch below the place where the fire had begun to burn, and, dry as it was with this early drought, the flames would be moving fast.
The first crew got there within thirty minutes, and they encountered more than they’d bargained for. The wind was pushing the fire upslope, toward a stretch of dry jack pine, and the reports over the radio were grim and surprised.
“We can get a pump truck to the bottom, but no higher. It’s climbing pretty well.”
“So trench it and bladder-bag it,” Hannah said. She wasn’t on the air, they couldn’t hear her, but she hoped they’d somehow sense her advice and take it. If they got up high enough, they should be able to contain it. With the truck soaking the bottom of the hill and a proper trench cutting it off from climbing toward any more fuel, they’d be fine. It would be hot, hard work, though, and the sun would be setting soon, and then it would be just the crew and the firelight and the wind. The wind was the great enemy, the most menacing and most mysterious. This she knew as well as she knew her own name.
They didn’t hear her advice but they followed it anyway, and she listened as they sent a trenching team a half a mile farther up the mountain, where they could cut the blaze off from the next stretch of forest and hopefully leave it to burn out in the rocks.
“It will go sidehill, guys. It will have no choice, and the wind will help it, and then you’ll have to fight it at the bottom.”
That was what they probably wanted. The fire would be bordered by creeks and road and rock there, and they would believe they had it sequestered. Unless the wind had different plans.
Her first fire with Nick hadn’t been all that different from this
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