“I’m all for that.”
He glanced up at the holes in his fire shelter—the required equipment he had purchased a year ago and never expected to need. His crew was too careful, too experienced and too smart to be trapped by the living, breathing monster of a wildfire.
He dragged the camel pack from beneath his knees and drank, then offered Meadow a drink. Some deployed men suffered from dehydration, and, unable to leave the shelter as their bodies had lost too much vital fluids, they died. He was lucky to have had the seconds he needed to grab the water pouch.
Dylan thought about his truck and the sturdy utility box made of a polymer and likely now a melted lump of plastic. All his equipment and the water—gone.
He resisted the urge to lift the shelter as he estimated the temperature inside had reached over two hundred degrees and was now falling. Every rock and stone beneath them radiated heat like the bricks in a pizza oven.
“Couldn’t it have been a gas explosion?” she asked.
“No gas lines.”
“Welding tanks, for construction?”
“Maybe.” Let her think that. He’d seen gas tanks explode on training videos. They were impressive but could not melt steel and bring down a 4500-square-foot home.
Dylan debated what to do. If he stayed, it gave whoever picked up his radio transmission time to get to them.
What would his friend Ray Strong do? Ray was the crazy one, or he had been until he met Morgan Hooke and became responsible for a woman and her child. Ray had changed. Perhaps his spirit animal, eagle, had really helped him see clearly and act, not on impulse, but with clarity and purpose.
Jack Bear Den would tell Dylan to be careful. To act on the assumption that the worst was coming and to be ready.
Jack’s twin, Carter Bear Den, would tell Dylan to be ready to fight what came. Carter’s tattoo was a bear track. Bears were strong. Carter had needed that strength to leave his tribe and go with the woman he loved. What would Carter do? He’d been their captain for the Turquoise Canyon Hotshots, a job Dylan assumed when Carter left them in February. They would be deploying without him today. He was sure. Who would be leading them now?
Dylan had joined the Turquoise Canyon Hotshots after his discharge. He had four full seasons fighting wildfire and two months and three fires as captain. But none like this. Back then fighting wildfire had been exciting. He had felt immortal. But his tours of duty in Iraq had shown him that none of them were and, lately, he had felt the weight of being the leader of his team. His decisions meant the life or death of members of his crew and he found himself questioning his ability to lead.
He held the shelter, feeling the time race by with the wind. If he was right and they stayed here too long, someone would come to finish what the fire had started. If they left too early, the heat would burn their lungs, saving the team from BEAR the trouble of killing them.
* * *
“HOW MUCH LONGER?” asked Meadow.
The sand and grit stuck to her damp skin. She’d never been so thirsty and she was beginning to feel dizzy.
“A few minutes more.” He glanced at her. “Why don’t you tell me about yourself? Pass the time.” And get to know the enemy beside him. Bobcat would be pleased.
“Well, okay. I’m Meadow. My mom’s nickname for me is Dodo, if that’s any hint. You know, like the bird? I’m the last of six children. The oops baby. My next oldest sister, Katrina, is seven years my senior. My oldest brother, Phillip, is the CEO of PAN. My three sisters, Connie, short for Consuelo, Rosalie, Katrina, and my other brother, Miguel, are all professionals with promising careers.” She had started to use air quotes but then dropped her hands back to the hot earth and the tripod.
Being so much younger sometimes made her feel like she was an only child with six parents.
“I’m closest to Katrina. She looked out for me when she could, or she used to before...you know, when I was a kid.”
And when Meadow was home, which wasn’t often.
“Your name isn’t Spanish,” said Dylan.
“What? No, it isn’t.”
“The others are, and your mother, Lupe.”
She’d never really thought of that before.
“Anyway. Phillip is a CEO. Miguel is a doctor. So is Connie, Consuelo. Rosalie is an attorney and Kat has a business degree from Berkeley, undergrad and a law degree from...” She tapped her chin. “I forget where... Anyway, just passed the bar. They all went to private school here. Me, too, for a while. I got kicked out. I also got kicked out of schools in Westchester, Greenwich, Boston and Vermont.”
“That’s a lot of schools.”
“What can I say? I’m good at what I do.”
“So you cause trouble. Make a big fuss so everyone notices you.”
“That’s it.” Only they didn’t. Not often.
But getting sent home was the one sure way to get her father’s attention.
“Oh, and colleges, too. I went to NYU for film. My dad made a contribution because my grades, well... I tried to be a chip off the old block. But my brothers have that gig all tied up. So I went to Berkeley for economics and then UCLA for marine biology.”
“How’d you do?”
“I got mostly A’s on the tests I took. Problem was I didn’t take enough of them. I had trouble getting to class.”
“Failed out?”
“Every time.”
“But all A’s. You’re smart.”
“If I was smart, would I be lying under an Apache hotshot in the middle of a wildfire?”
“Good point.”
“Maybe I’ll go back to school. They have some in Hawaii. I could learn to surf.”
“How old are you?”
“Twenty-six, but I’ll be twenty-seven next month. Just in time to join the 27 Club.”
“What’s that?”
She turned to stare at him in disbelief. “You got to get off your mountain. Get your brain out of the smoke.”
“Maybe. So...the 27 Club?”
“It’s all the musicians who died at twenty-seven. Morrison, Hendrix, Joplin, Cobain, Winehouse. Only they were famous for creating something and I’m only famous for being the screw-up daughter of a rich man. Creating scandals. I haven’t done anything else.”
“Not too late,” he said.
“Yeah. I’d like to see twenty-eight, even thirty.”
He tugged her closer to him, adjusting his body to hold the shelter.
“Can I help hold it down?” she asked, and then realized this was the very first time she’d offered to do anything. She’d drunk his water, complained about the lifesaving shelter and whined about how hard it was to breathe. She sagged. Maybe he should have rolled her out from under the shelter like a log. She knew she would have been tempted if their situation had been reversed.
“You’d need gloves. The edges get hot.”
Yet the thing had been flapping against him for what seemed like hours. He’d never uttered a word of complaint.
“How old are you?” she asked.
“Twenty-eight.”
He seemed older, acted older, she realized.
“I’m going to lift the shield,” he said. “Hold your breath.”