Page 12 of The Heat is On
Know what your fire is doing at all times.Rule number two.
Sheesh, she could recite them in her sleep, a casualty of rookie camp.
The crews were making progress along both ridges, and she tried to keep her boredom out of her voice when Tucker radioed in. His new crew were bulldogs—they scraped out a cup trench at the bottom of the slope, just in case the fire rolled snags down the hill from the ridge. Their orange shirts had turned ruddy and black.
The afternoon dragged on, the fire burning deep into the reindeer moss, the loam of pine needles that embedded the forest. It exploded a stand of black spruce, a tower of black dissecting the blue.
Tucker finally hiked up the far ridge, surveying the fire as it ate its way to his southern line. She watched him turn, as if he could spot her through the smoke from this distance, and asked for an update.
“Nothing’s changed, boss. Same wind speed, same humidity. Flame lengths short and tight.”
“Just a bit longer, then I’ll get Romeo to spell you.”
“Whatever.” Oh, she didn’t mean to sound annoyed, but—
A gust rose, rippling through her shirt, a cool breath from some icy slope. It whipped down the slope, and she could almost feel the blaze tremble with an injection of fury as the wind fanned the combustion of fuel and chemical reaction. Skye lifted the walkie to inform Tucker, but his voice came across the radio.
“Riley, you get down the ridge and start the burn. Seth, you and Hanes and Eric, watch the flanks. Romeo—you spell Skye on watch. I’ll call in the drop.”
Okay, so maybe she’d been a little too annoyed. Riley offered an affirmative, and Skye kept the fire framed in her glasses as she watched Riley jog down to the southern fire line to join the other crew and start the burn.
Tiny droplets of fire splashed into the burn area, consuming the fuel between the oncoming blaze and the fire line.
The familiar whump-whump of a chopper indicated a drop coming in from the southeast. She could barely spot the bird but made out a long drop line swinging in the wind, carrying a bucket of water.
Yeah, they’d put this to bed, no problem. With no real help from her, but…
She centered her glasses on Tucker. He stood at the ridge line between the two fires, and from this angle—
“Tucker, if that’s you I see, get out of there. You’re standing between the two fires.”
Barry’s voice on the radio, but yeah, that’s what she would have said. The chopper rounded in and let the water drop along the leading eastern edge of the fire.
She’d taken her eyes off Tucker for just a second, but when she turned back, he’d vanished.
“Tucker?” Skye toggled the mic but got no response. But before she could call again, Tucker appeared again on the ridge. He must have ducked into the black for cover from the drop.
She let out a hot breath of relief. Silly. Tucker might not be a seasoned fire boss—their usual smoke boss, Jed, had only put him in charge of the team because he had to leave town to check on his pregnant wife. But Tucker was careful.
He knew the rules that kept them all alive.
The smoked turned gray, the fire gasping for air as it drowned under the water. The fog filled the valley, cut off her view. Tucker’s voice came over the line asking for another drop.
She barely made out his yellow shirt as he climbed to the top of the ridge again.
Where was Romeo? She got up, letting the glasses dangle around her neck, and picked up her pack.
The roar of the fire stopped her. A fierce gust of breath crested off the mountain as if refusing to let the fire surrender, raked past her, and poured into the flames.
With a feral growl, the fire regrouped, reignited, and flamed over, the lengths doubling.
Chewing up the forest toward the ridge.
She scrambled for her glasses, searched for Tucker, but couldn’t make him out in all the smoke—
There.
A yellow shirt, right in the path of the flames. He’d fallen, maybe because he was struggling up the hill.