Page 1 of Dream Weaver

Chapter One

COOPER

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Nothing beat the drive home after a successful fight with a wildfire. Soot-smeared, sweaty, exhausted, but proud and happy, everyone would joke and laugh, even if they weren’t entirely coherent. Nothing bonded a group of near-strangers faster, forging them into a brotherhood for life, even if some of those “brothers” were women. Age, race, sex, pay grade — none of that mattered, because you were a team, working together.

The drive home after an operation gone wrong, on the other hand…

That was soot-smeared, sweaty, exhausted, and very, very quiet. Everyone had their eyes shut or on their boots, and the only sound was the creak of equipment and the rumble of tires over asphalt.

On my right, Joe checked his watch, then showed it to me. I knew exactly what he was thinking. The helicopter that had airlifted Sam out had probably just arrived at the hospital. Itwasn’t life-or-death, but a leg broken that badly could be career-ending, in as much as this crazy job could be called a career.

Passionwas more like it, even if most people didn’t understand — like that California congressman who’d called wildland firefighters “unskilled labor.”

Unskilled, my ass. We’d worked three days straight with only about three hours of fitful sleep.

I fingered my ax, wondering how well that congressman could heft it and for how long. How many acres of pristine wilderness he would be able to save, or how many homes. Or how pitifully he would beg if his home were surrounded by flames.

The truck hit a bump, making everyone jostle.

“If my helmet could talk, it would cough,” Vic grumbled, tracing a line through the soot.

“If only we’d had our lucky ax…” Joe sighed.

All the veterans nodded. Some of the newbies too.

I was somewhere in between — new to this fire crew as of a week ago, but on the cusp of my eleventh season of firefighting.

“You really think it was the ax?” Mark, one of the rookies, asked.

The veterans stared, like he’d suggested Jesus wasn’t Mary’s baby.

“We’ve had it for three years,” Alice, eight-year veteran of the Yavapai Hotshots, finally answered. “Three years without an accident. Nothing worth mentioning anyway.”

Ha. Knowing what firefighters consideredworth mentioning, that left a lot of scope for pain and suffering.

“No accidents, and not a single fire that caught us as off guard as this one,” Alice finished grimly.

Another understatement. The fire had jumped a road and come roaring at us on an out-of-nowhere wind shift. We’d beenlucky to escape with just one serious injury and most of our equipment.

My secret, animal side mourned for all the forest dwellers that hadn’t escaped the inferno.

It had taken us and three other crews days to get the blaze under control. And this was just the preseason.

“Ever had a call that close?” Chuck, another rookie, whispered.

Much, much closer, actually. A fire that still figured in my nightmares.

I nodded quietly.

“You really think the ax would have made a difference?” Mark asked.

No one actually came out and said,Of course, you idiot, but their looks did. I half expected them to cross themselves and murmurAmenat such heresy.

Baseball players were famous for being superstitious, but firefighters were even worse. Every squad had a lucky token of some kind, and every crew member had their own personal totems. Lucky underwear, lucky bandannas, lucky socks… My sister even carried a lucky straw.

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