Page 26 of The Smokejumper's Lady
Not the usual sear—this is baking. This is oven-hot, right through the gear, sweat pouring down my back before I can even get my bearings.
“Regroup at the mark!” I hear Burke yell over the radio.
I scan for the others. Matt is pulling gear off his back, his face pale even through the soot. Elias is coughing already, the mask not doing much in air this thick.
Every one of us looks the same—tense. Eyes wide. Breathing heavy.
Flames explode through the treetops not fifty yards away. We haven’t even fully regrouped, and already the perimeter’s shrinking. Fast. This fire’s not creeping, it’s racing. Enclosing. Devouring.
Normally I’d be first in line to get at that fire, jumping right into danger with a grin on my face. And my body still knows what to do—following orders, supporting my team, doing what we have to do to save who we can.
But for the first time in ten years, I don’t feel like I have to be the one who takes the most risks, saves the most lives. I’ve already saved the most important person—Clea. She’s alive, out there somewhere, unaware of what I feel for her.
So I’m not dying today.
No matter how bad this blaze gets, how close we cut it, how hot it burns, I’m walking out of this fire.
For her.
Chapter Nine
Clea
Home doesn’t feel like home anymore.
I’m sitting in the same living room I grew up in, wrapped in the same fuzzy blanket I’ve used since I was a toddler, but nothing feels right. The couch is too soft. The air is too clean. And I can’t stop fidgeting with the hem of my shirt, like maybe if I tug at it long enough, I’ll wake up from this weird, disconnected fog.
The fire. Ryan. My parents.
It all happened so fast, and now here I am. Safe. But I feel hollow. I stare blankly at the TV, the local news. My brain barely registers what’s being said until the red banner flashes across the bottom of the screen in bold, unrelenting letters:
BREAKING: SMOKE JUMPER UNIT CAUGHT IN BACK DRAFT—STATUS UNKNOWN
My stomach drops, and I scramble for the remote, fingers trembling as I turn up the volume.
“…Unit 347 was deployed just moments before an unexpected back draft intensified conditions near Glacier National Park,” the redhead anchor says in a tight voice. “Reports are stillcoming in, but officials say communication with the team has been lost. Their status remains unknown at this time.”
My breath catches in my throat.
Unit 347.
That’s Ryan’s team.
A noise slips out of me, half sob, half gasp, and the remote falls from my hand to the floor.
“No,” I whisper. “No, no, no…”
Tears prick at the corners of my eyes before I can stop them. I clutch the blanket tighter around my shoulders, but it doesn’t do anything to stop the icy fear sliding down my spine.
The screen shows a blurry, zoomed-out shot of the fire, orange and black and absolutely feral, eating up the forest like it’s nothing. Smoke twists through the sky like a living thing. Fire trucks scream past the camera, and helicopters buzz overhead.
It looks like the end of the world.
And Ryan is out there.
I swipe at my tears, but they just keep falling. I don’t even realize my mom has walked into the room until she sits down beside me on the couch.
“What’s wrong?” she asks gently.
