Page 221 of Smoke and Fire
Fire camp had been yanked back, repositioned in case a flank of fire left it in cinders. The mini-city took up the parking lot of the grocery store with their vans, tents, equipment, and supplies. It had doubled in size over the past twenty four hours, no doubt with new resources to fight the inferno.
I leaned my forehead against the cool windowpane and dreamed of popsicles. Ultra-cold ice cream to soothe my throat. Cold coffee. Ribs. Steak. Split potatoes dripping butter. Anything with so many calories they couldn't be counted. After twenty-four hours on the line, my stomach was so hungry it would gnaw itself open.
My eyes fluttered open and drifted to the north. Despite the darkness, I could see smoke lazily trailing heavenward. It didn't charge into the atmosphere like a bully anymore. Instead, it floated gently, barely visible in the building morning light.
Almost eighteen hours had passed since Dahlia left Adventura, but it felt like decades. My body creaked like an old man. I'd hiked through the forest, dug line, protected the summer camp, watched that earth, dug some more, poured an unholy amount of water over burning ground, and, somehow, arrived back here.
Winds gave way to calmer skies around 8:00 last evening. With the onset of darkness and no harried gusts, the fire bedded down a bit. The still, quiet air felt heavy and odd in the wake of so much caterwauling.
A storm had blown in on the edge of the wind. It dropped little more than a drizzle, but the humidity helped calm the inferno. Thanks to the lake, manual labor, and a lot of line, Adventura and the forest around it had been saved. Except for a few areas where we fought the new fire start, very little burn marks would remain.
Brightness from the town startled me back to life.
I glanced over to see the Frolicking Moose illuminated with beckoning, buttery light down the road. My watch said 5:30. Behind the mountains, the dawning sun turned the edges of the sky to a rosy pink.
All day we'd bunk at the station until we were called out again for a night shift to keep a hold of the line at the highway. The fire would likely try to spread. Embers would dance to other spots. But such a wild storm wasn't present in the forecast tonight which gave us a big advantage.
No, this monster was just about to die out. It had charged hard, but now it lay down.
Time for us to win.
Several text messages from Dahlia downloaded to my phone after we left the canyon, all of them spaced about an hour apart, like she used a timer.
Her steady attention slipped through me like hot chocolate on a cold winter day.
Dahlia:Thinking of you.
Dahlia:Winds are still pretty fierce. Evacuations have cleared most people out of the north side of Pineville. Others are leaving the south side and flocking to the reservoir for camping. Since we're next to the lake, we're taking people who have RVs or need a place to crash. Is this real life? It seems so strange.
Dahlia:Is Pineville the coolest community ever? I vote yes.
Dahlia:I had to stop checking Tweetastic for updates because the pictures of the fire were so ugly. How can a fire be so big? Mother Nature is a witch. Hoping you're safe. Can't stop thinking about that kiss.
Several other video messages followed, but I hadn't watched them yet. I'd save those for later, when I’d be back on the fire and a quick glimpse of her would fuel me.
The wildland truck slowed to a stop outside the fire station. All our weary bodies dragged themselves out of their seats and outside to the parking lot. My muscles had stiffened. Salt caked my skin and shook free as I made it down the steps. The only thing that propelled me forward was the thought of Dahlia so close.
Sleep even closer.
Two steps out of the truck, I halted.
A small chorus of clapping filled the air. Locals and visitors that had been evacuated from their homes and camping spots were bunking out in tents all the way down the main street of Pineville.
They stood sleepily nearby, applauding. Other people, up early, sat outside RVs with steaming cups of coffee. Dogs skittered their feet, running around, barking, pacing. Bustle inside the Frolicking Moose spilled into the parking lot like it was the beating heart of the town.
With the applause came more applause. Whistles. Shouts of gratitude. People stepped out of the Frolicking Moose to see us and call out their thanks. I blinked, dazed by the unexpected display.
Awkwardness filled me until I saw a familiar pair of dark eyes step out of the Frolicking Moose. Dahlia wore her usual shorts, tank top, and cream-colored apron over the front of her.
Fatigue and relief lingered in her gaze. Had she been up late? What had they been doing? If all the RVs, tents, and general bustle this early meant anything, she'd had a busy night.
That seemed about right.
The Frolicking Moose had always been the heart of Pineville, fishy smell or not.
James lifted a hand to acknowledge the praise. Nilla waved. Mack tried to act like he didn't hear it, but high color appeared on his cheeks. Slowly, the smatter died away. People turned back to the coffee shop or their tents.
Across the distance, Dahlia caught my gaze. Bodies slipped past her to go inside, murmuring. An old man approached James with a question about the fire and the rest of the crew filtered apart. The truck groaned as bags unloaded and fire fighters shuffled back to the station to crash and sleep until our next go-round. I started across the parking lot with long strides.
