Page 10 of Redwood Blaze
FIVE
RUSTY
I takeover for the ever-grumpy Lassiter on the communication— known as coms, waiting for any sign of us being needed out in on Black Timber Peak Mountains. I need something to keep my mind off that damn kiss.
Why did she have to go and do that?
Not that I’m complaining. I’m thinking that I want to do it again… more… forever.
But stop from ruminating and worrying about her —right, good luck— I’ve delegated myself to listening for a call from the firewatchers.
We have seven firewatchers in total, but only six stations, and they take turns sleeping in shifts so that no less than four are awake at one time. Lennie, Jake and Maitlyn— a couple who live up there six months a year, Nash, Trav, Darden, and Hallie. They’ve named themselves the Firehawks of BTP. Ever watchful, ever screaming into the SAT phone, and ever mindful that where there’s smoke there’s…
We know the rest…
The com crackles.
“Firehawk station three to BTP base. Firehawk three here. Do you read, base?” It’s Trav’s station.
“Hey, Trav, it’s Rusty.”
“Rusty, I’m seeing a second plume of smoke from peak number six.”
I wish I knew where she is…
“Anything you think we need to explore?”
“No, but the one from before is a little heavier. Can you check out these coordinates to see if there’s a cabin?”
“Sure.” I grab the list of coordinates. “Shoot.”
“Latitude: 46.970975 and longitude: -113.422184.”
I pin point it on the map. There’s coordinates of a place really close to that. “Yeah, I think that’s a cabin but I don’t remember being used for a long time.”
“Weird. Wonder what’s up? Wait, I just heard something. Probably just a bird landing on the ladder.”
“You think we should send the sheriff over there to check it out?”
We all worked together.
“Nah, probably someone bought it and took it over. You know how it is. It’s in the paper but who reads the BTP Gazette like that?”
I chuckle. “True. How’s it being up there all alone?” My heart starts thinking about Millie.
“I like it. The trees are like a woodland ocean. Like, it’s peaceful and except for an occasional eagle that wants to make my nest, their nest, I’m comfortable.”
“Say what?”
“Yeah, last year, an eagle decided to nest on my balcony.”
“No shit.”
Trav is from California, a surfer at heart chuckled. “No shit, bro. It’s a migration route for the golden eagles. I guess this one got knocked up early in the season and didn’t quite make it downto the lower Rockies, so she and her dude started making a nest and then I couldn’t get out because they would dive bomb me. Had to heli in some food to the window on the other side of the place and I had to reach out and grab it. Scariest friggin’ day of my life.”
I don’t think I could do that. Being suspended 120 feet in the air and leaning out a window?
No thanks, I like my feet firmly on the ground.
