Page 46 of Falling for the Firefighter
"I'm Jo Mackenzie, wilderness safety coordinator." I pitch my voice to carry reassurance. "I’m here to redirect you to a safer route."
"Thank God. We heard the fire wasn’t contained." The father stops so abruptly that his wife nearly collides with him.
I kneel to get down at the children's eye level—a girl, maybe six, a boy who can't be more than four. Both are flushed and breathing hard, tiny faces streaked with ash. "Hey there. I bet you guys are tired."
"Mommy said we have to walk fast because of the fire," the girl says solemnly. "But Tommy can't keep up."
"That's okay. I know a special trail that's easier for tired legs." I stand, addressing the parents. "The main evacuation route is compromised. I can guide you to the service road. It’s farther, but the grade is gentler and there’s no smoke."
"Is it safe?" Relief floods the mother's face.
"Safer than staying here." I gesture toward the approaching fire, now close enough that we can feel its heat on the wind. "But we need to move now."
The family follows without question, desperation overriding any concerns about trusting a stranger. I set a pace the children can maintain while keeping us ahead of the fire's advancing edge. The service road is abandoned, less maintained than the main trail, but it loops around the fire's path.
"You live here?" The father breathes hard as we climb.
"All my life." I duck under a low branch, holding it back for them to pass. "These mountains are my backyard."
"How bad is it? The fire?"
I consider lying. Instead, I choose truth tempered with hope. "It's serious, but professionals are handling it. This route gets us clear of the immediate danger."
We continue in silence, broken only by the children’s questions—why is the sky gray, where do the animals go when there’s fire, will their car be okay in the parking lot?
I answer each with patience born of genuine concern, watching their faces relax incrementally as we put distance between ourselves and the flames.
Twenty-two minutes later, we emerge at the service road junction. The family is tired but unharmed, the children's energy returning as cleaner air fills their lungs. Below us, the parking area is visible—cars departing in an orderly evacuation, no panic, no chaos.
"From here, just follow the road down," I tell the parents. "Park service personnel are directing traffic at the bottom."
"What about you?" the mother asks. "Aren't you coming?"
"I need to check in with the fire response team." I hand her my card with emergency contact numbers. "If you have any problems on the way down, call that number."
The father extends his hand. "Thank you. I don't know what would have happened if?—"
"You would have figured it out." I shake his hand briefly. "People are more capable than they think in crises."
After they disappear around the first bend, I radio Mac. "Family secured and en route to staging area. Requesting status update."
"Good timing. We've got a problem." His voice comes through immediately, tight with controlled tension.
"What kind of problem?"
"The kind that suggests our arsonist isn't finished for the day. Meet me at coordinates..." He rattles off numbers that put him near the old mining claims, deep in the backcountry where yesterday's fires burned. "And Josephine? Bring your geological survey maps. All of them."
"On my way."
I change direction, climbing back into the high country where Mac's coordinates place him. The urgency in his voice sets my nerves on edge, but underneath the anxiety runs something else—satisfaction at a job completed successfully.
The family is safe. I guided them out without incident, without hesitation, without the paralyzing fear that's haunted me since Sarah's accident.
Maybe I'm not as broken as I thought.
The meeting coordinates are a forty-minute hike through terrain I know intimately. I make good time despite the elevation gain, adrenaline sustaining me through technical sections that would normally require careful planning.
By the time I reach Mac's position, the sun hangs low in the western sky, painting the surrounding peaks in shades of copper and gold.
